Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty-four
Nash
January
Dear Nash,
I had my first therapy appointment today. It went well, I think. We talked about a lot of things briefly so he could understand where I’m coming from, but then he asked me to talk about one good thing that happened to me recently.
I talked about meeting you. I told him about how you took care of me, how you are such a good friend, and how kind you are.
I told him about walks on the beach to see the seals, and about that day painting and drawing with Nancy.
I told him about the future I want for myself…
for us. And Nash, I had the biggest smile on my face the whole time.
I’m not naive enough to think therapy is done after one good session, or that every session will be so positive, but it felt like a good way to start. He’s a kind man, looks a bit like a grandpa, if you know what I mean, complete with a grey knitted cardi with leather buttons.
I wore my stowaway hoodie to therapy. It felt like I had you with me, and that made the whole thing easier. Fuck, why is it so much easier to speak openly in a letter than it is in person. I think you’re a secret genius with your pen-pal idea.
I miss you a lot. Give Nancy a hug from me, and say hi to everyone for me. Tell Rain you want some of the Danish butter cookies I sent him the recipe for. They were to die for.
You’re in my heart, Doc. Every day.
C
xx
Nancy has settled in better than I thought she would, and as Abigail and I drink coffee in the kitchen, she’s playing beautifully on her own, talking to Wrinkles while she lies on top of the giant pink seal from Drew and Caitlin, somewhat literally named Pinkie.
The name gives me the ick, but it’s her seal to name, and so I have sucked it up as best I can.
“We just need to be mindful of the honeymoon period,” Abigail says. In all the research I’d done in preparation for the adoption, and in my experience as a paediatrician, the ‘honeymoon period’ was something I became aware of.
It’s a phenomenon with adoption whereby, in an effort to avoid upsetting new caregivers, adopted children can mask behaviour they think might be met with anger or frustration, and instead try to appear angelic, calm, or overly compliant.
It stems from a fear of rejection and a sense of caution in an unknown situation.
“What do I need to look out for with her, do you think?” I ask Abigail.
“It tends to last anything from two to eight weeks, so be on the lookout from here on out, I guess. Basically, her behaviour may start to deteriorate. She might answer back, have tantrums, cry, anything, really.”
I wince at the thought, not for myself – as a parent of an adopted child, I knew what to expect – but for Nancy. I don’t want her to feel upset or like she can’t express herself. When I voice this to Abi, she’s quick to correct me.
“It’s actually a really good sign, Nash.
It means she’s building enough trust with you to express her feelings and anxieties.
If it starts to become apparent that she’s displaying these more challenging behaviours, I’d suggest that if you were thinking of some therapy for her, that would be a good time.
And remember to lean on your support network. That’s when you’ll need them the most.”
Abi’s calm, measured, and, crucially, experienced advice goes a long way to easing my concerns, and after a few more minutes of chatting, she packs her notebook into her bag and leaves.
February
Dear Corey,
I think it’s safe to say the honeymoon is well and truly over.
Everyone keeps reassuring me it’s a good sign, that she trusts me enough to test boundaries, and logically I know they’re right.
But Corey, watching my baby girl kick out at me and scream her lungs hoarse, cry until she can’t catch her breath, and even hiding so well I panic when I can’t find her.
She ran away from me today while we were out at the garden centre with Mum and Dad, and I’ve never been so frightened in my life.
I keep doing the little things I can to reassure her that I love her.
I warm her pyjamas, I play with her, I read to her, I’ve even tried painting with her – the results were nowhere near as good as yours.
My painting skills leave a lot to be desired.
I want to reassure her that nothing she does will scare me away.
And while that’s true, my subconscious keeps telling me that I’m a terrible parent, and that I should have found someone better for her.
Do all parents feel this way? When you worked with children, did you see any of this?
I feel like I’m a bit lost, and I hate myself for it but I can’t help wondering just what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. My brothers and sister have been amazing, especially Cole actually, who hangs out with us a lot. I’m so grateful to have them.
Anyway, enough about me. I’m so glad that therapy is underway for you.
It will be hard, that’s for sure given your life experiences, but I promise you, it will be worth it in the end.
When you can recognise your strength, your compassion, your boundless empathy the way I and so many other people do, you’ll know the hard work was worth it.
Write again soon, and let me know how things are going.
Enclosed is your official invitation to my ‘birthday bonanza’ as Cole is calling the barbecue I’m hosting at the end of March.
I really hope you can make it. Bring Emma too, I’d love to meet her.
She had me in stitches when we video-chatted the other day.
Oh, and thank you for speaking to Nancy.
As soon as I told her who was on the phone she was so excited to see your face, although not as excited as I am to see you again.
You’re in my heart, little rabbit. Every day.
Nash
x
Nancy is into her third week of twice-a-week therapy sessions with a specialist who uses creative arts and play as her methodology.
Dr Rathe was not at all surprised to hear about Nancy’s challenging behaviours and actually referred to them as ‘mild’.
This should have been reassuring, but when it’s my child suffering, no matter the reason, I can’t help but feel responsible.
I feel like a terrible parent when my patience runs thin, and I snap at her, or when I just want to crawl into bed and pull the duvet over my head and pretend it’s not happening.
My parents remind me often of how they felt the same with us as children, and there were five of us, including Archer and Cole, who were a handful just on their own.
The upshot is that the therapy is making a difference, even in such a short amount of time.
Nancy reacts very well to art therapy, and Dr Rathe has discussed with me how the colours she chooses, the images she creates, and the process of painting in and of itself, are allowing her a safe space to explore her emotions, express herself, and process her past trauma.
She’s also been working with Nancy on healthy coping mechanisms, so now, when Nancy feels herself getting worked up, she has a ‘sanctuary’ in her bedroom.
Archer made her a small play tent using some wooden poles and cream canvas.
He strung some fairy lights inside, and we filled it with cushions and blankets.
So when she feels like she needs a moment, she simply tells me ‘tent’, and we get her settled in there until she’s ready to come back out.
The longest she stayed in was about an hour and a half, but each time she’s gone in, it gets less and less.
This is a marathon, not a sprint, as Dr Rathe keeps reminding me, and I’m thankful that Nancy’s making progress. I just want her to be happy all the time. And she is, for the most part, but then her mood can flip on a dime, and I’m left scrambling.
Witnessing these types of behaviour in a professional capacity is one thing, but dealing with it as a father is quite something else.
I’m glad to have some support today. Shelley and Owen are here visiting for the weekend, and Nancy and Shell have hit it off like a house on fire. Shelley painted her nails with a children’s peel-off nail varnish yesterday, and I think Nancy now believes she hung the moon.
“They’ll be at that all day, I reckon,” Owen says, as we watch Nancy play hairdressers with Shell. Nancy’s using a bright yellow comb, and Owen and I wince every time Shell’s hair gets a bit of a forceful tug as my daughter gives her a ‘makeover’.
“Probably,” I chuckle.
“Have you heard from Corey recently?”
“Yeah,” I say, unable to help the soft smile that takes over my face. “He called the day before yesterday. He’s doing really well.”
“Any news on that ex of his?”
“Not yet. The police have suspicions he’s using one of his parents’ homes overseas, so if he comes back to the UK, he’ll get picked up at the airport.”
“But what if he isn’t overseas? Are they still looking?”
“I don’t know, to be honest. I don’t like to question Corey too much about it when he calls. It just stresses him out. He’s had a rough couple of weeks with therapy, so we’re keeping the chat light.”
“That makes sense,” Owen says as he drains the last of his coffee.
“What time are you guys heading home?” I ask. They’ve been here since Friday and are leaving today. “Will you have time for Sunday lunch before you go?”
“No, I don’t think so. What d’you reckon, Shell?” he calls across the room.
“Hmm?” she responds in question.
“What time are we getting on the road?”
“Soon, I think. I have an early meeting tomorrow, so I need to get back in time for a bath and a bottle… I mean glass… of wine.” We all laugh, Nancy, joining in louder than anyone else, always keen to be involved.
“OK, then, poppet. Finish up with Auntie Shell’s hair so she can get ready to go home.” Nancy pouts, and I worry that she’s about to have a meltdown, but Shelley turns in her chair and raises her eyebrows at my daughter.
“What did I promise you?” Shell asks.