The Winnick Family

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Told by Larry (Dad)

“When Alex walks into Jill’s House, they ask him, ‘What do you want to do?’ And when he’s finished, they ask, ‘What do you want to do next?’ That’s it! He gets to decide.”

If there’s one thing you should know about my son Alex, it’s that he likes to keep moving!

Alex is 16 and has Down syndrome. He loves basketball, bowling, baseball, and swimming. He rides boogie boards at the beach, cruises around in his electric drift car, and rarely stays in one place for long. In fact, the staff at Jill’s House have nicknamed him “the nomad” because he’s always on the go!

A Place to Just Be Alex

Alex has been coming to Jill’s House since he was six years old, and it’s one of his favorite places in the world.

What does Alex love most about Jill’s House? You might think it’s the pool (and he really does love that warm pool!), but honestly, I think it’s the independence and freedom.

All day long, at school, in therapy, and at home, people are asking things of him. Follow these instructions. Work on this skill. Finish this task. But when Alex walks into Jill’s House, they ask him, “What do you want to do?”

And when he’s finished, they ask, “What do you want to do next?”

That’s it! He gets to decide.

He might head to the gym, playground, sensory room, or chapel. He knows Jill’s House inside and out. And he loves the people! He remembers his caregivers by name and asks whether he’ll see his favorites the next time he visits.

For a kid who works hard all day to meet expectations, having a place where he can just be himself is pretty special.

From Nervous Beginnings to a Second Home

It’s funny to think about how far we’ve come, because my wife, Deidre, and I were incredibly nervous about Alex’s first overnight stay.

Deidre put him on the Jill’s House waiting list before he turned six. Alex had some challenging behaviors when he was younger, and we worried about how he’d do in a new environment.

We didn’t go anywhere that first weekend. We figured we’d better stay close to home because surely we’d get a call asking us to pick him up!

But everything went great.

That was nearly ten years ago, and Jill’s House has been part of our lives ever since. We’ve developed tremendous trust in the people who care for Alex. Everyone looks out for the best interests of the child, which in turn looks out for the whole family.

A Gift for Our Whole Family

When Alex is at Jill’s House, Deidre and I get something that’s hard to describe unless you’re raising a child with special needs: a chance to really rest.

I’m usually the one keeping up with Alex, constantly watching where he is and what he’s doing. So when he’s away, I might take a long motorcycle ride or tackle projects around the house.

We can each do what we need to recharge. Sometimes we sleep in, go out with friends, or even take a quick trip. And we get precious one-on-one time with our younger son, Zach, who’s 15.

Caregiving can be exhausting. Over the years, you get worn down. Having that mental and physical break is invaluable.

But what makes Jill’s House so special isn’t just the respite. It’s the people.

Everyone we’ve encountered has been kind, compassionate, and genuinely committed to the families they serve. After nearly ten years, we feel like we’re part of a family at Jill’s House. It’s not just a place where we drop Alex off. We know the people, and they know us.

In fact, Jill’s House has meant so much to us that when Deidre and I recently updated our estate plan, we named Jill’s House to be a beneficiary. It was an easy decision. We want other families to experience the same love, care, and support we’ve received.

Jill’s House has been an incredible blessing to our whole family.

And for Alex? It’s a place where he can walk through the door, be greeted by people who know and love him, and decide for himself what adventure comes next.

That’s pretty special.

 

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The Byrne Family

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Told by JoAnn and David (Parents)

“When we picked Nick up, he was happy to see us—but he was also calm and peaceful. When your son is nonverbal, you learn to pay attention to what his face, his body, and his demeanor are telling you. We knew Nick had been happy.”

Our son Nick has always had a way of surprising us.

Nick is 28, the third of our four children, and he is autistic and nonverbal. Today, he is what we affectionately call our “gentle giant”—calm, active, and an absolute joy. But we don’t take that joy for granted. There were some very difficult years along the way.

As a child, Nick struggled with severe self-injurious behavior, including head banging. Keeping him safe was a constant concern, and finding the right school and support was incredibly difficult. When Nick was 14, our family made the enormous decision to move to New Jersey in search of better opportunities for him.

It was a big upheaval. But over time, with a new school system, a little medication, and the maturity that came with getting older, we began to see Nick change. Today, when we look at the gentle young man he has become, we can only describe it as a miracle of God.

And Nick is busy.

He attends an adult day program Monday through Friday, but some of his favorite activities happen outside those hours. He runs about twice a week—with one of us riding a bike alongside him—works out weekly with an adaptive fitness trainer, and ice skates from September through May. He has even completed sprint triathlons with his sister by his side.

But life with Nick isn’t all big adventures. Sometimes joy looks like an ordinary afternoon in the kitchen. Not long ago, he came home from his day program and made banana bread with us, happily working away beside us. Those simple moments mean a lot.

Our faith has also been central to Nick’s story. When we arrived in New Jersey, our church, The Chapel, had only a small buddy system for people with disabilities. We approached the church because we simply wanted to be able to bring Nick with us on Sundays.

They embraced him—and something beautiful grew from there. Over the years, the ministry expanded, eventually adding Ark Two, a space specifically for young adults. Nick goes every Sunday and loves it. We sometimes say that Nick helped inspire that growth. He has had quite a ministry without saying a word.

It was through The Chapel that we learned about Jill’s House. This June, Nick attended his first Jill’s House adult respite weekend at Camp Shiloh. He had visited previously and seemed nervous, so we weren’t sure how the actual weekend would go. But when he returned, his whole demeanor seemed to say, Okay, this is cool.

The Jill’s House team had learned that Nick loves puzzles, so they had one waiting for him when he arrived. It gave him a familiar way to settle in before diving into the kinds of activities he enjoys most. Nick loves being active, and over the weekend he swam, climbed the rock wall, and even took on the zipline.

And because Nick was comfortable, we were comfortable. As we often say, “When he’s calm, I’m calm.” The Jill’s House team sent us updates and photos throughout the weekend, reassuring us that he was doing well. That gave us the freedom to do something we normally wouldn’t: spend a day away on a winery train through the Delaware Water Gap.

When we picked Nick up, he was happy to see us—but he was also calm and peaceful. When your son is nonverbal, you learn to pay attention to what his face, his body, and his demeanor are telling you. We knew Nick had been happy.

 

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The Downer Family

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Told by Lacy (Mom)

“Staff and volunteers began telling me how much Jude likes helping other campers, particularly someone who might need a little extra support. . . I knew Jude had a caring personality, but hearing these stories helped me see that part of him differently.“

My husband and I have three boys: Graham, Nathaniel, and Jude. Jude is 18, has Down syndrome, and is a junior in high school. He loves sports, being around people, and—although I didn’t fully realize it until Jill’s House—helping others.

We first heard about Jill’s House when Jude was around 13. Another dad whose son attended told me, “You should really check it out.”

I did—but I was very hesitant.

Jude had been to day camps, but he had never spent a night away from us. He also has sleep apnea and often wakes during the night. I remember thinking, How is this possibly going to work?

As we went through the admissions process, though, I began to feel more comfortable. They wanted to know so much about Jude, which told me they were taking seriously whether this would be a good fit for him. Learning about the trained staff and overnight support helped too.

And then one of Jude’s teachers told me she had volunteered with Jill’s House and said, “It’s fantastic.” That was what I needed to finally let go.

His first Weekend Adventures stay was probably harder on me than it was on him. I was grateful for the photos and updates letting me know he was safe and having a great time.

At Jill’s House Jude has loved sports, archery, horseback riding—and somehow they even got my child who hates arts and crafts to participate!

But something even more meaningful happened there.

Staff and volunteers began telling me how much Jude likes helping other campers, particularly someone who might need a little extra support. If he didn’t want to do a craft himself, he’d help someone else do it. He would notice another camper who might be struggling and wanted to help.

I knew Jude had a caring personality, but hearing these stories helped me see that part of him differently. At Jill’s House, other people saw Jude’s gift for helping others—and helped me see it, too.

I mentioned what I was hearing to his teachers, and they started noticing it too. Now they’re finding ways for him to use that strength at school. In one class, instead of putting him in a role where he was uncomfortable performing in front of a crowd, they let him help another student participate. I watched Jude guide that student onto the stage with his hand on his back.

Once we saw that gift in Jude, we started finding more places for him to use it.

Jill’s House gave the rest of our family something too. When his older brothers were home, we could focus more attention on them—sometimes something as simple as seeing a movie that Jude wouldn’t have enjoyed or watching their games without dividing our attention. As they left for college, my husband and I could go to dinner, see a movie, get things done around the house—or simply do nothing.

But what I love most is that Jill’s House is Jude’s experience. His brothers went away to camp, and Jill’s House gave Jude the chance to do something like they did. Each visit he has always come home proud of himself, carrying his own bags.

 

 

 

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The Jacoby Family

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Told by Brittany (Mom)

“Jill’s House has become a gift for our entire family. Henry gets an adventure that’s completely his own. Walker gets precious one-on-one time with us. My husband and I have the chance to rest and reconnect. “

If you meet my son Henry, the first thing you’d notice isn’t his diagnosis. You’d notice his smile.

Henry is 12 years old, and he’s a very happy boy. He loves people, loves adventures, and is always ready to go somewhere new. Whether it’s taking the train into downtown Chicago, riding the

water taxi, cheering on his older brother Walker at football and lacrosse tournaments, or simply going for a walk with our golden retriever, Otto, Henry is happiest when he’s out exploring the world.

Henry also has a rare genetic condition called FOXP1 syndrome. From the time he was a baby, we knew his journey would look different. He missed developmental milestones, and by age three, genetic testing gave us a diagnosis. Since then, our lives have been filled with school, therapies, and wonderful teachers and specialists who have helped him grow every step of the way.

Until last summer, though, there was one thing Henry had never done. He had never spent a night away from us. When another mom first told me about Windy City, Jill’s House camp in the greater Chicago area, I thought it sounded incredible. But I honestly couldn’t imagine Henry staying somewhere without us. Still, we decided to visit, met the staff, and eventually took a leap of faith.

I’ll never forget dropping him off for that first weekend at Windy City. As we pulled away, I remember thinking, Are you sure you’ve got him? Driving home, it suddenly hit me: for the first time in 11 years, Henry wasn’t with us.

Of course we missed him. But for the first time in a very long time, our family experienced something we hadn’t realized we needed. We went for walks. We enjoyed dinner together. We didn’t have our usual hour-long bedtime routine. We relaxed.

But what surprised me most wasn’t the respite. It was what Windy City gave Henry.

Walker has football, lacrosse, and friends. Like most teenagers, he has activities that are uniquely his. Henry’s world is different. Much of his life revolves around school, therapy, and home with me and my husband, Matt.

Windy City changed that. For the first time, Henry has something that’s completely his: his camp, his friends, his adventures.

Watching him share a room with other campers, climb the ropes course, ride boats, and simply be part of the group has been incredible. There were so many things he has done at camp that honestly surprised me. Every photo and every update showed me another way he was growing—socially, developmentally, and in confidence.

Henry communicates using a combination of verbal speech and a communication device, so he can’t always tell us everything he experienced at camp. That’s why those photos and updates mean so much. We sit together afterward, look through every picture, and watch his face light up as he relives each adventure.

Now, when another camp weekend is coming, Henry can hardly wait. He talks about it constantly. By the time we pull into camp, he’s so excited that he runs to join the group before I even have a chance to say goodbye.

Jill’s House has become a gift for our entire family. Henry gets an adventure that’s completely his own. Walker gets precious one-on-one time with us. My husband and I have the chance to rest and reconnect.

But more than anything, I’m grateful that Henry gets to do something that’s just plain fun. So much of his life is school and therapy. At the Windy City camp, he gets to make friends, try new things, build independence, and experience the simple joy of being a kid.

If you’re a parent who’s nervous about trying Jill’s House for the first time, I understand. I was too. But you’ll never know what your child is capable of until you give them the opportunity. I can’t overstate how grateful we are. Jill’s House gives our family something we couldn’t find anywhere else: respite for us, and for Henry, a place where he belongs.

 

 

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The Andrew Family

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Told by Jennifer & Todd (parents)

The building was beautiful. The staff radiated joy. Everything felt intentional. For the first time, we weren’t simply dropping Chris off somewhere safe—we were welcoming him into a place where he would truly belong.

When our son Chris was seven years old, we toured Jill’s House almost by accident. We had planned to attend a disability conference at McLean Bible Church, and since the tour happened beforehand, we thought we’d stop in. The moment we walked through the doors, we knew this place was different.

As parents of a child with profound autism and intellectual disability, we had grown accustomed to settling. Most special needs programs meant well, but often felt like second-class experiences—converted office buildings, outdated facilities, endless paperwork, and the constant feeling that families like ours should simply be grateful for whatever was available.

Jill’s House was nothing like that. The building was beautiful. The staff radiated joy. Everything felt intentional. For the first time, we weren’t simply dropping Chris off somewhere safe—we were welcoming him into a place where he would truly belong.

Now, nearly eleven years later, Chris still can’t wait to get there. When we pull into the parking lot, he usually forgets to say goodbye. He jumps out of the car and heads straight inside. We have to remind him, “Chris, come hug Mom and Dad!” He would live at Jill’s House if you let him.

One of our favorite possessions sits in a four-inch binder on our living room couch. Inside are years of “My Stay” summaries—one from nearly every visit Chris has ever made. The binder began as a simple folder, but it has grown along with his memories. Today, he flips through those pages constantly, reading about adventures with friends, favorite staff members, funny things that happened, and all the people who were “blessed to care for him.” Those reports aren’t just records of his visits—they’re reminders that he is known and truly and deeply loved.

Chris has always loved people. At Jill’s House, he found his people. Whether it’s laughing about an inside joke with a staff member, remembering everyone’s birthday, talking about lip-syncing songs at Blue Ridge Camp, or simply spending time with peers who understand him, his confidence has blossomed because he finally has a place where he belongs. When he’s anxious or struggling to regulate his emotions, he often sits down with that binder and relives his favorite Jill’s House memories. It helps him find peace again.

Of course, Jill’s House has given us something precious too.

Like many parents raising a child with significant needs, our lives revolved around appointments, therapies, school meetings, paperwork, and constant vigilance. Before Jill’s House, we honestly wondered if we’d ever have another weekend away together. Having trusted respite allowed us to reconnect as husband and wife, spend meaningful time with our daughter, and even care for Todd’s parents during his father’s battle with dementia. Knowing Chris wasn’t simply being supervised—but was genuinely happy—made all the difference.

What stands out most about Jill’s House isn’t the respite. It’s the excellence. From the thoughtful staff and beautiful facilities to the organized communication and personalized care, Jill’s House consistently provides what feels like first-class service in every interaction. No one scolds us about missing something in a confusing pile of paperwork; instead they walk us through every step.

Sometimes we joke that we hope one day there’s “a Jill’s House for adults,” because after we’re gone, we’d want Chris surrounded by people just like the ones who have cared for him here all these years.

In a world where families affected by disability often expect to settle for less, Jill’s House has always exceeded our expectations. It feels less like a service provider and more like a wonderful and welcoming community that truly knows our son—and our family.

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The Holsinger Family

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Told by Jenny (mom) & Maddie

Watching those genuine connections grow—with both the staff and her peers—has been one of the most meaningful gifts Jill’s House has given our family.

We were thrilled when Jill’s House was being built and had the opportunity to tour it through our connection with McLean Bible Church. Even then, we knew it would be a special place and a unique opportunity for Maddie, who has autism. At the time she had a wonderful support network of grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and her sister. Her days were full of family, friends, school, therapy, and activities, and she wasn’t ready to spend the night away from home.

As the years passed and Maddie graduated from high school, her support network naturally began to change as her sister, cousins, and friends headed off to college. She was ready for more independence, new experiences, and new friendships. When she learned she could spend a school night at Jill’s House with friends from her school program, she couldn’t wait to start. Four years later, it’s still one of the highlights of her month.

Ask Maddie what she loves most about Jill’s House, and she’ll answer immediately:

“Swings. Music. Seeing my friends.”

For her, Jill’s House isn’t simply a place to spend the night. It’s where she plays outside, rides a bike, sings karaoke, celebrates birthdays, and spends time with people she loves. The facility itself is thoughtfully designed, and that also plays a big role in helping Maddie feel comfortable and at ease there.

What makes Jill’s House especially meaningful are the relationships. Maddie loves talking with the staff. She asks about engagements, weddings, pregnancies, and what’s happening in their lives. They aren’t just caregivers—they’re friends. Just as importantly, they intentionally help her connect with the other overnight guests, encouraging conversations, shared activities, and new friendships. Watching those genuine connections grow—with both the staff and her peers—has been one of the most meaningful gifts Jill’s House has given our family.

Maddie always looks forward to telling us—and her sister, who now lives in Tennessee with her family—all about her stays, the people she spent time with, and the fun they had together. She usually sends us a text while she’s there to share something fun that happened. Then, the next morning, she walks out with what we affectionately call her “little entourage”—the care team who walks her to our car. Every single time, she comes out all smiles. During the weeks when Maddie isn’t going to Jill’s House, she’ll sometimes say the staff must be missing her, which is such a sweet reflection of how much she feels connected to them.

Maddie rarely spends the night away from us anywhere other than Jill’s House. That makes it incredibly special—not only to her, but to us.

Those evenings give us something every caregiver needs from time to time: the opportunity to recharge. Sometimes my husband and I enjoy a quiet evening together at home. Other times we have dinner with friends or reconnect with people we don’t often get to see. Whatever we choose, we’re able to fully enjoy that time because we know Maddie is exactly where she wants to be—safe, happy, and surrounded by people who care about her.

That peace of mind comes from trust.

Like many parents of children and adults with disabilities, we were naturally nervous about leaving Maddie somewhere overnight. But over the past four years, Jill’s House has earned our complete confidence. Every experience has been positive, and we’ve never had a reason to question the care she receives. When people ask whether we’d recommend Jill’s House, our answer is an enthusiastic yes.

The greatest gift Jill’s House has given our family isn’t simply respite—it’s watching Maddie find a community where she is known, valued, and excited to return month after month. She has formed wonderful friendships, gained confidence and independence, and found a place that brings her so much joy.

 

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The Buttie Family

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Told by MarCi & Steve (parents)

Jill’s House has given us a “tribe”—a community of families who understand our world without explanation. There’s no judgment, just shared experience and support. Most importantly, Jill’s House doesn’t just care for our children—it’s like they celebrate them.

We’re Marci and Steve, parents to two incredible boys—Isaac (10) and Jacob (7). Both of our sons have complex medical needs. Isaac has Down syndrome and autism, and Jacob has Prader-Willi syndrome and autism. As we sometimes joke, our family could fill a “diagnosis bingo card”—but humor is one of the ways we keep ourselves going.

From the very beginning, our journey as parents has been intense. We knew before Isaac was born that he would have Down syndrome, but we didn’t expect how sick he would be. He spent weeks in the NICU and was so fragile that we didn’t know how long we would have him. When Jacob was born early, we faced another round of uncertainty, including hearing at one point that he might not survive.

Those early years shaped us. We quickly learned that advocacy would become a lifelong role and that “typical” parenting wasn’t our reality.

For a long time, we simply pushed through. We balanced two full-time careers, two medically complex children, endless therapies, feeding tubes, oxygen, and constant hospital visits. Life felt like survival mode. We didn’t have family nearby, and we weren’t used to asking for help. But eventually, we reached a point where something had to give. For the sake of our family, we made career changes and began to rethink how we could sustain this life long-term.

That’s when Jill’s House came into the picture. At first, we were hesitant. The idea of leaving our child—even for a weekend—was overwhelming. We worried about everything: What if they got sick? What if they couldn’t communicate their needs? What if something went wrong?

But we took a leap of faith.

That first weekend, we were on edge—but something amazing happened. We didn’t get a call. And we later learned that no news is good news.

Jill’s House is one of the greatest blessings in our lives. For our boys, it’s pure joy. Isaac loves playing basketball in the gym, and Jacob talks nonstop about Chapel, Adventure Heights, and even the elevator. They come home exhausted in the best possible way because they’ve been so engaged, so active, and so loved.

Even now, getting ready for a Jill’s House weekend takes strategy. Our boys love Jill’s House so much that we can’t even say the name out loud without them immediately getting excited and ready to go. So we’ve learned to operate a little “under the radar,” dropping off their special bed bags ahead of time, almost like a stealth mission, so they don’t spot them and start packing days early.

And for us, the impact is just as profound. It’s the ability to breathe. It’s having a conversation after church without interruption. It’s running errands together without a rigid schedule. It’s sitting in a quiet house. It’s going out to dinner for the first time in nearly a decade, even if it felt a little awkward at first.

It’s also something deeper. Jill’s House has given us a “tribe”—a community of families who understand our world without explanation. There’s no judgment, just shared experience and support. Most importantly, Jill’s House doesn’t just care for our children—it’s like they celebrate them. Every part of who our boys are feels seen, known, and loved. Jill’s House loves Isaac for Isaac, and Jacob for Jacob.

To those who support Jill’s House, please know that your generosity has a direct and tangible impact. It doesn’t just help our children—it strengthens us individually as parents and together as a couple. It gives parents like us the chance to rest, reconnect, and keep going.

 

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The Adkins Family

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Told by Lacie (Mom)

When I pick Jaxon up from Jill’s House, sometimes he tells me to “go home” because he doesn’t want to leave.

From the very beginning, Jaxon’s life has felt like a whirlwind.

Right before he was born, my brother passed away. Then, after Jaxon arrived, we received an after-birth diagnosis of Down syndrome. Doctor after doctor told us they were sorry. But there was one doctor who said something I will never forget: “These babies are born to families who can give them a whole lot of love.” I never forget her words.

Jaxon’s start was anything but easy. He caught Respiratory Syncytial Virus (RSV) shortly after he was born and spent about three months in the hospital. Doctors discovered holes in his heart, and at four months he had open-heart surgery. They warned us that his recovery could be prolonged because kids with Down syndrome often have low muscle tone. But within a week, he was back to being his wild little self.

We call him “Action Jaxon” because he is constantly on the move. He’s nine now and full of energy. He loves basketball, swimming, horseback riding, collecting eggs at my parents’ chicken coop, and anything outdoors. He also has Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), so a lot of our life revolves around maintaining routines and helping him navigate overstimulation.

My husband and I both work full-time, and we have an older son, Sammy, who is five years older than Jaxon. Sammy is an amazing big brother, but—I’ll be honest—much of our attention naturally goes to Jaxon. For years, we had no respite options available. There are no childcare options for him where we live. I called everywhere and came up empty.

Then I found Jill’s House.

I don’t even remember how I found Jill’s House—maybe a Google search—but I reached out, and they instantly responded that they could accept Jaxon. I was so nervous about his first visit. At that time, he had a tendency to elope, and his behaviors were more elevated. I barely slept that first weekend, because I was sure I’d get a call.

But I didn’t. Instead, they told me he did great.

That first visit, I was able to take Sammy to a movie and just spend time with him. We rarely get true one-on-one time together. When Jaxon isn’t having a good day and gets overstimulated, we sometimes have to leave outings early. So having that uninterrupted time with Sammy meant everything.

Now Jill’s House weekends are part of our rhythm. When I tell Jaxon he gets to go to “camp,” he gets so excited. He tries to pack everything he owns into his suitcase, and I have to secretly edit it down. He especially loves the horses. He’s been obsessed with horses for years, and now he gets to brush them—and recently, he even rode one. He also loves basketball and seeing his favorite Jill’s House buddy when he arrives.

Meanwhile, at home, we get something we don’t often have: rest. We do things Sammy loves, like escape rooms or arcades. Sometimes we just stay home and binge-watch a show. And I sleep. I still keep my phone next to me, just in case. But I sleep through the night now.

When I pick Jaxon up from Jill’s House, sometimes he tells me to “go home” because he doesn’t want to leave. That secretly makes me happy. He usually falls asleep about ten minutes into the drive home, completely worn out in the best way.

Jill’s House has truly been our saving grace. We don’t have other resources where we live. Knowing there’s a place where Jaxon is loved like he’s their own child gives us peace I can’t describe.

If another parent asked me whether they should try Jill’s House, I would say: Just do it. If you’re going to trust your child anywhere, this is the place.

 

The Green Family

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Told by Kara (Mom)

I expected Jill’s House to give me rest. What I didn’t expect was that it would become my son’s favorite place in the world.

Life has a way of taking unexpected turns.

I’m Kara, a single mom to two incredible kids: Eva, 15, who is a driven, compassionate big sister, and Johnny, 13, who is quite simply the center of our universe. Johnny is funny, loving, endlessly energetic, and almost always dressed in orange, his signature color. Around our house, we joke that it’s Johnny’s world and the rest of us just live in it—and, honestly, that’s pretty accurate.

When Johnny was two and a half, everything changed. He suffered a traumatic brain injury. In those first terrifying moments, I was just grateful he survived. What followed was something doctors still can’t fully explain. Johnny’s recovery—his resilience, his progress, and his very presence—is nothing short of miraculous. Still, we were told he would never develop beyond the level of a nine-year-old and would always require full-time care—my full-time care.

The dreams I once had for my life shifted overnight. I had once imagined becoming the first female president of the United States. Now, my world revolved around doctor’s appointments, therapies, IEP meetings, and constant vigilance. Every day starts early and moves quickly. There are good days and very hard days. As Johnny grew, the weight of doing everything alone became overwhelming. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, not even long enough to take a shower.

During one particularly long, exhausting weekend, I found myself searching online late at night, unsure of what I was even looking for—just hoping there might be something, anything, that could help.

That’s when I found Jill’s House.

Even though I desperately needed rest, the thought of leaving Johnny somewhere was terrifying. Would anyone else know how to care for him? Would they see only his challenges, or would they recognize the abundant love and joy in his heart?

But Jill’s House is different. Every single person there loves him exactly as he is. They truly see him and delight in him. Much of Johnny’s life is spent in environments focused on his progress—school, occupational therapy, feeding therapy, and behavior therapy—but at Jill’s House, they meet him right where he is and love him fully in that space.

While at Jill ’s House, Johnny’s first stop is always the playground. He loves riding the bikes and setting up races and “parades” with as many people as he can gather.

I expected Jill’s House to give me rest. What I didn’t expect was that it would become my son’s favorite place in the world. Johnny was once asked if he’d rather go to Disney World or Jill’s House, and he chose Jill’s House. This is a child who dressed as Mickey Mouse for twelve straight Halloweens. When I pick Johnny up after a Jill’s House stay, he asks if he can stay for 100 days.

Johnny doesn’t get invited to birthday parties or sleepovers. Jill’s House is his place to belong, to be celebrated, and to have fun.

For Eva and me, Jill’s House offers something equally meaningful: time—time to reconnect, talk, attend her field hockey games uninterrupted, and simply be mother and daughter. With her approaching college, that time feels priceless.

Jill’s House has also provided me with community. Through parent support groups and retreats, I’ve found friends who understand without explanation—people who celebrate small victories and share in difficult moments. They’ve become our people, our family.

Jill’s House has been part of our lives for six years now, and I truly can’t imagine life without it. To everyone who supports Jill’s House: please know that you are uplifting entire families—families like mine. For that, I am endlessly grateful.

 

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The Escoto Family Story

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Told by Lisa (Mom)

Jill’s House gave us something we’d never had before:  rest and trust. For the first time, I knew [Elena] was completely safe and surrounded by people who celebrated her, who saw her light. I could finally exhale.

My daughter, Elena, can best be described as joyful. She wants to connect with everybody. She has a bright light in her, but not everyone sees that.

Elena has Angelman syndrome, which affects her mobility, communication, and sleep. In the early years, she slept only three hours a night. And so did I. Life felt like survival mode.

When Elena was six, other parents encouraged me to let her go to Jill’s House for her first overnight. I was terrified. How could I trust anyone else with her care? But they said, “She’ll love it, and you need the break.” They were right.

Jill’s House gave us something we’d never had before: rest and trust. For the first time, I knew she was completely safe and surrounded by people who celebrated her, who saw her light. I could finally exhale.

I used to call Jill’s House midway through the weekend, on Saturday afternoons, just to check in. The staff would say, “Hold on,” walk up to her, and hold up the phone. I’d hear her squealing and laughing in the background. Then they’d say, “She’s got the biggest smile on her face, and she’s having a great time.” Hearing her joy in real time meant everything to me.

Elena loved her weekends at Jill’s House in Tysons and later experienced camp weekends at Blue Ridge, where she thrived being outdoors. Blue Ridge was her happy place—smaller, quieter, and full of exciting experiences like hayrides and visits from therapy dogs. She especially loved seeing the horses (from a safe distance—they’re a little too big for her taste!) and spending time with staff who shared her excitement and energy. She felt completely at home there.

I loved the reports I’d get after each Jill’s House visit. They always began with“We love Elena because…,” followed by all the wonderful things about her. When you spend years hearing what your child needs to work on, hearing what others love about them means everything. At Jill’s House, no one told her to calm down or be different. They simply delighted in who she is.

When Elena was away on weekends, I finally had space to breathe. On Friday nights, I’d pick up takeout for me and my older daughter, Sofia, and put on a movie that we could watch, uninterrupted, in peace. For years, after Sofia went to bed, I’d end up crying until Saturday afternoon—all the emotions I’d been pushing down finally had room to surface. (Sofia would sleep in, on teenager time!). For the rest of the weekend, I would read, sleep, and enjoy one-on-one time with Sofia and with friends. Little by little, I began to feel like myself again. Jill’s House gave me that space to process and heal.

That’s what makes Jill’s House different. They don’t just meet needs; they see the whole person. Raising a child with special needs can be isolating. The world doesn’t see the unique stressors, the constant logistics, and the exhaustion. Even when people try to help, they can’t fully understand unless they’ve lived it. That’s why Jill’s House—and the community I’ve found here—means so much to me.