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 411 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.

The Tatikonda Family Story

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Told by Radhika (Mom)

Jill’s House has given Esha new experiences and greater confidence, and it has given our family peace and rest. When we pick her up, she comes out with a big happy smile every time. That smile says everything.

We are a family of four—my husband, my son, my daughter Esha, and me. My husband works in software, and I work for the local school district. Our son is 17 and in high school, and our daughter Esha is 13. Esha has autism and limited speech, but she’s very smart, very happy, and always smiling.

We first heard about Jill’s House from the DDA, the Developmental Disabilities Administration here in Washington State. Before that, we had tried other respite programs in the summer, but they didn’t work for her. When we heard about Jill’s House, we thought, Let’s try one more time.

At first we were afraid—Esha had never been away from us overnight. I made a social story for her so she could understand what camp would be like. I told her, “You’ll stay for two nights, and you’ll have fun.”

When I dropped her off that first weekend, I was nervous, but she had an amazing time. The staff were so kind and welcoming—they greeted her with big smiles and helped her feel comfortable. They texted updates during the weekend and sent a detailed report afterward. When I heard how well she did, I was so proud.

During the week, Esha works so hard. She spends all day at school, takes a short break, and then has three hours of ABA therapy every afternoon. By the time she finishes, it’s already seven o’clock—then dinner, shower, and bedtime. Her days are long and structured, and she gives her best effort. That’s why Jill’s House is such a gift—a time that’s all about fun.

Now Esha goes to Jill’s House Puget Sound every two months, and she loves it. The staff encourage her to try new things—like the zip line. She hasn’t quite done it yet, but each visit she gets a little closer to doing it. Her favorite activity is horseback riding. We never tried that before Jill’s House, but she loved it immediately! Now when we travel and have the opportunity for horseback riding, we know it’s something she’ll enjoy.

She also loves karaoke, music, swimming, and sitting by the campfire. Every time we arrive at camp, she grabs her bag, runs to her room, and starts unpacking! Then she goes straight to dinner.

Last September, Esha celebrated her 13th birthday at camp. I asked if I could send a cake and treats, and the staff said yes. They celebrated with her and sent me photos. When I showed her the pictures later, she smiled so big. Usually we celebrate birthdays at home, but this one was special—her “camp birthday.”

When Esha enjoys her Jill’s House weekends, sometimes the three of us take a short trip near camp. Other times we head back home for dinner, movies, and some quiet time. I call it “a break for everyone,” meaning that Esha gets a break from us, too!

The reports the staff send after each weekend are one of my favorite things. They tell us what she enjoyed doing, how she slept, and how they helped if she got upset. Sometimes they share which strategies worked to calm her down, like giving her a short break or taking her outside. Those new ideas help us at home, too!

Esha understands more than people think. Her speech is limited, but she remembers everything she loves. If I say, “Doctor,” she says, “No!” But if I say, “Jill’s House,” she gets excited and starts packing! She repeats her favorite words from the schedule—“campfire, shower, music, horse.”

Jill’s House has given Esha new experiences and confidence, and it has given our family peace and rest. When we pick her up, she comes out with a big happy smile every time. That smile says everything.

 

 

The Vargas-Portocarrero Family Story

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Told by Rita Vargas (Mom)

The Jill’s House adult program is a dream come true. Ricardo is welcomed, engaged one-on-on, and growing in independence.

I’m Rita, mom to Ricardo. He’s 37, endlessly social, and lights up whenever there’s a chance to talk, play a game, or ride a bike. Ricardo was born in Bolivia and diagnosed with Kabuki syndrome. Over the years he’s had many surgeries—cleft palate repair at birth, spinal surgery at five months old, eye procedures—and therapy after therapy. We moved to the U.S. when he was just two months old, and Fairfax County Public Schools supported him from the time he was a toddler.

Life gets so much harder when kids get out of the school system. As a young adult, for a while Ricardo was in a day program that was not good for him. He had to sit around stuffing envelopes and my heart just broke.

Things got better when we got into the Adults with Disabilities Day Program (ADDP) at McLean Bible Church. Ricardo has a girlfriend who he met there years ago. Although she moved to Florida two years ago, he visits her during his summer and winter breaks. They talk on the phone every night.

We learned about Jill’s House because Ricardo met Jill Solomon at ADDP, just a stone’s throw from Jill’s House! But Ricardo was already too old to participate in Jill’s House programs, which were serving kids up to age 21. When I heard last year that Jill’s House was starting an adult program, I couldn’t believe it. A few of us ADDP parents went to the open house, and the moment I walked in, I knew it was for Ricardo. I signed him up right away.

Now, Tuesday nights at Jill’s House are Ricardo’s favorite. He loves the individual attention, the chance to talk and play, and the warm welcome he receives at the curb. Staff run up to greet him by name, and he beams. Before I can even park the car, he’s calling out, “Bye, Mom!” and heading inside with a big smile. The Jill’s House adult program is a dream come true. Ricardo is welcomed, engaged one-on-on, and growing in independence.

Ricardo’s absolute favorite activity is riding bikes. At home, he would ride for hours in our cul-de-sac, but his bike is broken right now.  Jill’s House has the same bikes as his at home. He happily hops on their bikes and rides with joy for as long as he can. He also loves to play “game show host,” asking staff to be contestants while he quizzes them. Chloe, one of his favorite staff members, has become a real friend to him. She accompanied him at the “Night to Shine” gala, making the evening extra special.

When Jill’s House started offering adult camp sessions of Weekend Adventures, we were there for the debut! Ricardo had such a fun time at Blue Ridge in Middleburg. He found it thrilling to go horseback riding!

As a single mom, when Ricardo is at Jill’s House, I can meet a friend for dinner without worrying about being home by 8 p.m. to relieve a caregiver. I can breathe, laugh, and come back refreshed. That kind of respite keeps me going.

Jill’s House helps Ricardo grow in independence. For each visit, together we make a checklist for his overnight bag—toothbrush, clothes, all the basics—and he now packs for himself. I double-check, of course, but he’s learning to take responsibility.

Community has been another gift. Through Jill’s House moms’ dinners and Zoom meetups, I’ve connected with other parents who understand this journey. At a recent dinner, I met another mom and we started dreaming together about future housing options for our adult children.

To the staff at Jill’s House, I want to say: Thank you for answering God’s call. You could be doing a thousand other things, but instead you pour out love, patience, and joy for our children. When I drop Ricardo off, I feel complete peace. That is no small gift.

 

 

 

 

 

The Schutz Family

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Told by Erica Schutz (Mom)

When the world looks at Alex, many people see his challenges first. They see brokenness. But when the team at Jill’s House looks at Alex, they see a blessing.

When I look back on our family’s journey, I can hardly believe how far we’ve come. My husband Mike and I are the proud parents of two incredible boys. Our oldest, Charlie, is a sophomore at Liberty University. Our younger son, Alex, is 17 and has been visiting Jill’s House for the past nine years.

Alex has both intellectual and physical disabilities. He is medically complex and nonverbal, and he keeps us on our toes every single day. But more than anything, he is a joy and light of my life. His smile can brighten a room and his spirit is full of love.

The early years after Alex was born were some of the hardest we’ve ever faced. We were suddenly thrust into a world we hadn’t expected: feeding tubes, daily injections, countless doctor visits, and endless therapy appointments. It felt like we were living in survival mode. We were still trying to hold onto the picture we had once imagined for our family while raising a toddler whose life—and ours—had been turned upside down.

When we finally lifted our heads from the day-to-day scramble, we realized how different our world had become. We no longer fit neatly into the communities we had known. Our life didn’t look like anyone else’s around us. It was lonely. It was isolating. We loved our son deeply, but we felt adrift.

That’s when Jill’s House stepped in. When the world looks at Alex, many people see his challenges first. They see brokenness. But when the team at Jill’s House looks at Alex, they see a blessing. Where others might see limitation, Jill’s House sees purpose—a child created in the image of God with a beautiful plan for his life.

When our family wondered where we belonged, Jill’s House welcomed us with open arms. They didn’t overlook our differences or try to smooth them away. They said, because of your differences, because of your unique needs, you belong here.

That message changed everything for us. When Alex spends a weekend at Jill’s House, I can truly rest. I know he is being treated with dignity, kindness, and love. He’s not only cared for—he’s celebrated. The staff and volunteers delight in him for exactly who he is.

From the very first visit Alex’s favorite thing at Jill’s House has been the bounce house. In fact, he loves it so much that his sign for Jill’s House is “jump.”  He also loves playing basketball in the gym and coloring with the staff in the art room.

Jill’s House has also created space for Mike and me to nurture our marriage. Their retreats for parents of children with disabilities bring us together with other couples who understand our life in a way few others can. We share our stories, laugh, pray, and find renewal.

Even our older son Charlie has found a place of belonging. At family retreats, he meets siblings who “get it,” kids who understand what it’s like to have a brother or sister with complex needs. For Charlie, it’s a gift to see other families that look like ours.

Over these seventeen years of being Alex’s mom, I’ve learned that respite is more than a physical rest—though I cherish every quiet moment. True respite is a renewal of the heart, mind, and spirit. It is the deep comfort of connection, the healing power of belonging, and the peace of knowing you are accepted just as you are.  That is the life-changing gift Jill’s House gives our family.

To everyone who supports this ministry—whether through time, prayer, or financial gifts—please know you are making a difference far beyond what words can express. Because of you, families like ours can breathe, recharge, and remember that we are not alone.

Jill’s House has given us more than weekends of care. It has given us a home in the truest sense of the word—a community where our family is seen, loved, and celebrated. For that, we are endlessly thankful.