This is the story of me, and my A. Start to finish. It's a story with no happily ever after, not thus far, just be warned. It's not an easy one to tell, or to hear, but it's the truth, and outside of protecting the privacy of others, which I will be doing to the extent I feel it is necessary (and it is for this reason that I rarely use A's actual name), I feel that the truth needs to be told.
A's story started when I was fifteen years old, on an ordinary Sunday morning, where ordinary me was working in the nursery at our ordinary church. I can assure you that when I woke up and got dressed for church that morning, the last thing I expected was for something to happen that would set off a cascade of events that would change my entire life forever... but that's exactly what happened.
About halfway through the service, as I was going about my usual routine of reading books, distributing cheerios, and rocking crying toddlers, a woman around my mom's age came to the door holding a thin little girl, no more than a year old, with mousy brown hair that hung to her chin and bangs. She reminded me of another little girl with whom I had become close working in the nursery (incidentally, that other little girl is my M!) The woman introduced the girl as her granddaughter, A, who was 15 months old. She said she didn't know if she'd stay in the nursery, but she had responsibilities at the worship service and A was proving difficult to handle that morning. Taking the little girl from her (and she fussed a bit as I did this), I assured her that I would take good care of her and page her if she was needed. And that very first day, I knew A was different. The following weeks in which I got to know her only served to reinforce my initial notion.
A didn't like to be held, unless there was food involved. She didn't like to be left alone either. It almost seemed like there was no way to make her happy, until I discovered the magical formula of finding something she wanted, getting it out in front of me, and waiting for her to crawl onto my lap to reach it. Almost invariably cheerios at first, and she was such a wisp of a child that I took every opportunity to offer her food. Later, I could tempt her with certain toys.
I never met her mother or father, only her grandparents picked her up and dropped her off, which I didn't consider especially unusual since a lot of children attended church with their grandparents, but this little girl seemed to have an especially strong bond to them, to the point where a couple of times, I actually wondered if I'd misheard and they were her parents.
No one else had success with A in the nursery. If I missed a service and she came in, they would invariably have to page her grandmother. She would stand at the door and wail, or hide in a corner and cry. No one else knew her favorite toys, or just how to coax her out of her shell. At one point, I went on a mission trip and when I returned, was sternly chided for leaving the nursery in such a state of disarray because A was so out of sorts without me there.
She was hilarious. She could walk, but she didn't know it. She lacked the self confidence to actually do it. Sometimes when she wanted something and wasn't paying attention to anything but what she wanted, I'd catch her walking, several steps at a time, and fairly steady ones. But then, it was as if a switch were flipped in her head - she'd look around, realize that she was walking, and promptly plop right down on her bottom.
She didn't speak. Not a single word. No Mama, or Ball, or even the all important 'Tee-Whoas' (as one of the toddlers dubbed the cheerios). No "no", or "more", or "dog". Moreover, she was in my care on Sunday mornings for an entire year - until she was nearly two and a half, and she still never said a word. Her only communication was to whine, cry, point, or fidget. I learned to get a read on her 'language'.
Over time, she started to actually allow me to hold her, carry her, help her with things. Her grandma looked for me in the nursery on Sundays because A would go to me easily. Time passed, we both got older... and then one day, when I was sixteen and A was two, her grandma pulled me aside after a church service. She told me that A and her mother had moved in with them and that there was a difficult family situation involved. Not much more information was given and even if it had been, that is part of A's story, not mine. It is hers to tell. The point of the conversation was that they would be needing someone to care for A when their work schedules overlapped, and wanted me to do it since I obviously already had a bond with A - but they admitted they couldn't pay me much. That was okay. I never babysat for the money, I babysat because I loved working with kids, and I still do. I readily agreed to watch the little girl after school when needed and gave the woman my phone number.
It was a while before she called. I'd started to think she never really would, and I was a little disappointed, because I so enjoyed playing with A, seeing her come out of her shell more and more all the time, but I was sixteen and there were other pressing matters to attend to - you know, like who was friends with who that week, whether the girl from small group was giving me the cold shoulder, and whether my physics teacher actually hated me or was just irritated by my complete lack of skill in physics. Though I still worked with A on Sundays, I was focused on other things.
This is why I was so surprised the Sunday that her grandma came to pick her up after service and asked if I could babysit on Tuesday. The answer was, of course, "Sure, I'll come over right after school!" And I did, and that's when my fate... I guess, our fate... was sealed.
That first day that I watched A is forever burned into my memory. I don't think I'll ever forget a single detail. It was early September. When I got there, she was sleeping upstairs in her crib, so I sat down to do some homework. When I heard her start to fuss, I went upstairs to find her standing up in her crib. I approached her cautiously - I was in her space, her home, for the first time, and I was certainly not who she was expecting to get her up from her nap that day.
"Hi, A! Remember me? I'm Katie, from church? We like to play together and eat cheerios. Would you like to go get some cheerios?"
**Let it be noted here for all future babysitting endeavors that "Cheerios" is a word that has some sort of magical, calming effect on children. I have a hunch that they're like Xanax for toddlers.**
Because, yes, she definitely visibly relaxed at the mention of Cheerios. She fussed a little when I lifted her out of her crib (I couldn't get the side down, I was always horrible with those things, and I'm cursed with incredibly short stature), but calmed down with the reminder of - wait for it - right, CHEERIOS! So of course that was the first order of business. Then, like a good babysitter, I went to change her diaper. "Come on, A," I called, patting the couch and shaking a toy. "Let's change your diaper so we can play outside!"
Uh - wrong thing to say, apparently. A retreated immediately. I went to get her and picked her up, laid her down on the couch and gave her the toy. I promise you I never, ever, and at that point I'd been working with kids for five years, had a child fight me that hard on a diaper change. Tiny little thing straight up overpowered me. Slid off the couch and ran, pants around her ankles, to hide between the couch and the wall, sobbing.
I was only sixteen. I didn't know what to think. Part of me feared that something horrible had happened to this mystery of a child, but I didn't know what to do, and she still couldn't talk to help me understand. I proceeded the only way I knew how. It took a full hour to coax her into the diaper change, which still resulted in more tears than I would've liked, I felt horrible... another fifteen minutes to find and coax her into wearing her shoes... and then we went outside, and another change happened.
First she walked along quietly with me, not wanting to hold my hand but for help climbing on and off curbs (her grandparents lived in a condo subdivision with no sidewalks and mostly deserted streets). Then she discovered, with joy, that she could jump - with both feet - off the curb! Oh, the delight on her face, I would have walked on a bed of nails for that smile. Again and again she willingly took both my hands in hers and jumped on and off the curb, smiling and laughing as I made high pitched squeals of excitement over her 'triumph'.
I remember thinking, after the diaper change incident, that if this brought her such joy, I would stay out there all day. And we very nearly did - only when the sun began its descent over the horizon did we return to the house and settle down to watch Dora the Explorer (this was, and still is A's favorite show. She is now nine.) She fell asleep on the couch by 8:00 under her Dora blanket and I went back to my homework, sneaking peeks at the peacefully sleeping toddler on occasion. When her grandmother and grandfather got home that night, they asked me to come back the following day and I agreed readily. We talked briefly before I left, I told them about our day, about her diaper change freak-out (about which they were just as puzzled as I was), about our walk, and then I said a quiet 'good night' to a still-sleeping A, and walked to my car.
I wasn't even out of the driveway before the tears began. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something was off with her. Ordinarily, the diaper change incident would have been an abuse red flag for me, but I'd gotten to know the little girl's grandparents well over the past year, and her relationship with them, and she positively genuinely adored them both. I'd seen her mother only once, a tall, thin woman who closely resembled her daughter, and never even heard a word about her father. It seemed to me that this little girl was very loved and cared for even in the ever-ambiguous 'difficult circumstances', which for all I knew, could have been the cause of her distress. Or she could have had special needs. She was definitely delayed. But I didn't know enough about special needs to draw any type of conclusion. So I cried, and I prayed, the whole way home. "God, I don't know what you want me to do here. I want to help her. I want to do what you want me to do, but I don't know what that is. Please show me the way. Please help me do your will. And please protect that sweet little girl from whatever is haunting her." Then I went home and researched anti-social behaviors in toddlers all night.
I want to be clear here that even though in those early days, my gut told me that something was 'off', I purposely avoided jumping to any conclusions, because I simply didn't know enough about the situation. I was in a state of watchful waiting - observing her behavior and conferring with her grandparents to help determine what she needed, what was at the root of her struggles. I still believe that was the right thing to do. And in the meantime, A and I made memories.
More of those stories - perhaps a more light-hearted post, next time. As much as I'd like to end this post on a happy note, I've reached my emotional limit for the day and need to think about something else for a while. And in case you're wondering, I promise not to write a post about every single day of the past seven years. That first day with A just made such an impression on me, it was the day she grabbed a piece of my heart and never gave it back... it deserved to be fully explained.
The pictures from those earliest days are also back when I, ever the technophobe, was still using a 35 mm film camera, so they are not on my computer. The earliest photo I have on my computer of the two of us was probably around six months after that first day, and perhaps it's the happy note I need to end this post.
 |
| Taking a rest/nap. Yay, grainy old cell phone pictures! Oh, how I so loved those naps, and the rare cuddles they afforded me. |
Miss her!
ReplyDeleteThis is a beautiful post. I hope to read more of them. :)
ReplyDelete