This was a “special” school for children with disabilities so severe that the district school could no longer teach them.
Lizzy hasn’t been learning all year. Her teacher has told us that she frequently “leaves” by getting lost in her imagination. Some days she insists she’s a princess. Other days she’s in frogland. Then there are days she just says nothing.
The tests say her IQ has declined.
I knew the day would come when our district would no longer work for her, so it’s not as if I was shocked. I just hoped it wouldn’t be for a few more years.
Now I was touring a new school with my daughter and mother, and as we entered a classroom,
Lizzy looked at the teacher in the middle of the room and the children listening to her. She walked right up to an empty chair and sat down.
The teacher handed her a sheet with words for the song the class was singing, and she started to sing along.
Another little girl lit up as soon as she saw Lizzy and asked if she could sit next to her.
My daughter sat in the middle of the class and looked as if she completely belonged.
My mom started to cry.
The program director was thrilled and kidded that we were going to have a hard time getting her to leave.
From the time Lizzy was six weeks old, I’d been concerned about her development. Despite all the doctors, therapists, and teachers we’ve seen, no one has been able to clearly diagnose my daughter’s condition.
While I’ve given up hope of getting a permanent answer for what ails my daughter, I’ve learned to take some comfort in the small victories. Here was another example where my daughter’s adaptability provided the answer all of us needed.
