In November 2013, my life felt full and balanced. I was living my dream as a photographer, a devoted wife, and a mom to two amazing boys, ages 23 and 11. Then, on what seemed like an ordinary day, a phone call from Lee County Social Services changed everything. On the other end, I learned that my niece’s 6-week-old baby boy had been placed in foster care.
They told me I was essentially the only blood relative who could take him. His name was Grayson, and he had been born addicted, spending his first month in the hospital as doctors carefully weaned him off drugs. The reality of his situation was sobering, but I couldn’t ignore the pull in my heart.
Bringing Grayson into our home wouldn’t be simple. My husband, Tony, and I would need to complete foster parent training. Our oldest son, already over 18, would also have to participate. Beyond that, a home study was required, complicated further because Grayson was in Virginia’s custody while we lived in Kentucky. This was what they called an ICPC case—an Interstate Compact for the Placement of a Child.
I knew I couldn’t make a decision without talking to my family. This choice would impact all of us. I told the social worker I’d pray about it and get back to them. My emotions were a whirlwind—compelled to do the right thing, yet aware of the enormous responsibility a baby would bring. After heartfelt conversations with my family, we all agreed to do whatever was necessary to welcome Grayson into our home.
Before he arrived, we were assigned two social workers—one in Virginia and one in Kentucky. Becoming a foster parent quickly revealed itself as the most invasive, exhaustive process I’d ever experienced. Tony and I had to dive into our entire histories, childhoods, family dynamics, and routines. We described the culture of our family of origin, our medical histories, and even our love story. Physicals, written references, dozens of forms, and endless interviews followed, leaving us feeling scrutinized and exposed in ways I hadn’t imagined.
Early on, we requested a medical card for Grayson. We anticipated he might have ongoing medical needs due to his birth circumstances, and we later learned that all children adopted from foster care qualify for coverage—a vital safety net. Meanwhile, the court appointed a Guardian Ad Litem, attorney Julie Hensley, who made the long trip to meet us. For the first time, someone was brutally honest about what lay ahead: if we took Grayson, we would be committing to him for life. Though his social worker had always emphasized reunification with his birth mother, Julie made it clear this would not be the case. My husband and I prayed and discussed long and hard, but ultimately, we stayed the course.
On June 22, 2014, after countless preparations and trips to the Lee County Courthouse, we finally left with Grayson in our arms. He was 8 months old. Up until that moment, we’d never really met him—my niece, his birth mother, had not agreed to visits. Nothing we had done had truly prepared us for the shock, joy, and overwhelming responsibility of bringing home an infant we had yet to know.
The learning curve was steep. Grayson had Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome (NAS), and while I had worked with special needs students in schools, caring for a young child with these challenges was entirely new. He didn’t eat well, didn’t sleep consistently, and seemed mischievous beyond his months. But we knew early intervention was key, and we embraced it fully. Through therapy, pre-school, and the first grade, Grayson made tremendous progress, supported by a team of doctors, therapists, teachers, and the unwavering love of family, friends, and neighbors.
March 2017 brought the long-awaited Order of Adoption. I had called the adoption worker just days before and was told there was no movement. Then, on a Saturday, the order arrived—quietly, without fanfare. We were finally his forever family.
Seven years later, we recently celebrated the anniversary of Grayson’s Gotcha Day quietly. He is fully integrated into our family and has grown into a bright, kind, and joyful boy who never meets a stranger. While he doesn’t have a relationship with his birth mother due to the closed adoption laws in Virginia and Kentucky, he knows he was adopted and that we were always connected as family, even before he became ours.
Today, our family includes three sons, ages 30, 18, and 7, spanning every stage of childhood. Some days are challenging; some are hilarious. But all are ours, and we are grateful beyond words to be Grayson’s parents. Shortly after his adoption, we closed our foster home. We might have considered adopting again under different circumstances, but with Grayson’s special needs and our family stage, we knew our focus had to remain here.
I would encourage anyone considering adoption from foster care to take that step. There are countless children who need loving homes, and the process, while demanding, is supported step-by-step by the state. Many states even cover adoption costs, and the training and preparation are invaluable. Grayson’s journey has been life-changing for all of us—and welcoming him into our hearts has been one of the greatest blessings we could have imagined.
