Kari and her husband, Ward, adopted their little boy, Thorin, from a social-service agency in Maine. Why and how they did this, and what and who stood in their way, are for you to discover in these pages. But you may—spoiler alert—not come away fully understanding what motivated this couple to create this family. They might have been inspired by a traditional religious sensibility, but Kari says she doesn’t have that. Or, by a heroic hunger for parental greatness. I think Kari would say she’s pretty sure she doesn’t have that, either.
I’m not sure that even Kari can explain it, other than she and her husband love their boy, as intensely and irrevocably as if he had been born to them. And apart from all this love, which they seem to have in truckloads, there is something else they don’t have.
What they lack is the belief, seemingly universal in middle-class, status-conscious, primed-for-perfection America, that a child born with an intellectual difference—Down syndrome, autism, Fragile X, whatever—represents an unspeakable tragedy. A fate that promises only struggle, heartache, and pain.
I don’t mean to play down the challenges of bringing a child into a world full of cruelty and ignorance. Or, the dread parents may feel if they believe they are not up to raising, or loving, a child with unexpected needs. But Kari and Ward somehow reacted differently when Thorin came into their lives.
When they learned that their possible future son had Down syndrome, they . . . shrugged, basically, and got on with the adoption. It was a profoundly countercultural reaction. Somehow they never doubted that Thorin is as human as they are, no matter how many chromosomes his cells contain.
I don’t want to get carried away with the awesomeness of Kari and Ward. This could be a great parenting guide, if you could read it and tease out what to do and what not to do when rearing a child with Down syndrome, but Kari—hah!—does not sort any of that out for you. This book, like life, has no user’s guide.
What follows instead is a chronicle of honesty, of mistakes, of love and messiness, of laughter, of pee. It’s a journey of panic and course corrections and sweet, surprising successes. Kari has troubles with homeschooling: “I forgot a lot of people wanted to be home with their children all day. I had never been that person.” Kari is awful with bureaucrats. Some of them are awful to her. Kari cries a lot. She feels, deeply.
And it’s also a story of a boy. Thorin is slow, but he is smart. He has trouble speaking, but he communicates brilliantly. He is adorable, but he is a pain in the ass. He is, in other words, a human child, no less and no more than your special darling with the bumper sticker for student of the month.
That portrait of Thorin is what makes this a deeply subversive book. And, an important one. If you want to be inspired by heroism amid tragedy, go feel sorry for some other family.
Heroism? Tragedy? Screw that. Kari doesn’t want your sympathy. Neither does Thorin. They just want you to read this book.
—Lawrence Downes
Acknowledgments
I want to thank my husband, Ward, whose love made everything else possible, and Thorin who continues to give us the best adventure of our lives and gave me permission to write about him. To my mom, Mary Myhers Wagner, who died before seeing the publication of this book, for being a great Bubba, a generous support, and the biggest fan of my writing; to the memory of my dad, Monk Wagner, who was removed from his mother at three years old and raised by a family who loved him dearly and would have adored Thorin. To my sister, Betty Wagner, who is my touchstone, and my brother-in-law Matt Anson for their generous support of our family. To Jade Beaudoin for allowing me to tell part of her story. To Liz Peck (aka Grammy) for her generous support, and to Stan and Nancy Peck (aka Pop-Pop and Nana) for their generous support.
To Kelly Fernald, my dear and loving friend, for giving me a place to write, and to she and her wife, Allison Reid, for supporting our mission with their incredible generosity, and to Trish Waldron for being at the ready. Deep and abiding gratitude to my agent, Edite Kroll, who believes in me and is my copartner in this endeavor becoming a reality. To the memory of Elisabeth Wilkins Lombardo for being a good editor and mentor; to Lawrence Downes for championing me; and to David Kutcha for helping me shape my story. To Bess Welden, who amplifies my words and mission. Thanks to Bob Keyes for his longstanding support of my work and mission. For giving my words a home, I thank Ellen Seidman, Meriah Nichols, Louise Kinross, and KJ Dell’Antonia. To Central Recovery Press for believing in my story and for giving Not Always Happy the right home. Gratitude to my editor Janet Ottenweller for her skill and patience, to Valerie Killeen, Patrick Hughes, Eliza Tutellier, and the entire CRP team. Profound thanks and gratitude to everyone who reads my blog. You get me. And, thanks to the Maine Art Commission for its generous support of my work; it has made such a difference.
CHAPTER ONE
Hitting the Kid Jackpot
When my husband and I started dating in 2002, I was forty-two years old and Ward was twenty-nine. Four years later, we married and decided we wanted a child. There was
