How is your bond with Evangeline?

“How is your emotional connection to Evie going?” Nicola asked last week after I opened the blog for questions.

Thank you for asking about our bond, Nicola. I am a writer, so of course, as I thought about how to answer your question, a story emerged. Enjoy!

***

This afternoon the kids and I went outside to play. Our new dog Scout got to come out and bask in the sunshine too once I figured out how to screw her leash anchor into a small patch of malleable earth next to our house (the rest of our ‘yard’ is cement. Long story, different post).

I sank into a saggy folding chair, flicked a pair of over-sized sunglasses on to my nose from the crown of my head, and breathed in the 80 degree air.

Scout panted at my feet, Zoya lost herself in some make-believe world with neighbors, Elaina stretched out next to me; her nose in a book, and Polly giggled as a friend imprinted her body onto the ground with a sturdy piece of purple chalk.

Evangeline paced happily in front of me, hands flapping, sounds erupting in  my world that equate joy and excitement. “Oooohhhhhh, ahhhhhhhhh, yeeeeehaaaaaw.” To others probably just unpleasant noises they’d want to tone down. If she were a radio, someone  would get up and turn the dial. To me, though, it is her.

It is my daughter’s beautiful voice.

Last summer an afternoon like this was impossible without another adult present. Those truly were the dog days of summer in the world of Marchenko. Polly nursed an affinity for the street. Elaina and Zoya struggled with turn taking. Most of their games ended in tears. And Evangeline foraged the pavement for rocks and leaves and pieces of wood to eat.

“Evie, no!” my voice commands my daughter’s attention today. A chubby fist, still so baby after five years, already in motion to bring a small stick to her mouth to eat, pauses.

Her bent body straightens. She looks for me. Our eyes lock.

“No eat!”

I am all business.

She pauses, turns her chin towards her hand, and releases her grasp.

“Good job, sweetie! Way to go, Evie!”

If I ended this excerpt here, you would celebrate, right? This is a little girl that is non-verbal. So far she has no signs, she was abandoned at birth because of her diagnosis of Down syndrome, and it has taken an awful lot of work for both of us to bond.

Just wait until what comes next.

“I am so proud of you Evie! Come here,” I say. “Come here and give Mama a hug.”

I hold my arms out to Evie and will every cell in my face to attempt to communicate the hope in my heart.

The hope that my daughter will come to me when I ask her to. The hope that she will hear my voice and respond.

A slow smile unwinds across Evangeline’s face. Her feet rock back and forth and I stretch my arms through the tips of my fingers. If possible, my stretch would reach her and draw her to me where she belongs.

But then some of the magic, the hard work, the reckoning and redemption that have slowly taken place in the last three years since this child has joined our family would be lost.

This magic, here, now.

She takes a step towards me.

I gulp.

“Come here, sweetie. Good job, baby girl. Good job.”

Giggles erupt and she is in my arms, hugging me, proud of herself that she heard me, understood, responded, and sought comfort.

I’m proud too. I had no idea that bonding would be so much work for both of us. I assumed I would sign a piece of paper and she would fall into my arms where she belongs.

That scenario, however, has not been anywhere close to the adoption Polaroid that has cloudily developed in our lives.

But today on hot cement, my daughter has walked into my embrace. It took us both a long time to get here.

And I hope I am not so naive to think that this is it, from here on out everything will be sunshine and outstretched arms.

All relationships take work.

Evie and I are just starting to hear each other’s voice. We have a lot more to say to each other.

But our bond is there. It’s strengthening.

And it feels good.