The misconstrued assumption that she has no language

I’m a writer.

A reader.

A word person.

And my five-year-old daughter, fourth in the line of sisters, has no words.

At times her inability to speak brings tears to my eyes. Somehow, without my full approval, part of me has decided that because she cannot yet speak, she has no language.

Evangeline came to our family from an orphanage in Ukraine when she was two years old. I suspected she would not be speaking. It usually takes kids with Down syndrome a bit longer to gain the strength and coordination needed to produce words and her start in life wasn’t great. No therapy, not a whole lot of social interaction.

I was right. She wasn’t speaking.

Two-and-a-half years later she still is not speaking (although she said doggie last week out of the blue, clear as day, hit me right between the eyes, can I think of any more cliches to get my point across?). Once in a while she makes a sound that is close to “Hi” or “Papa”, and we take it. We dance, give high fives, smile, laugh.

This is it! She’s going to start speaking.

But she doesn’t. We all talk to her, sing to her, sign at her but she doesn’t speak.

Realizing her language

I want to hear her voice. I want words.

But I don’t get them.

I pray. “God, help me. I don’t know how to do this.”

And he answers with one word.

Language.

And I am reminded of my past. Our family lived in Kiev, Ukraine (the city my husband was born and raised) as missionaries for four years. Our plane landed on the hardened, snowy Ukrainian soil (January’s not a great time to move, um, anywhere) and the only words I could put forth confidently in Russian were, “Hello, my name is Gillian.”

So I studied.

I studied Russian every day for over three years. I ate, slept, breathed Russian, and still it took a long time to speak. And so I got by in group settings on body language. I laughed when everyone else laughed. I met eyes with my husband to see what he was doing and copied him. I watched. I observed. I learned the cultural language in Kiev way before I learned Russian.

In those first few months it meant a lot when someone in Ukraine spoke English with me. Even if he or she didn’t know my language well, I appreciated the effort.

Learn her language, Gillian, even if it is not the language you prefer. She has a voice. Make no mistake, she is speaking to you.

Learning her language

I begin to pay attention to my daughter. I watch. I observe.

Indeed, she speaks. Even without words or signs, Evie communicates.

*A shoe thrown at you – please, take me outside.

*A small hand leading you to the bathroom – I want to take a bath.

*Arms reaching up – hold me.

*Finding her purple coat and bringing it to you – school.

*Going to her seat at the kitchen table and getting in – I want to eat.

Days pass and Evangeline gets more comfortable as a member of our family. She speaks to us in the way she knows how. As we’ve taken the time to learn her language, she is freed up to speak more. She has two signs now: music and more.

We still talk to Evie all the time. We teach her signs with hand-over-hand prompting.  I praise God for the communication my daughter and I have, and still, I petition for actual words. My dream of one day hearing a whole, clear sentence out of my daughter has not dissipated.

But I am thankful God slowed me down enough to realize Evangeline has a language, even though it may not be one I prefer. Having kids really isn’t about our preferences as parents though, is it?

Every person has a voice.

It was a lesson I desperately needed to learn.

My five-year-old daughter who is currently non-verbal has a language.

And it is up to her family to learn it.

Do you have a child who is non-verbal? What’s his/her language?