Relief Arrived for a Family on a Respite Waitlist

Jodi Townson’s relief came in the form of a phone call.

When her son Josiah was diagnosed with autism at a young age, Jodi added his name to a waitlist. He is thirteen now. Between those ages were overnight shifts, early school mornings, and long stretches of doing it all with her mother by her side.

“That time was very frustrating,” she said. “I never got a real break. I didn’t know when I was going to be able to breathe.”

Waiting became part of life. After a diagnosis, you wait for appointments, for services, for someone to call your name. She expected delays, but still, she never expected it to feel this way. She had tried a few other programs. Some required her to find and pay her own provider, then submit paperwork and wait for reimbursement. “The whole point of respite care is to get less work,” she said, “Other places create more.”

Through Easterseals Midwest, it worked differently. The organization coordinated care and paid providers directly. No chasing invoices or paying out of pocket and hoping the money returned. After that wait, she was able to find a qualified provider and consistent support.

For Jodi, relief is breath without paperwork. Peace without the unnecessary panic. That peace took shape in the consistent presence of Easterseals' respite care professional, Omra Charm. And what was once thought of as a person to look after Josiah while Jodi was away... turned into something much more.

Omra began the way she always does: by listening. She watched how Josiah moved through the house, how he focused at the kitchen table, and how certain words became triggers. One of those words was clean.

So she tried something.

“Hey Jojo,” she’d say, holding up a marker cap, “can you help me with this?”

“I got it!” he’d answer, already on his feet.

Markers snap shut now and papers stack. If Jodi even glances at the table, he’ll grin and say, “Oh, I’ll get it.” A small shift to keep them steady.

The biggest milestone, though, happens behind the bathroom door. Josiah is taller than his mom now. Bath time used to require her hands, her back, and her strength. Today, he runs the water himself. He washes, dries, and dresses.

“That’s the biggest thing,” Jodi said. “That’s independence.”

Mornings have changed, too. Josiah and Omra practice a new rhythm:

• Sit up
• Feet on the floor
• Three slow breaths
• No drifting back under the covers
• Keep moving and keep talking

What once sparked tears now starts with a little routine. And in the middle of it all, there’s art.

Josiah has drawn for as long as he can remember. He sketches his family as bears: Mama Bear, Brother Bear, Granny Bear. He molds cartoon characters from clay without looking at a picture. He asked for paper and colored pencils for Christmas… nothing else. And he’s worn them down to stubs.

When he draws, the house changes form. His whole body leans in and the room disappears... aside from the soft scratch of pencil on paper.

“That’s his freedom,” Jodi said. “That’s how he communicates.”

Respite in this home is built on coaching and trust. It’s knowing the person in your home is qualified and present for the right reasons.

“You can’t have peace as a parent worrying about who’s in your home,” Jodi said.

For a long time, she waited for that peace. Access should not take that long. Families should not have to stand in line just to exhale. Still, she holds hope for others who are waiting.

“Just be encouraged and be patient,” she said. “One day the right fit will come.”

Now relief sounds like laughter at the kitchen table and feels like a cleared space ready for the next drawing. Like bath water running all on its own.