Identified: The Maya Price Story

Letter from Maya's Mother to Maya's Grandmother

(Letter to Linda Price's mother, Maya's grandmother, known as "Grandma Helen")

June 13, 1994

Hi Mom!

I'm very sorry it has taken me so long to get this letter to you. It has been pretty chaotic since Maya's arrival a few months ago. I know you were shocked to find out that we had adopted another child and I'm sorry had to tell you the news with only twenty minutes left on your phone card.

When we last spoke, I think I was only able to tell you that we adopted a seven-year-old girl named Maya. (Carl was running around and banging on each of the kitchen chairs ten times when you called. That was the noise you heard and why I had to hand the phone off to Alan.) Our friend Jessica Porter, the social worker I told you about, had called us to take Maya in as a foster child until they were able to find parents to adopt her. See, most couples want to adopt babies and they had been searching for Maya a set of adoptive parents for almost a year.

When we met Maya, we were hesitant to take her home with us. We arrived at Baptist Children's Home and they brought out a very small girl with matted hair and open cuts on her arms. Her fists were clenched and she seemed on the verge of hitting someone. She was staring at the floor and standing very, very still. Jessica told me that the cuts were not self-inflicted, but I felt still felt uneasy. I told her (out of Maya's earshot, of course!) that as much as we wanted to help, we did not have enough money to care for a child with emotional or psychological needs. Even though I whispered my concern to Jessica, Maya looked up at me, slowly, like she heard me. I don't know how she heard me, but she did. Her chin was jutted out in determination and her eyes glared at me. Mom, you should see her eyes; they are like nothing I have ever seen before. They are a brilliant violet, the color of lilies. They also have no other colors or imperfections, like perfect lilac stones. When she glared at me with those violet eyes, I could see unexpected tears collecting in the corners. I looked at Allan and he nodded at me. He had already fallen in love with the little girl.

Since we brought her home, Maya has not spoken to me, Alan or Carl. For the first two weeks, she spoke to no one. She did follow me from room to room and, if I said something out loud, like "I wish Carl would pick up these toys!" Maya would frantically start picking up his toys. I would try to praise her or hug her, but that was going too far. If I moved in close for a hug, she would bolt onto the front porch, where she would sit for hours on the front steps, her knees pulled into her chest. I finally learned to simply say "Thank you, Maya."

Summer didn't give in as easily as the rest of us. During the day, she observed Maya intently, trying to figure out what interested small, mysterious girl. At night, she would sneak into Maya's room and I would hear her telling tales of imaginary dogs that protected the house at night, a family of overgrown, talking, purple bunnies that came to play every Easter and the night that Santa Claus got stuck in our chimney. Oh yes, Summer still has a knack for making up stories.

One morning, after I had made a breakfast of banana nut muffins and fresh fruit, Summer bounced into the room with Maya walking stiffly behind her. Summer asked me what we were going to do that day but, before I could answer, Maya pulled on the hem of Summer's shirt. "Oh yeah!" Summer said, "Maya said she liked the muffins."

Mom, I have not heard this violet-eyed little girl speak one word since she moved into our house two months ago. What was I supposed to think? I accused Summer of making up a story.

"I'm not, mama!" Summer whined, "She told me right before we came into the kitchen. She likes the banana muffins." (Summer's voice was doing that thing where it becomes exceptionally shrill at the end of an exceptionally whiny sentence.)

I approached both girls very slowly and bent down eye level with them. Summer was still insisting "I didn't lie, I didn't lie," but I put my finger to my mouth to shush her. I looked at Maya and smile. This did not have the intended effect; she moved further behind Summer so that I could no longer see her face. So, I stood up, turned away from both girls and said, as I walked into the laundry room, "I will leave these muffins on the counter in case you girls get hungry." A few minutes later, as I was unloading the dryer, Summer called out, "Maya said, 'Thank you.'"

I know that we will have to address this issue if she does not begin to talk soon, but it warms my heart to see Summer and Maya together. Summer is usually skipping from place to place, singing or calling out her next big idea as Maya follows steadily behind her. Most mornings, when I pass by her room, I find Maya in bed with Summer.

If it weren't for my oldest child, I do not think I would know what Maya's voice sounded like at all. One night, as I was heading downstairs to watch Law and Order with Alan, I heard Summer softly telling Maya (who had snuck into Summer's bed), "Don't be scared, school is fun! You get to read books and learn how to spell words and, on Fridays, you can buy an ice cream."

I laughed quietly to myself and almost missed the murmured words.

"How will I know how to spell the words?"

I pressed my ear up against the wall, wanting so much to hear that little voice again.

"Because silly," Summer replied, "The teacher shows them to you first."

"What if I don't know anyone? Who will help me if I get lost?"

Several tears of joy began to roll down my face as I listened, for the first time, my middle child's voice.

Summer did not hesitate with her answer. "I'll be there," she said, "You will know me and I can help you. If you get lost, I can find you."

I know that you tried to tell me several times that you wished I had a sister, to share these types of moments with. I love Henry, but I now realize that having a brother is not exactly the same as having a sister. (Please don't tell him I said that!)

When you and Dad come to visit, I will warn you that Maya may not talk. (Your other two grandchildren will, as they always do!) She will, however, smile at you, shyly shake your hand and may even pass you a message through Summer.

I hope that you and Dad are having fun in Ontario, but we look forward to having you back! And yes, I will make squash casserole when you come for a visit!

Much love and many hugs,

Linda

P.S. I am enclosing a ninety minute phone card so that next time you can talk to the kids! (Or, at least to Summer and Carl. Maybe even Maya! Fingers crossed!)