I have no clever acronym that sums up who I am. Six years ago, I was a divorced woman without children (DFNK). Now, I’m a committed woman (not married, but in a dedicated relationship) with three adult “bonus” kids—twin daughters who are now 25 and an almost 21-year-old son, Eric, who has profound disabilities.
Eric was born with Williams Syndrome and is also on the autism spectrum. He faces significant developmental delays and complex medical challenges, including a congenital heart defect and chronic kidney disease. If I were to create an acronym for my life now, maybe it would be CF3BK—but really, none of them would make sense to anyone except me.
I choose to call them my stepchildren because it’s simpler for others to understand, and it reflects the closeness we share. Together with my partner, Jerry, we are a family.
When I met Jerry a little over six years ago, I was actively pursuing adoption. I had completed and passed a home study with an adoption agency and was working through various networks to find a match. The desire to adopt had been in my heart long before I faced fertility struggles in my marriage. I had always felt called to both save a life and create a family. So when I found myself divorced and single at 40, I wasn’t willing to wait any longer.
At 42, just as an adoption match fell apart, I met Jerry. We fell in love. Not long after, I met his beautiful twin daughters, Kaitlyn and Chelsea, who were 19 at the time—and I fell in love with them too. Jerry moved in with his two cats, and for a time, the twins also lived with us. Eventually, I met Eric, who lived with his mom a few hours away, and he claimed the rest of my heart.
A few years ago, Eric suddenly came to live with us after his mom passed away unexpectedly. Until then, I had little to no experience with special needs care. I didn’t know what to do or how to do it, but I felt an unwavering certainty that I was ready.
It’s hard to explain how I knew. It was a deep, instinctive pull—call it gut instinct, call it intuition. My heart and mind were completely aligned. I remember taking my mom and dad out for coffee to tell them that Eric would be moving in and that I was “all in.” They replied, “Then so are we.”
With the incredible support of Eric’s sisters, Kaitlyn and Chelsea, my life with Jerry changed instantly. We went from a carefree, travel-loving couple to full-time caregivers for a medically complex child who needed tube feeding and diaper changes. I won’t pretend it was easy—it wasn’t. The family dynamic shifted overnight. The kids were in deep grief over losing their mom. Eric’s anxiety was so intense he would bite his lips until they bled. He was severely underweight and could walk, but would tire quickly. The twins struggled with their grief. We had once been incredibly close, but now there was distance. We wrestled with control issues, trust, grief, breakdowns in communication, and emotional disconnection. It felt like a bomb had gone off in our family and blown us apart.
Amid the chaos, Eric was the glue holding us together—along with my unshakable faith that I was meant to be here. I remember one particularly difficult night when family tensions were high, Jerry and I were out of sync, and I felt deeply alone. My mind was swirling with negative thoughts, and my heart was weighed down with fear, confusion, and doubt—even despair.
I went into Eric’s room and picked up a book I loved reading to him: You’re Here for a Reason by Nancy Tillman. As I read aloud, an overwhelming sense of peace washed over me. It felt as though God was speaking directly to me through these words:
“You’re here for a reason, it’s totally true,
You’re part of a world that is counting on you.
Life works together, the good and the bad,
The silly and awful, the happy and sad…
To paint a big picture we can’t always see,
A picture that needs you, most definitely.
Remember the next time a day goes all wrong,
To somebody else, you will always be strong.”
Tears of relief filled my eyes as I read. Eric looked up, smiled, and gently touched my face, as if he knew I needed love wrapped around me in that moment. Strength flowed back into my body, and the certainty returned—I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I had always read the book to remind Eric that he was here for a reason. That night, I heard the message for myself. I still cry whenever I read it. I reach for that book whenever I’m struggling, and each time, it renews my hope.
Today, Eric is thriving. He just graduated high school from an incredible nonprofit, Pattison’s Academy, where he learned to communicate using a speech device. Earlier this year, he had a breakthrough—without any prompting, he used his device to tell Jerry and me that he was happy and that he loved us.
Though he’s too old for me to adopt alongside Jerry, I recently became his official legal co-guardian. Eric will always have complex medical needs—this is a constant in his life. His health remains a major part of his journey. He has chronic kidney disease and was recently placed on the kidney transplant list, beginning our search for a donor. Through it all, we remain a family, and Eric keeps us grounded in what truly matters.
I don’t want people to pity either me or Eric. Pity reduces Eric to something “less than” and dismisses his abilities—it frustrates me deeply. I also don’t want to be placed on a pedestal. While I love Wonder Woman and appreciate the comparisons, I am not her. I am not a savior, saint, angel, or any other lofty title people give me. I’m just human—with flaws, fears, and doubts. I appreciate kind words, but when the focus shifts to elevating me, it takes the focus off Eric and others like him. We all need to be Wonder Women, heroes, guardians, and protectors for people like Eric.
Eric has expanded my heart in ways I never imagined. He is the reason I have strength. He inspires me to love without limits, lean into my faith, and live fiercely by my values. I’m not a hero—I’m simply giving Eric what he and others like him deserve. He’s opened not only my heart but also my eyes.
I share our story because I want others to feel the same inspiration I have. People often say, “I don’t know how you do it,” which to me sounds like, “Thank goodness you’re doing it so I don’t have to.” That’s not helpful. Instead of saying that, take action—do something for someone with a disability.
Here are some ideas:
- When you see a child with disabilities, say hello. Introduce yourself: “Hi, my name is ___. What’s yours?” Then introduce your own child, even if they’re shy or uncertain.
- Teach your children empathy for differences and kindness toward kids who aren’t like them.
- If you see someone with a disability struggling to get through a door, open it for them. I’m always grateful when people do this without me having to ask.
- Support nonprofits like Pattison’s Academy that create programs for profoundly disabled children.
I believe Eric can change the world—he has certainly changed mine. My life’s purpose is to help create that change. As Mahatma Gandhi said, “Be the change you wish to see in the world.”
So—what change will you choose to be?