Before Ben began his time at Frankie Lemmon School, we heard at various times from various doctors that he would never walk, never talk, never eat, never learn to read or write, never live independently. We were still hiding in our uncertainty, still hearing those devastating words ringing in our ears: "Ben will never be normal. Nothing will ever be normal." No parent wants to hear those words, but it is an especially bitter pill to swallow when nobody can tell you what you can expect. Although chromosome disorders in general are quite common, each individual disorder is rare. When we finally received Ben's diagnosis after years of piecing together different complications and delays, we learned that his was the 40th diagnosis of that particular chromosome deletion. Globally. Ever. (Now, I'm sure that there are far greater numbers that remain undiagnosed.) We felt as if we were looking for a soft place to land in that storm, and did we ever find one.
We like to say that for each year at Frankie Lemmon, Ben conquered a new "never will he" milestone, but he also made progress in every area each day. Thanks to the truly amazing group effort of every single person at Frankie Lemmon School, by the end of his first year, Ben walked without help of a walker and made significant progress in his eating and his communication.
As Ben started his second year, we were so amazed at the progress in Ben's communication via picture books and iPad use that we started to accept that even if Ben could never talk to us, we would all be just fine because he didn't really need to speak to communicate with us. No sooner did we get comfortable with that idea than he decided to start talking, and he hasn't stopped since. We can't keep up with his language explosions, and now he spells, reads, and graces us with frequent concerts of some beloved FLS songs.
Thanks to Frankie Lemmon School, the little boy who would never do anything is a walker, a talker, a singer, a reader, an iPad genius, a number lover, a jumper, a climber, a hamburger aficionado, a hugger, an emerging writer, a music lover, a brother wrestler, and a normal little boy. That's right. A normal little boy in a normal family living a very normal life.
Of course all of the accomplishments Ben made during his time at Frankie Lemmon School blew us out of the water, but there is something greater at work there. I remember something Janet Sellers told us when we visited the school before enrolling Ben. After meeting all of the staff and students, I mentioned that it seemed like everyone truly belonged there, that nobody seemed to act as if this was "just a job." She got a little tear in her eye (and this is not a woman who cries so easily) and replied, "No, someone who felt that way wouldn't last long around here." The staff at Frankie Lemmon School is truly a family. They are hope givers and miracle workers (but I bet they would hesitate to call themselves so, even though it's altogether true). I sent Ben to school each day knowing that everyone from the cab driver to his classroom teachers and therapists, to the office staff, the volunteers, and our beloved custodian, Matt (Seriously, Ben hugged him on the last day of camp last week and said, "I love you, Matt, I love you!") had genuine concern for Ben's well being and abilities. I also know that the love doesn't end when your time there does, and it goes both ways.
Thank you for being the spark that helped our little boy become the person he was meant to be. Thank you for shining a light on him and proving that there are no limits. Thank you for loving our baby and making him feel important and special. Thank you for taking care of our entire family in ways you might not even realize you did.
ALL of the Townsends love everyone at Frankie Lemmon School |
Thank you for being the spark that helped our little boy become the person he was meant to be. Thank you for shining a light on him and proving that there are no limits. Thank you for loving our baby and making him feel important and special. Thank you for taking care of our entire family in ways you might not even realize you did.
Ben with all three of his classroom teachers: Miss J, Forbis, and Miss Caroline |