Little Boy Lost

Lonnie had never heard of disability activism yet, he was, in his own peculiar way, quite proud to be a dwarf. He was aware that people found the way he looked funny, and he understood that he was unusual in a world that values blandness, but nevertheless, he learned to love himself. He made a point of going to the shops, of going about his business in the small town close to where he lived, and even though people still stared and mocked him from time to time, he was a big enough person to realize that the problem was not his, but theirs. It is a grave pity that so many of those ignorant people could not understand that basic truth.
Beth Singleton left Drumlin – and Tristan Fowler – several years after the events described in this book. She went back to nursing, and on the odd occasion our paths cross, she always reports that she is very happy.
And maybe she is.

Annie is still around. I see her from time to time, and she always makes me smile. The pain of her experiences with Charlie are long forgotten. She finds the world too rich a place to waste on such sadness.
The question the police asked when we discussed Annie with them is a common one in the case of people with learning disabilities: how can someone who is technically just as bright as most ‘normal’ people be intellectually disabled? The reality is that Annie is quite an intelligent young woman, and a very gifted artist. Yet the way she experiences the world is very different to the way you or I do, and she has difficulty with many things – not least being communication.
I often wonder if the term ‘disability’ is an appropriate way of thinking about people like my friends in Drumlin at all. I really believe they are just different. And I have always thought that difference is something we should celebrate rather than hide away or try to mould into an image of conformity.
Yet Annie is another person for whom the world is just too difficult a place. She is more at home on her mountain, in the fields and the woods and the high places. And even that is disappearing. I have, of late, come to think of her as an endangered species whose habitat is being gradually eroded by developers and builders. There is a large housing estate not a mile from her home now, and a factory is to be built later this year where her woods are situated.
Lonnie continued to attend Drumlin, more as a member of staff than as a client (the lines are often blurred, as sometimes seemed natural there) until his death, as a result of a congenital heart problem, at the age of forty-two. Of my friend I can say that he took life on his own terms and did not look back. He died a contented and well-loved man.

The appropriate answer to: ‘Are you my girlfriend/boyfriend?’ is ‘No, I like you very much, but I am your friend.’ It is simple, truthful and in no way open to misinterpretation.