18 Years Home

The first time I saw Dasha’s face, I caught my breath.

She had blonde hair pulled into pigtails with two big white bows and wore a dark dress with a white lace collar. There was just a hint of a smile on her face. I've often wondered who she was looking at when that photograph was taken and what they were doing to coax that little smile out of her. Her photograph was on Reece’s Rainbow, a website featuring children with special needs waiting for families.

I’d looked at photographs of other children, but there was something about this little girl. She looked so familiar to me, even though I’d never seen her before.

We had hoped to adopt a little girl close to Lily's age, and Dasha was born the very same year. When we discovered that she also shared my mother's birthday, it felt like another sign that she was meant to be part of our family.

Not long after we sent our adoption paperwork to Ukraine, I discovered I was pregnant. At almost 42, and having never gotten pregnant easily, I was shocked. We were asked whether we wanted to reconsider the adoption, but I couldn't imagine giving up on the little girl whose photograph had captured my heart.

We hadn't even met her, but somehow, she already felt like ours.

I couldn’t explain it then, and I’m not sure I can explain it now.

Months later, I found myself walking into a room in a Ukrainian orphanage, about to meet that little girl for the first time.

Several children, probably between five and seven years old, were sitting on the floor watching television. The orphanage director said something in Russian to the caregivers and children, but I didn’t understand a word of it. I was too busy scanning the little faces, trying to figure out which one belonged to Dasha.

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, this little ball of energy came racing toward the director and threw herself into her arms. She wrapped both arms around her neck and gave her the biggest hug, with a smile that lit up her entire face.

The director pointed toward me and told her, “This is your mama.”

Without missing a beat, Dasha launched herself into my arms, wrapped herself around me like a spider monkey, kissed my cheek, and held on tight.

I was stunned. I'd never imagined she'd be so happy and affectionate, without a hint of fear or shyness. I remember glancing over at Matt with a look that said, Can you believe how incredible she is? I think we were both completely blown away.

It was love at first sight.

And just like that, I met Dasha.

For two weeks, we visited Dasha twice a day for a few hours. We brought her snacks, juice boxes, bubbles, and a few toys we'd purchased. We also had a photo album of our family to share with her. 

We mostly met outside on their playground area and Dasha loved the attention and the food. She was animated, silly, and joyful. She loved to shower us with kisses on our cheeks, and after a few days, she didn't want to go back to her group when it was time of us to leave. 

After the judge declared us her parents, we returned to the US to wait out the court's mandatory ten-day-wait. Matt flew back to Ukraine, brought Dasha out of the orphanage and finished up all the requirements of Ukraine and the US needed to bring Dasha home. She arrived late on October 30, 2008 and met her new siblings. The very next day, she dressed up as a Colts Cheerleader and went trick or treating as her first American activity. I think it blew her mind that she could knock on a door and smiling people would answer and give her food, which she learned later was candy.  

Eighteen years have passed since that little girl with the infectious smile first threw her arms around me. Sometimes it's hard to believe how quickly those years have gone by.

When I think about the baby who was left behind simply because she had Down syndrome, I can't help but think about everything that might have been missed. All the laughter, the hugs, the personality, and the joy that Dasha has brought into our lives.

That little girl is now a young woman, and what a privilege it's been to watch her grow.

When I think about the young woman Dasha has become, one word comes to mind. Survivor.

There's a strength inside her that wasn't destroyed by her early experiences in life. It's a strength I think many of us wish we possessed. Dasha has always had an incredible ability to adapt and make the best of whatever life throws her way.

That doesn't mean she doesn't have her moments. She can get moody, frustrated, and downright mad, just like the rest of us. But those moments rarely last long, and somehow, she always seems to find her way back to that infectious smile.

Lately, I've noticed a new confidence in her. I think graduating from school and having more opportunities to socialize have been good for her. Her world has expanded, and she's embracing it. She's making new connections, enjoying new experiences, and now taking steps toward employment.

I sometimes wonder how much easier life would be for her if she could hear better and communicate more clearly. Those challenges can be frustrating, and understandably so. But Dasha has never been one to let frustration get the best of her for long. She adapts, finds another way, and keeps going.

It's one of the things I admire most about her.

One of the most important things Dasha has taught me over these 18 years is that you don't need words to communicate. Facial expressions, body language, and gestures can speak loud and clear.

I've watched how carefully Dasha observes people when she first meets them, trying to figure out how best to communicate with them. She often talks quickly and gets a little silly, which I suspect is partly her way of coping with the frustration of not being understood. She wants so badly to be part of the conversation, even when the words don't come easily.

Thankfully, most people respond to her outgoing personality and engage with her. And Dasha, being Dasha, is usually more than happy to keep the conversation going!

When I look at that photograph today, I see so much more than the little girl with the white bows and the hint of a smile.

I see a gift from God, born on the other side of the world, whose life would somehow become intertwined with ours. Of all the children we might have found, all the photographs we might have seen, there was Dasha.

Eighteen years later, I still believe God had a hand in bringing us together.

And I can't imagine our family without her.