Yesterday we moved our daughter Lucky from a 45-person care facility located 22 miles from our home to a three bedroom condo with two other roommates, just five minutes from where we live!

A few months ago near the end of December, I received a call from state family services to determine if we were still interested in placing Lucky in a “Transitional Program.” She’s been on this waiting list for services since high school (almost 15 years now) and of course, my answer was yes. When I asked, “Are you calling me because she’s been selected?” the voice on the other end was very non-committal and then our conversation was over. That was weird, I thought. About ten minutes later the phone rang again, and the same woman answered my question. “Yes, she’s been selected. You will receive a call sometime in the next few weeks from an intake specialist and the process of moving her will begin.” Well Merry Christmas!!  It was such potentially earthshaking news that I kept it close to my chest and only talked to my husband about it and a few select others.

We were full of anticipation yet doubt. Could this really be true? Could Lucky really make it in a program suited to assist individuals who were striving for independence, despite the huge obstacles they faced because of their “special needs”? In Lucky’s case, she had been diagnosed with autism, but it took a few years of school and a lot of doctor’s appointments to determine what was really the root of her developmental delays. Blood tests, brain scans, and all kinds of assessments for her cognitive and motor skills finally landed her on the spectrum, compounded by the discovery of a brain injury in the frontal lobe of her brain. This area is known the “traffic hub’ of the nervous system, where there is a dense set of connections to other parts of the brain, which sometimes makes it difficult to specifically pinpoint which neurological, psychiatric and developmental areas are affected by the injury.  For Lucky, it colors her decision-making skills, attention span, communication skills and her ability to understand numbers. Try sitting in the driver’s seat of the car, start it up and away you go, but sorry, no steering wheel. That’s what it’s like to be Lucky. Understandably this addition brain problem leads to areas of great frustration in her life, which, when coupled with autism, creates a whole new set of challenges and a long list of behavioral problems.

We don’t know when the brain injury occurred for her. Not a lot of information came with her when we claimed her (and her younger sister) as ours at age 3. But we know what it’s like to raise her. And it’s been a long, crazy, heartfelt, hilarious, intense, difficult, soul-searching, humiliating, fun, tender tutorial, learning and growing with her.

Skipping to three weeks ago: During all the intake phone calls and interviews, we told all, both good and bad, to the powers that be, leaving nothing out of her history. Our portion of her story was backed up by the current R.N. and behavior specialists who have watched over her for the past seven years where she was living. We waited, wondering. The person making the inquiry told us she would organize the information we gave her and would send it out to different places throughout the area to see if she would be a good fit for some of the homes available. We still felt like it probably wouldn’t happen, in fact, we didn’t even tell Lucky what was in the works, knowing it would be too huge of a disappointment if things didn’t pan out, for her and for us!

Two weeks ago: A phone call on Friday. We were invited to bring Lucky and tour a condo that was just a few minute drive from our house. We were kind of in shock but said yes, of course. It was time to tell her what was going on. We did it, and we were all overwhelmed with the potentially good fortune that had come her/our way. We still wondered if it was really true, but at this point everything shifted and our focus was on convincing Lucky it was true. Yes, there would be staff there, 24-7. Yes, a day program. Yes, someone to help her with her meds. Yes, a behavior specialist (whew!) Yes, your own room. Yes, you can move in next week.

And now, she’s there! Thank you, Lord.