A story about a very special little boy who is the light of his family's world.
I have a son who is the light of my world.
My son is six years old; yet in his brief lifetime he's endured so much.
He was born four months premature, weighing less than a pound at birth. He spent five months in the hospital's NICU, fighting off one thing after another; yet despite the grim prognosis from doctors, he survived.
After getting out of the hospital, the battles continued: he came home on supplimental oxygen, he had to wear monitors when in bed (in case he stopped breathing; he did that sometimes), and we did all we could to protect him from bugs that might make him sick.
We weren't always successful.
Oftentimes Wessley would end up in the hospital with frightening respiratory illnesses where his whole body would turn blue. This was when we turned to God, beseeching Him to spare our little boy.
God must have listened because our little guy is still with us.
At the age of one year, Wessley was diagnosed as having a rare form of muscular dystrophy, the same kind that struck the little poet, Mattie Stepanek. In time he would have to be on a ventilator, but for now, he was a happy, giggling little boy who lived life, loved life, despite being tethered to an oxygen tank.
In time he would have to be in a wheelchair, but for now he could get around by rolling on the ground.
Wherever there was a will to do something, he'd find a way to do it, to accomplish whatever goals he had in mind.
Wessley got that first wheelchair when he was three. He hated it at first (we did, too), but it gave him more freedoms than we (or he) ever thought possible.
He could go wherever he wanted, and his "buddy" (as he called his oxygen tank) could go right along with him. He could get the closest parking spaces, we didn't have to worry about things like steps or other barrirers, and he loved the feeling of being free to move about without difficulty.
At five, Wessley was enrolled in a school for kids with speical needs. He did very well from the get-go; it was here when we found out that our son was gifted. Very gifted.
He was alrady reading third-grade level books at five-and-a-half, he knew his letters and numbers, his colors, and different animals, sounds. He could create elaborate stories in his mind, put them on paper.
If only his physical body could match his mind!
Between hospital stays, Wessley thrived. He had many friends who'd come over to play with him after school; he could find many interesting things to do.
Now at the age of six, Wessley continues to amaze doctors (and just about everyone else) with his courage, his will to live, his stubborn nature. Not even being in an electric wheelchair or being hooked up to supplimental oxygen isn't enough to slow this little guy's busy agenda.
He has too much living to do, and nothing is going to get in his way if he sees to it.
Wessley has been through so much; it's a wonder we haven't gone crazy by now, what with his hospitalizations (he is in the hospital at least five to ten times a year on average), and it's a wonder that we, his parents, haven't divorced one another by now. Our love is as solid as ever; we would do everything humanely possible to ensure a brighter tomorrow for our son.
Yet it is his courage, his unfailing hope, that gets us thorugh. If we bemoan our situation, or worry about bills, all we have to do is look at our warrior-son and see how truly blessed we are.
So many other people don't have it nearly as good as we do; and it is all due to an angel that is in the guise of a special little boy that we are proud to call our son.
This is when we have to truly be thankful on this, the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday.
Let this coming of age story of a boy named Bean take you back to a simple time. Set in a small southern town in the 1960's, encircled by a river and gleaming white cotton fields.
Let this coming of age story of a boy named Bean take you back to a simple time. Set in a small southern town in the 1960's, encircled by a river and gleaming white cotton fields.
