Letters to Michael: My Journey with Michael and God

By Sharon Ackland Miller with Lynn Casassa

A deeply heartfelt story of a mother and son who were brought together in God's perfect time. Medical challenges were turned into assets from which even outsiders benefited. A child, developing into a thoughtful young man, who accepted his situation, early death, and who, strengthened by his growing belief in Jesus, developed special insights to the needs of others.

Would you adopt an eight-year-old boy with muscular dystrophy, who had been abandoned and abused, and who would likely not live into his twenties? Sharon Miller and her husband did. This is an extraordinary story based on loving memories tied together by deep faith.

Written in the form of letters, Sharon unfolds one fascinating story after another while showing both her and Michael's maturing reliance on Jesus. Each chapter will lead you to understand how a mother's childhood dream turned into an eight-year adventure of joy, learning, and profound faith. This book will open your heart.

--Lynn Casassa

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9798891303089

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Letters to Michael

My Journey with Michael and God

Sharon Ackland Miller with Lynn Casassa

ISBN 979-8-89130-307-2 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-89130-308-9 (digital)

Copyright © 2024 by Sharon Ackland Miller

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

This book is dedicated to our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and reflects my memories of how He carried us through the pleasure and pain that made up Michael's life.

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Epilogue

About the Author

This book is dedicated to our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and reflects my memories of how He carried us through the pleasure and pain that made up Michael's life.

Acknowledgments

Writing this book has been a special journey, and I thank Jesus for everyone He brought into my life to complete it.

First, I thank my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, for giving me a loving husband and four unique children—Kristi, Ken, Michael, and Wayne. In my life, Jesus has shown me He is not only the promise keeper but has given me what I have needed to keep the promises I have made.

I am thankful that Don, my husband of sixty-one years, supported me in writing this. After he read it, he gave me a long hug and quietly said, It's good.

For an entire year and a half, Lynn Casassa and I collaborated on this book. We didn't know each other when we started but became good friends. She corrected phrasing, punctuation, and spelling. I realized we were both writing this story, and it didn't take long for her to fall in love with Michael.

I would also like to thank the following people for their encouragement and support: my parents, Merritt and Velma Ackland; Diana Snider; Janice Zoradi; Helen Gedayloo; Chris Crowley; Acacia Alexander; Cindy and Bill Hughes; Nancy Boes; Kathrene Tiffin; Mylie Abernathy; Pastor Peter and Cherì Ernst; and Ken and Annette Miller.

As I think about those who joined me on this journey, I know there are those I have inadvertently omitted. I can only hope they will forgive me.

Introduction

In 1981, my husband, Don, and I adopted an eight-year-old boy named Michael.

Over the years, I've realized not everyone is in favor of adoption. It is everyone's right to have reasons for or against it. However, it is my heartfelt belief that no one should openly express their opinions on adoption unless asked. One never knows to whom one is speaking.

In a letter to my college roommate, I shared my dream of one day adopting children. I realized we couldn't think of doing it then, but I was merely sharing a dream I had for many years. My first experience with a person who was totally against adoption occurred when my mother-in-law babysat our infant daughter and read the letter that was clearly addressed to my roommate. When we got home, the first thing out of her mouth was how dare I think of such a thing at this time or any time. She wondered how I could consider adopting someone else's child. Her opinion didn't bother me as much as knowing she found and read my letter. I wondered what else she had read or searched for in our home. I wasn't used to family going through one another's personal letters and possessions. She was never again left alone in our home.

Years later, when we let the State of Montana know we were interested in adoption, we informed neither Don's mother and stepfather nor my parents. We decided it was best to wait until we knew there was a child for us. We prayed and asked God to give us the child He wanted us to have.

When we learned about Michael and were waiting to meet him, we decided to write to our parents. In that letter, we explained the process we were in and that in thirty-six hours we would be meeting our permanently placed child. We didn't use the word adoption. We told them about his having muscular dystrophy (MD). We assured them that our two teenage children, Ken and Kristi, were all for it. We told our parents we had found out all we could about MD. We shared with them how the Muscular Dystrophy Association (MDA) provides medical assistance and equipment that would become needed. The out-of-pocket costs of raising a child with MD are about the same as any other child.

It was a while before either wrote back. Despite my attempt to explain how the MDA provides assistance and that we had spoken with people who were able to verify this fact, our parents were concerned about the cost. They wondered if we were too old to do this. I tried to relieve their minds, but I knew in my heart there was nothing I could say to lessen their worries.

Don's mom and her husband were clearly upset and had a lot of questions. Had we considered what our two children might have to give up? Would they have to help care for this child? Didn't we think we should care for our own first? What would happen to this child if we weren't able to care for him?

I wrote back to both, explaining we would be receiving significant financial help as he would be a foster child. It was difficult to explain why we were not concerned about the future because we believed God was in control, and He would provide whatever we needed. Don's mom and her husband were not believers. My parents were believers but hadn't yet learned to rely on the Lord. The next information they received from us was an announcement of Michael's adoption. After being thrown away (Michael's term) four times, we realized he needed to hear the word adoption. We decided not to further discuss the matter with our parents.

To our surprise, most people who knew us were supportive. Some wondered how we could live with a child who wouldn't have a normal life span. These are people who don't want to face the fact that we are all dying. None of us know when we will die. Only God knows. One of the caseworkers told us, All children, no matter their circumstances, deserve a family of their own. Some admitted they wouldn't adopt but were glad we would. No one seemed to realize we couldn't if it weren't for God being with us. We knew the best thing we had to offer Michael was our faith.

During a discussion with friends, death was mentioned. Our pastor shared the contents of a book called Denial of Death, which I bought and read. It described how people deny the fact that death is inevitable and lists all the ways we try to put it out of our minds—doing what we can to look younger, keeping our bodies fit, and using words like passed but rarely died or dead. I learned about Elizabeth Kubler Ross's study about the stages of grief experienced when we know we are dying. At that time, God took me on a study of what the Bible says about dying and death. I wondered at the time why I would be called to do such a study because I didn't think I knew anyone who was going to die. It would be a while before I realized why God took me through this study, but I have always been thankful for it. It made me realize two important facts. First, God knows when we are going to die when He is knitting us together in our mothers' wombs. Psalm 136 says this and much more. Second, I learned I didn't have to fear death, knowing that I am in His hands. We can't change what He plans. I believe death is nothing to be feared for those of us who are born again into His family. It is comforting to know there is eternal life with our Lord Jesus Christ once this earthly life is finished.

So, dear reader, let me begin my tribute to the powerful workings of my Lord, Jesus Christ. It takes the form of letters to Michael that I'm writing today, thirty-four years after his death, just as though he were able to receive and read them. I know in my heart that he knew all of this as we walked this journey together with so many others.

Chapter 1

Dear Michael,

I didn't realize when I woke up on June 9, 1989, that it would be the last day I would hear you call my name, be able to tell you how much I love you, tell you what a privilege it has been to be your mother, hold your hand, go through the ritual of getting you ready for the day, or even have a conversation with you.

It is amazing to me how God made the minds of men. Events can be called back like they happened yesterday. You have asked me several times over the years to share our family history with you. You especially liked hearing how adoption came into my life.

My desire to adopt children first came to me when I was about twelve. It started when my mom and I went to visit an adoption agency. We weren't there to adopt, my mother was there to speak to the owner about a school issue. While she was talking, I was looking at the babies and talking to one of the people who worked there. She was telling me about the families who come wanting a child. I wished we could adopt a baby, but that wasn't something my parents could do. For one reason, they were too old. Another time, we visited a place where older children were waiting to be adopted. I met a little girl there and fell in love with her. I knew she couldn't come home with us, but I asked if we could buy her a dress and a toy as it was near Christmas. We did, and I have often wondered what happened to her.

The high school I attended was connected to Illinois State University, and students were selected to attend. I do not know how they were selected, but it seemed to me we were from all levels of society. There were students with handicaps but no wheelchairs. I didn't give a thought to what people could do or couldn't do or what they owned or didn't own. Then I met several girls who lived at what was called the Home. It was the Illinois Soldiers' and Sailors' Children's Home (ISSCH), which was for children whose parents couldn't provide for them.

Several of those girls became my friends. Because they were bussed to and from school, we could only be friends during school. Over time, I learned some of their stories or at least what they wanted me to know. Now I wonder how these kids who had very little managed to attend a school with many who had so much. I wonder if the students who lived with their families realized how the kids from the home felt. It was a very special education, and a big part of it wasn't in the classrooms.

With marriage came two children, Kristi and Ken. I loved being a wife and mother, and I was grateful for these two children. The idea of adoption never left me, but I knew we weren't in a position to provide for more. Over the years the subject came up and was always answered with, No, it isn't the right time. Your dad wasn't ready, but our children thought it was a great idea.

In 1971, we moved from Illinois to Billings, Montana. Dad had been hired to sell shoes. He thought this was a good place to begin, and he could look for another job while he worked. His boss thought he did a great job, so in 1972, he was asked if he would consider managing a new store in Havre, Montana.

The town is thirty-five miles south of the Canadian border. It was said the population was ten thousand, but that likely included cattle and horses. After working out the details, we agreed that he should take it. The drive is usually about four hours, but on the day in May when we decided to start looking for a place to rent, we learned firsthand the unpredictability of Montana weather. A storm came through fast and full. We couldn't see two feet in front of us. We pulled over to what we hoped was the side of the road and sat. It wasn't long before a truck came. It was a rancher who found us and offered to tow us to a nearby bar.

We sat in the bar for a couple of hours until the storm passed. A man asked if we were the Millers. I guess he heard us telling someone why we were there and where we were going. He turned out to be the real estate agent we were to meet. While waiting at the bar, the agent told us about a house that had an apartment in the basement that would help pay the mortgage. He was certain we would qualify, but we were concerned that we didn't have any savings. Surely, God was watching over us.

The little red-and-white house was perfect for us, even with one bathroom. Many memories were made with our friends at parties, cookouts, and on New Year's Eve when we sledded down a hill just a block away from us. Our church group got together to play softball in the park kitty-corner from our house.

Soon after moving in, we were accepted as foster parents. For a few years, we had many little children in our home. We all fell in love with each one. There was a special one, Sonia, who was only two. She was removed from her mother who couldn't care for her and who had only fed her milk. Our doctor was worried about her. Her blood count was very low. We followed his orders, and she was soon running around into everything and filling our home with fun and laughter. About eight months later, she became eligible for adoption, and we asked for her. I begged for her. I let myself think this was the child I would adopt. We were told foster parents aren't allowed to adopt the children they have in their homes as foster children. When the social worker came for her, I felt overwhelmed, like I was giving her my own child. I kept her ID card in my purse for years. If I heard someone say the name Sonia, I would inquire. My parents told me they felt a loss too. They had come to visit us and had fallen in love with her.

After losing Sonia, the idea of adoption was still met with your dad's no. I told God and myself that it must have been only my dream and that it didn't appear to be part of His for us, but I knew I was still missing someone. The Bible tells us man makes his plans, but God directs his steps, and I accepted this. I was grateful for what I had in my life, and I didn't mention it again. Our lives were full.

Soon after this, I took a job as a teacher's aide at the kids' school. I enjoyed getting to do some teaching one-on-one. When one of the teachers had small groups, I was given a group. One teacher wrote on my evaluation that she thought I was too friendly with the kids. When I asked the principal about that he said, Consider the source. I did, and I didn't stop hugging every child who wanted a hug.

There was one problem at the little house—neighbors who wouldn't or couldn't control their barking dogs. We finally decided we had to move. I hoped this would be the time we would move out of Havre, but it wasn't. I accepted this might be where I would die.

In 1979, we moved into a much larger, split-level home with four bedrooms. It was located on the edge of town with expansive views with mountains in the distance. There was a large open area across the street with a pond and paths for walking and riding bikes. When we moved to that house, I knew my desire to move out of this town wasn't going to happen. I was able to change to a school within walking distance. In about a year, I realized why we had moved, and it wasn't to get away from barking dogs.

Some thought Havre was a nice place to raise children, but I knew there was much more to life, and I wanted our children to experience it. There are places where newcomers are always thought of as outsiders, and Havre was one of them. The people were cordial but didn't invite new people into their groups. Most of the people had never lived anywhere else, but there were a few exceptions. Many of the couples we met who were from out-of-town didn't stay very long. I accepted that God wanted us where we were. I stopped talking about moving. I was grateful for what we had. We were blessed.

Kristi was graduating from high school, headed for college and a job. I knew she would soon be on her own. Ken was a sophomore. Your dad and I had our jobs. The church we attended before moving had a change of character after the pastor and his wife moved away, and the true spirit of some of the members became evident. We were looking for another church.

Out of nowhere, your dad surprised me by saying, I think it's time for us to consider adoption. I asked him where this was coming from. He didn't know, but he had been thinking about it for some time. We talked to the kids. They were for it without any doubt. We decided right then we would take a girl or boy, from birth to five years of age, and we would take a special needs child (I think all children who go through adoption have special needs).

My first call was to the state office that handles adoption. I was sad and yet happy that no children were in need of a home at that time. They wouldn't take my name. They didn't keep a list of people who wanted to adopt. I was told to keep calling, and I did. After several calls, a different lady took my name and said she would call us but that I could keep calling, too, and I did.

The year 1980 brought no phone calls. We were going on with our lives, trying not to let the waiting get us down. I know God wants us to wait for His perfect timing, but as a new Christian, I hadn't learned His timing is perfect.

During this time, I realized I hadn't had a period for over a month. I took an at-home test, and to my surprise, it showed I was pregnant. I waited to take another test before telling anyone, even the family, and it showed I was pregnant. The family was happy, but this turned into a time for sex education, i.e., realizing parents do that! Ken was surprised but delighted to think of having a little brother or sister. He hoped for a brother. Kristi was excited to have another child in the house. She was an excellent seamstress and wanted to make some children's clothes.

Your dad and I were pleased. I called the state office and spoke to Suzanne Fowler who remembered me. I told her what happened, and she told me this often happens and wished us the best. Our name was taken off the list that we had been told didn't exist.

I waited a month to see the doctor. He wanted to take a test. It showed positive too. He warned me it could be a false positive and with my history it most likely was. It didn't make any difference to us. We started making plans. Then I started bleeding, and it became heavier. I didn't wait for an appointment. I walked right into the doctor's office. The bleeding had stopped, but he knew something was wrong. His second test proved negative. He suggested I never was pregnant, but in our hearts, we were, and we grieved. The bottom line was that we had been excited about adding another person to our family.

Around Christmas, 1980, one of us brought adoption up again. We decided to call, and Suzanne Fowler answered. I was glad she was the one who took my call because I didn't have to explain much. She was sorry about our loss and was relieved to know we had waited a while before calling again. She took our names.

She called back in February, asking if we would come for our first interview with her and a social worker, Helen, on the twenty-fifth of the month. They had our records from when we were foster parents, so we only had to fill out the most recent changes. They asked us why we wanted to adopt now that our children were almost out of the home. I told them I felt we still had something to offer to a child. Maybe we just weren't finished being parents. Your dad agreed. We told her we would consider either a boy or girl, aged birth to five, and also a handicapped child. They gave us no hint of a child needing a home at that time.

About this time, Kristi mentioned again her desire to drive to California and spend the summer with my brother and sister-in-law, John and Diane. The three of them had built a close friendship over the years. Kristi would sign up for temporary jobs while she was there, and I knew her personality and excellent office skills would land her jobs. I had to fight off thinking about all the negative things that can happen away from home, and I realized those same things could happen right here at home. I was concerned that Kristi hadn't driven out-of-state, so I suggested to your dad that he go with her and then fly home. He talked to his boss and was told he could go if he arranged to have the store covered. I was relieved he was going, but I have to admit I wanted to go too. Your dad and I had talked about taking a trip to Vegas, but it never happened. I had a couple of pity parties until I talked to myself and prayed for forgiveness. Pity is a sin. I got over it and was grateful he could go with her. Ken planned to fly down for a couple of weeks at the end of summer and the two of them would drive home.

The social worker, Helen, called in March. She and another social worker wanted to make a home visit the following week, but a snowstorm interrupted our lives again. A new time was set, but a second storm hit. Our meeting became a phone appointment. Helen wanted to know if we would consider a boy who just had his eighth birthday in January. She told us your name was Michael and you had muscular dystrophy (MD). I repeated everything she said to the others and asked them if they would consider you. We agreed we wanted to hear more. Another date was set, but before they came, she wanted us to find out all we could about MD.

The only thing we knew about MD was from watching the Jerry Lewis Telethon each year. We couldn't find any information in the libraries. A teacher I worked with told me she found one sentence in one of her books: No child with MD should be left alone on the sidelines when the other children are playing. There wasn't any definition about what MD was.

I was about to give up when I remembered I had met a family whose son was a high school student with Duchenne MD. I believe God reminded me about them. Susan Musgrove was eager to talk about her son, John, who had died just four months before I called. Telling people about him helped with her grief. The pain of losing their son made it too difficult for her husband to join in our conversation at that time. She was honest and included all the losses that happen over time. She told us about the MD Association (MDA) and all they offered without cost to families—equipment, clinics, and camps. She showed us pictures