This month I would like to share my MLT platform with my colleague Mandy Carter, who is our kinship navigator/community resource specialist here at the River Center, and a great example of the passion behind our programs.
My son’s graduation tassel hangs from the rearview mirror of my car, and likely will for a very long time.
Every time I get behind the wheel, it reminds me of one of the proudest days of my life. Watching Brian cross that stage wasn’t just about earning a diploma. It was about watching a young man who has overcome challenges most people will never see be recognized for everything he has accomplished. When he was presented with his school’s Student Advocate Award, there wasn’t a prouder mom on the planet.
Like every family, we celebrated. We hugged. We took pictures.
Then the balloons came down.
For most families, graduation marks the beginning of the next chapter. For ours, it marked the beginning of a wait.
Brian is 18 and has a developmental disability. When school ended, many of the supports, routines and friendships that had shaped his daily life ended too. While his classmates are planning college, starting jobs or figuring out adulthood, Brian is waiting six to nine months while the adult service system determines what services he qualifies for.
Most people don’t even know that gap exists.
As Brian’s mom, it’s heartbreaking.
As a community resource specialist at The River Center, I know my family isn’t unique. Every week I meet families asking the same questions I’m asking myself: What’s next? How do we keep our young adults connected while the system catches up?
Watching Brian go through this transition inspired me to bring a new program to The River Center called Different Together, a monthly social group for neurodivergent young adults. I couldn’t eliminate the wait for services, but together we could create a place where young adults could build friendships, confidence and community while they waited. Because graduation shouldn’t mean losing your community.
This is why the U.S. Department of Justice’s recent memorandum on Olmstead hit me so hard.
If you’ve never heard of Olmstead, you’re not alone. In simple terms, it’s the Supreme Court decision that affirmed people with disabilities have the right to receive services in the most integrated setting appropriate to their needs. It reinforced a simple but powerful idea: Disability should never determine whether someone gets to be part of their community.
Recent actions by the Justice Department have raised new concerns about how Olmstead and the Americans with Disabilities Act’s integration mandate will be enforced.
But here’s what I hope people understand: Olmstead is still the law of the land. The ADA hasn’t been repealed, and the Supreme Court’s decision hasn’t been overturned. What’s changing is how the federal government says it intends to interpret and enforce those protections.
That’s why we need to stay informed, speak up and keep building communities where everyone belongs.
In just a few weeks, we’ll celebrate another anniversary: July 26, 1990 — the day the Americans with Disabilities Act was signed into law.
Two years ago, around this same time, I wrote about how the ADA changed our world and challenged us to recognize both visible and invisible disabilities. Reading those words today, I realize there’s another kind of accessibility we don’t talk about nearly enough.
Belonging.
Because inclusion isn’t just about getting through the front door of a building. It’s about having somewhere to go after you get inside. It’s about friendships, purpose, opportunities and knowing your community still has a place for you after the school bus stops coming.
That’s why Different Together matters to me. It’s one small example of what can happen when we stop asking, “Why doesn’t this exist?” and start asking, “How can we build it?” Every community has the ability to create spaces where people feel seen, valued and connected.
People like Judy Heumann spent decades fighting to make sure disability would never be a reason to be excluded from community life. Her generation opened doors that had been closed for far too long.
Brian’s generation deserves the chance to walk through them.
So let’s keep moving forward. Learn the facts. Listen to disabled voices. Support organizations like The River Center that are creating opportunities for belonging in our communities. Call your legislators. And when it’s time to vote, remember that disability rights aren’t someone else’s issue. At some point in our lives, every one of us will either have a disability or love someone who does.
Someday I’ll take Brian’s graduation tassel down from my rearview mirror.
I hope by then he — and every young adult like him — won’t be waiting for permission to belong.
Because that was always the promise of the ADA.
And it’s a promise worth keeping.
This reflection is based on my personal experiences as Brian’s mom and my work supporting families at the River Center.
Odette Butler serves as executive director of The River Center Family and Community Resource Center. She can be reached at 603-924-6800.