T.J. Kimble was sitting at the railroad crossing he drove over every day on his way home.&nbsp;He was ready to stop his car on the tracks there were no crossing gates, so it would look accidental. But as he heard the blast of the horn, he cried out, "Lord, please send someone who can understand what's going on inside of me and help me get better."&nbsp;The outburst surprised him so much he missed the train. Eighteen years later, he's alive and well- a fact he attributes mostly to his son, Joshua, who was born two years after the incident.&nbsp;He's sure Josh, now 15, was sent to help him understand what was going on inside of him and help him get better.&nbsp;Josh was born with Down syndrome. In the hospital, TJ. and his wife were told of all the things Josh wouldn't be able to do, but Josh showed the world what he could do.&nbsp;"My friend Joshua had a disability more severe than mine, but yet still finds ways to live beyond his own disability," T.J. said. "The older he became, the more he inspired me to live beyond my own depression. I began to realize my son Joshua's Down syndrome had turned my depression upside down."&nbsp;On July 19, TJ., Josh and a group of supporters will arrive at the steps of the Capitol after a 96-mile walk from Radcliff to raise funds and awareness to empower others with disabilities.&nbsp;When T.J. was 6, he lost control of his bicycle and ran it into a moving car. Knocked unconscious, he awoke in a pool of blood bigger than he was. He said the compound skull fracture that resulted was the start to a lifetime of challenges.&nbsp;The complications began in first grade when he was moved to a special education classroom and was never put on the track for a high school diploma.&nbsp;"I had struggled all my life," he said. "I now know that was, in large part, due to my head injury."&nbsp;TJ.'s father was killed in a hit-and-run car accident in Dallas when he was 10. The stepfather who later became part of his life was nothing like his biological father, he said.&nbsp;"My stepfather was very abusive," he said. "I've had a loaded gun - he and his drug-dealing and drug-taking friends, they pointed a loaded gun at my left temple and cocked it."&nbsp;But he lived to tell about it. T.J. also lived to tell about the time he got into a particularly bad fight with his stepfather, which resulted in him having his head slammed against concrete multiple times.&nbsp;"I couldn't take it anymore," he said. "I remember thinking, 'Whatever normal is, this isn't it. I think I'm just going to leave here.""&nbsp;He jumped a fence and never returned to that house, despite being home less for almost a year. T.J. wandered from trash bins to a campground to a trailer park when it got really cold.&nbsp;"I just remember one day I got down on my hands and knees and I prayed," he said. “I remember, 26 years ago, I prayed: 'God, if you're out there and you're really real and you care about somebody like me, then send somebody to tell me about your love."&nbsp;Not long after, a woman showed up to the trailer he was staying in and asked him if he would like to go to church with her and her husband. "That was one of the miracles that happened," T.J. said.&nbsp;T.J. later moved in with the family that invited him to church and eventually went to school to become a minister. He met a woman named Liz, and they've now been married for 20 years.&nbsp;Despite the stability and security he found in his church and his wife, T.J. still didn't feel right.&nbsp;"I realized that something was still very wrong inside of me," he said. "I was clinically depressed, and I didn't realize it. I can't put into words the intensity and the gravity of the pain I felt.”&nbsp;He remembers three distinct instances in which he tried to end his life, including the railroad incident. The suicidal tendencies stopped when Josh was born in 1997.&nbsp;"I began to feel the barriers and layers of insulation break down around me," T.J. said. "I began to feel these acts make me feel alive again."&nbsp;The little acts of love Josh displayed inspired T.J. to overcome his own disability, the clinical depression. He's working on a book, to be titled "The Joshua Factor Story," to compile the many ways Josh has touched not only his life, but others' too.&nbsp;"It just became infectious," he said. "I found myself in a place of whole- ness, and I was like, 'Wow, I want to help other people. I want to help them discover this.'"T.J. went to school to become a clinician, a time when he began to understand what happened in his own life.&nbsp;For two years now, T.J. has operated a practice, Your Best Life Now Counseling, from Lifeline Assembly of God in Radcliff. T.J. employs a faith-based counseling approach.&nbsp;Mostly, he counsels families with children with disabilities. He helps them see beyond the disability.

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Son helps father learn to live with disability

• Reported on education legislation from Kentucky's capitol with articles detailing the impact on teachers, students and taxpayers.&nbsp;• Filed dozens of open records requests and earned the trust of internal sources to expose a pattern of wrongful terminations by a state-funded university.&nbsp;• Monitored and engaged with members of the community through online channels to ensure the newspaper delivered relevant content.

Education Reporter & Web Producer

disability

A single ripe tomato sits on the windowsill of Rosemary Poe’s ground-floor apartment.&nbsp;To most people, the fruit only represents the summer bounty still to come. But to Rosemary, the tomato is a symbol of the choice and possibility she has found since she came into the care of ADEC.&nbsp;Rosemary was skeptical when she first came into contact with someone from ADEC in 1984. She remembers cowering in the corner of a room in a home owned by Jill, who was a group leader for ADEC at the time.&nbsp;“I didn’t know what to do,” Rosemary recalled. “I was scared and I thought I was in trouble.” It was a police officer who dropped Rosemary off at Jill’s apartment, rescuing her from an abusive home. Her father had been abusing her – emotionally, physically and sexually – since her childhood.&nbsp;Even when Rosemary was injured from helping her dad with scrapping work – moving heavy machinery and stripping it down with a sledgehammer – he would not take Rosemary to see a doctor.&nbsp;Once, when Rosemary attempted suicide to escape the abuse, her father made her suffer through the overdose by herself.&nbsp;“Dad was hurting me in every way he could, through every abuse there was,” she said. “He kept me locked in that house. It was like a prison. He told me that I could never come back home if I ever left.”&nbsp;But once the police intervened, Jill and others at ADEC worked tirelessly to make sure Rosemary knew she was finally safe and free. ADEC petitioned to be Rosemary’s legal guardian and has protected her and acted as her advocate for more than 30 years.&nbsp;Rosemary was one of the first individuals to be served by ADEC’s corporate guardianship program, which serves more than 60 individuals by helping them with personal decisions, advocating for them and protecting them.&nbsp;“Without ADEC, I would still be in the same hellhole I was born into,” she said. “I’m happy now.”&nbsp;She’s happy because she can finally grow her own tomatoes on the patio of her apartment – something she only dreamed about for many years. ADEC helped make that possible by connecting Rosemary with the care and resources she needs and deserves. She’s happy when she crochets colorful blankets at home or meets with friends every Tuesday to knit and talk. And she is happy because no one is trying to hurt her or steal her money any more.&nbsp;It’s a very real fear for Rosemary and others with disabilities. Studies show that they are four to ten times more likely to be abused than those without disabilities. That is part of the reason ADEC’s guardianship program is so important – in its 30-year history, the program has rescued dozens of individuals from situations similar to Rosemary’s. Yet the program is one of a few administered through ADEC that receives no federal or state funding. Additionally, about 15 percent of the individuals who receive guardianship services receive no other services from ADEC.&nbsp;Still, ADEC remains committed to making sure each guardianship client finds A Life of Their Own, Dignity, Employment and Community – the four core values that guide everything ADEC does. And that means a lot to people like Rosemary. Each week, Tobi Weirich, Rosemary’s guardian advocate, visits her in her apartment to make sure she is receiving the medical care she needs, her home is safe and clean and her finances are being properly handled.&nbsp;“I don’t have anybody beating me up anymore, or anybody trying to hurt me,” Rosemary said. “Plus I get to go to the doctor when I’m sick. It feels so good to make my own decisions.”&nbsp;Rosemary said she hopes that by sharing her story, she may be able to reach and help someone who is experiencing abuse like she did during her childhood.

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ADEC’s guardianship program protects people with disabilities from abuse

Managed a department of 4 FTE specialists to to handle internal and external communications for the nonprofit that serves more than 1,200 individuals with disabilities.• Led the “65 Stories for 65 Years” storytelling campaign that reached more than 1.3 million users on Facebook (including Justin Timberlake).• Increased self-referrals to services by 16% by clarifying messaging around program offerings and benefits.

Topic: disability

Articles

Son helps father learn to live with disability

ADEC’s guardianship program protects people with disabilities from abuse