My parents adopted me when I was 6 years old after fostering me and always kept our home open to four foster children, many with special needs.
When I was a young teenager, my mother’s health began deteriorating, with early signs of Alzheimer’s, while my father’s lung cancer returned. I had to step up and help out.
I was at an age when I still needed a mother, but I had to worry about coaxing picky eaters and rocking babies instead of homework. In class, I’d fight to keep my eyes open, textbooks propped against a sleeping infant in my arms.
