About Beyond 22

Parker and Jonathan are just 24 months apart, and their autism diagnoses came only six months apart. Even so, they are wonderfully different from one another. Parker is high‑functioning, while Jay faces additional challenges, including auditory processing disorder, OCD, echolalia, and difficulty communicating through speech.

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Our journey together has been long and full of learning. I’ve navigated countless IEP meetings, therapies, doctor’s appointments, and more uncomfortable social moments than I can count — from grocery store meltdowns to birthday parties and everything in between.

To make life even more interesting, we did all of this while being stationed in Germany, England, and eventually back here in the United States. We’ve seen the good, the bad, and the truly difficult, but through every experience, we pushed forward and did our best to succeed.

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When the boys were in elementary school, I went with them to class almost every day. I wanted to learn what their teachers were teaching so I could reinforce it at home. I believed that if we all worked together and stayed consistent, the boys would have the best chance to grow.

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Our home became a mini‑school. Picture boards hung in every room — one on the refrigerator so they could show me what they wanted to eat, another in the bathroom to guide them through brushing teeth and washing their face. Timers were set for every task. We had daily living charts, skills boards, homework boards… everything we needed to help them understand their world.

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When they finally graduated high school, we thought we had made it. No more IEP meetings. But suddenly, there was also no more therapy, no more built‑in social opportunities, and no more support. At 22, Parker and Jay were stepping into adulthood, and we were left to figure out the next steps on our own.

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From a mother’s perspective, it all feels like a blur. I’m not always sure how we got here — I just know that we did. My boys are grown now. They’re young men. And the question became: what now? Employment didn’t come quickly, and it certainly wasn’t easy. They often started as volunteers, and more than once we hoped a business would hire them after a trial period, only to be disappointed. Thankfully, they eventually found a place

at The Brick Kitchen and Bar, a local pizzeria that welcomed them. 

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Now that they’re working, a new worry has taken its place: where will they live?

I have to start planning for their future — for a time when I may not be here to protect them. I need to know they won’t end up in a state‑run group home where their needs and dignity might be overlooked. No mother should have to carry that fear alone.

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I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. Like you, I want my children to have every chance to become the best version of themselves — and I want to help others walking this same path.

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The truth is, there are very few businesses willing to hire individuals with special needs, and even fewer programs that truly honor each person’s unique interests and goals. Our small town lacks vocational and academic training that could help them thrive.

So I realized something: if it doesn’t exist, we have to create it. 

 

With your help, we can fix it!​​​​