The Andrew Family
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 Most special needs programs meant well, but often felt like second-class experiences—converted office buildings, outdated facilities, endless paperwork, and the constant feeling that families like ours should simply be grateful for whatever was available.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.


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.
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.

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.
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.
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.
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.

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.



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.”






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.
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.
Our family is big, active, and social—exactly how we like it. There are five of us: my husband Joe and me, our daughter Gianna, and our twin boys, Vinny and Carmine. On summer evenings, we often cuddle in the backyard, with family and friends over for movie nights. We’re also huge soccer fans (Arsenal fans through and through), passionately following every match. We love being outdoors, soaking up the sun with good company.
From his very first weekend, Carmine dove right in—with no hesitation. As soon as we pulled into the lot, we were greeted warmly by the camp directors and counselors, who helped him get settled. Before we knew it, he was off. That made it so much easier on us, because we’ve always tried to follow his lead when it comes to new experiences.
For us, the weekends when Carmine is away are both respite and a gift of opportunity. Two nights of sleepovers might sound simple, but for families like ours, it’s priceless. Knowing he’s somewhere safe, understood, and completely himself gives us peace of mind. It also lets us spend uninterrupted time with Gianna and Vinny, go out with friends or just breathe for a moment.