But as early reports of COVID-19 began making waves in late January 2020, China quickly closed its borders to all flights and halted all adoptions to reduce the spread of the virus.

“China has a really stable adoption process that spans a few decades…just with COVID that’s really thrown things off,” said Kym Lee.

Now, as COVID’s year anniversary has come and gone, the Lees are among hundreds of families still left in total darkness waiting for China to begin processing paperwork so that they may travel to bring their children home.

The hardest part about waiting has been “wondering how she’s doing, and not having regular updates,” said Lee.

Since China began international adoptions in 1992, it has consistently been the top country for international adoptions, as it typically has the easiest and least expensive process. During the year 2005, a peak of 7,903 Chinese children were adopted by Americans.

Although, as China’s economy has grown and domestic adoptions have increased, international adoption numbers have significantly declined since 2005 to an average of around 2,500. Yet, as a result of COVID, 2020 has the lowest number, with only a handful of successful adoptions before things were shut down. 

Katie Chaires knew immediately after the adoption of her first son, Asher, in 2016 that she didn’t want him to be an only child. So, in December of 2018, she filed for a second adoption. She received clearance to fly to China on January 28, 2020, to bring her daughter Noa, 3, home, but three days prior, she received word that China had officially ceased all travel. 

Katie Chairs and her son Asher, 6, March 7, 2021. Photo by Julie Johnson

“I feel like the hardest part has been not knowing how she’s doing, not being able to see her grow,” said Chaires. “I feel like I’ve missed a year of her growth and development and getting to know her. Because at this point, she should’ve been home for a year already.”

Chaires said Noa has Global Developmental Delay, and she suspects medical issues as well. Still, without many updates other than the occasional photo and short video clips the orphanage provides, she doesn’t know a lot about Noa’s wellbeing. 

Initially, adoption agencies had prepared families for a one to two-week delay. But, as COVID grew to a global pandemic, they have stopped predicting when things might resume. What was once the most prominent international adoptions system has swiftly fallen to radio silence, even as other countries like Bulgaria and Columbia have slowly reopened to international adoptions.

On New Year’s Day of 2020, Cynthia and Andrea Bonezzi touched down in Maoming, a city along the tip of China’s southern coast, to adopt their second daughter Anna, 3. 

During their two weeks in China, there were no emerging reports about COVID-19. The city was getting ready to celebrate the Chinese New Year and, “everything was normal,” said Cynthia Bonezzi.

They remain amid the few families to successfully bring their daughter home on January 18, 2020, before China halted all adoptions. 

“We were able to get it done in record time and just made it before everything shut down in the pandemic,” said Bonezzi.

Families who were on their way to China with connecting flights were turned away at their midpoint destinations and returned home childless, Bonezzi said. 

And if the Bonezzis had been one of the families turned away, Anna probably wouldn’t be alive, as she was in a fragile state medically due to a chronic illness, and required immediate surgery when they arrived home in New York City.

Cynthia Bonezzi and her two daughters Lily and Anna in China’s White Swan Hotel, January 2020. Photo Courtesy of Cynthia Bonezzi

 There have been no reported cases of COVID outbreaks in any orphanages or institutions as a result of the lockdown.

But studies have shown, the longer children are in these orphanages and institutions, the more significant setbacks in motor skills and cognitive function they may encounter. The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia attributes these delays to a lack of verbal and physical stimulation from caregivers. 

According to Lisa Nalvin, MD, once a child is placed into an adoptive family, they typically “demonstrate remarkable ‘catch-up’ rates when given the appropriate support.”

The Lees celebrated their daughter’s fourth birthday in December by sending a cake and goodies to the orphanage. And as the days, weeks, and months slowly pass still with no word from China about when adoptions might resume, Kym Lee continues to remain hopeful that her daughter will be able to spend her next birthday at home.

“Everything’s really up in the air,” said Lee. “We’re praying and hoping and believing that she’ll be able to come home maybe this year.”

The post Chinese adoptions halted by COVID appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

Everyone assumed these new routines would be temporary––but what does temporary mean in a pandemic?

These pictures explore and exist in this limbo of time––joyful and memorable, but occasionally lonely and grim.

Time forcefully spent at home exacerbates experiences, making dull moments remarkable events: a phone call, opening a bottle of whiskey, looking at a mirror without reason. Everything could happen at the same time, the same day; then you realize it’s been weeks, your routine has become a ritual, and you haven’t been out of the house for months.

Mom’s bed, early in the morning.
Photo Guillermo Manning

Sofia working late at night while it rains.
Photo Guillermo Manning

Grandmother at her home.
Photo Guillermo Manning

Mom at home.
Photo Guillermo Manning

Grandmother having dinner and opening a bottle of whiskey. Photo Guillermo Manning

Mom working at home.
Photo Guillermo Manning

Mom visiting my grandmother for the first time in weeks.
Photo Guillermo Manning

Mom on the phone while Bombay listens.
Photo Guillermo Manning

Paulina riding a bike.
Photo Guillermo Manning

A picture of Paulina when she was four.
Photo Guillermo Manning

Grandmother greeting mom.
Photo Guillermo Manning

This is a project of  Lori Grinker’s  NYU graduate photojournalism class.

The post What Temporary Means: Portraits of family at home appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

 After the lockdown of New York City, I decided to fly home for a week because Georgia suburbs felt safer than a big city during a global pandemic. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

 My 28-year-old brother was infected by Covid-19 shortly after I came home in late March. Faster than a row of dominos, my entire family of four was infected. We all suffered from different, but severe symptoms like pneumonia, fever and difficulty breathing.

I’m 24, my sister is 26 and every day is a challenge for my family.

Cases of coronavirus skyrocketed in Georgia in the past two weeks. The number of deaths were below 50 in late March and has now soared past 430 as of Easter morning.

“Whatever this is, it’s not a joke,” my brother said to me gently as I brought him oatmeal. I have never seen my older brother cry, but I saw tears as he struggled with eating.

After my mother’s fourth visit to the hospital, she cried and said she thinks she will lose her life to the coronavirus. She said it was best to do nothing and keep her at home. She is 49.

Coronavirus hit my brother and mother the hardest. According to the AJC, 61% of cases are patients between 18 and 59. 

I wasn’t going to lose anything else to this deadly virus. I chose to fight for us.

My mother started out strong after she tested positive with only a small cough. Her cough grew louder and more frequent followed by nausea. Hospital trips went from once every few days to two or three times in one day. Each visit came with more bad news like pneumonia and fluid in her lungs.

In four days, I drove to Northeast Georgia Medical Center in Braselton, Georgia more than 10 times. My nights consisted of driving to the hospital at 1 am, falling asleep in my car, being woken up at 6 am by a call from a physician and coming back to the hospital twice before nightfall the next day.

I would drive up to four hours in one day. Along with the virus, I had breathing difficulties and strep throat. But I wasn’t sleeping or taking my medicine because I didn’t have the time to. The doctors kept calling for my mom to come in.

 It wasn’t visible, but I felt like a walking corpse. And one day I almost fell asleep behind the wheel.

“You’re not allowed to drive anywhere like this. You don’t need to take me to the hospital. If I’m going to die, I would rather die here surrounded by my children,” my mom said to me after I brought her home late at night.

I heard surrender in her voice, but I was not defeated. I knew this was not the end for our family.

“I can just stay in the parking lot for as long as you stay in the hospital if that makes you go. There are doctors outside 24/7 in case I get sick. I can bring food and my antibiotics, and I’ll get to rest,” I said to my mom.

The best way to take care of myself and be close to my mom was to live near the hospital, in my car. Home didn’t need me. My only purpose there was to take her to and from the hospital. I told her I’d stay only hundreds of feet away from her if she needed me.

She gave up hope so I gave her some of mine.

Living in my small car while tested positive for coronavirus doesn’t sound safe or smart, but it was the only way to get my mom to keep seeing the doctor.

My brain went into survival mode.

My mother thrives off her children’s love. If she sees me fighting for her, it will only push her to get better. The hope my mother lost was regained because her daughter was waiting for her.

This virus stripped away all of the luxuries in my life I thought were necessities like a kitchen and a bed.

 I am only 5’1 so sleeping in a car was not terribly uncomfortable. I had a blanket, fruit, water, and my antibiotics. I had time to rest and think about what I am up against. Instead of feeling bad that I was stuck in a car, I continued to feel hopeful because I could adapt to anything during this time of crisis.

I wasn’t the only one who waited outside for a loved one. I saw a tall man in a car much older than mine.

My time alone in my car made me stronger. I had nobody to talk to so I wasn’t straining my throat. I had no excuse to not take my medicine and my body finally got the rest it needed.

That is how you defeat coronavirus. You take every possible measurement and fight it. You don’t give up and let it take everyone it infects.

When it hurts to breathe, take deep breaths. Holding a deep breath feels like I’m hiding a cookie cutter in my throat.

Coronavirus  has a mind of its own. You just can’t kill it with Tylenol or go to the hospital and get an IV.

I did not let my mother give up hope. I will take every precaution and keep fighting. 

The post Coronavirus flipped my world upside down appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

A debate over life and death is being waged in New York.

As of 2018, New York has been considered one of the top battleground states for the medical aid in dying debate, centering around the legalization of prescriptions for lethal drugs for patients at the end of their lives. In the two hearings held on the issue this year, many who testified shed tears while telling emotional tales of the end of a loved one’s life.

The New York State Assembly and New York State Senate introduced identical Medical Aid in Dying bills, but neither progressed to a vote. Following the midterm elections, supporters have higher hopes for 2019, but the fight for legislation continues to be slow-moving due to deep divisions within several key groups.

“I would say that there are obviously people on both sides of the issue with every segment of society,” said Diane Coleman, disabilities rights activist and founder of Not Dead Yet, an anti-medical aid in dying organization.

Current legislation under consideration in New York, called the Medical Aid in Dying Act, mirrors legislation in Oregon and other states where the practice is legal. Medical aid in dying prescriptions are only available to terminally ill patients with a six-month prognosis, who must complete two oral and written requests in addition to being approved by two doctors. They must be residents in the state and both mentally competent of making the decision and physically able to self-administer the medication.

According to a poll conducted by Quinnipiac University, 63 percent of New Yorkers support Medical Aid in Dying. At hearings for the New York bills in 2018, advocates and opponents alike testified with emotional, moving personal stories.

One of these stories was that of Amanda Cavanaugh and her partner of five years, New York State correctional officer Chrissy Connery. After being diagnosed only a year after meeting Cavanaugh, 26-year-old Connery fought for three years against her cancer, exhausting every option available to her.

“I took a special interest in [this issue] because my partner Chrissy was coming to the end of her journey with stage four adenocarcinoma cancer,” said Cavanaugh, who is also the  campaign organizer for Compassion & Choices in New York and New Jersey.

Connery and Cavanaugh’s tale is one that too many families have also lived. Around 111,000 New Yorkers each year are diagnosed with cancer, with more than 35,000 not surviving. In fact, some opponents of Medical Aid in Dying legislation have heart-wrenching stories just like Cavanaugh’s, despite ending up with opposite perspectives.

This is the case for Lynda Holler of Brewster, NY. Eight months after marrying in New York City, she and her husband Kenneth Holler received devastating news: he was diagnosed with oral cancer at 39 years old.

Over the next 21 years until he passed, the Hollers had two sons together and learned to adjust to a “new normal.” Kenneth Holler battled through 11 surgeries and eventually lost his ability to speak and eat, but despite the pain he refused to let the cancer dominate his life. He remained an involved father to his two sons, cheering them on at every game, and never once wishing for medical aid in dying.

Their journey was what inspired Lynda Holler to become a passionate opponent of such legislation in the state.

“He made such an enormous impact on people and people are living their lives better because they saw how Kenny lived,” said Lynda Holler. “So, I really realized I needed to be involved in this movement because we have to treasure life, and we have to appreciate that there’s still value that comes out of suffering.”

Like Cavanaugh, Lynda Holler’s personal story drove her to get involved with the medical aid in dying debate. For people on both sides, medical aid in dying is a deeply personal issue.

Doctors remain on both sides of the issue

There is not a clear divide on this issue even within affiliated groups. The medical community remains one of the most divided. Though the majority of physician groups used to be opposed, several have recently switched their stance to neutral, including the American Academy of Family Physicians. Others, such as the New York State Academy of Family Physicians, have announced their direct support.

“I don’t think the medical community is monolithic,” said Katharine Deiss, a practicing physician in medical pediatrics at the University of Rochester Medical Center. “I think they have a split view like everybody else does.”

David Kim, an attending physician in Staten Island, is worried about the ethical burden it would place on physicians themselves, forcing them to be the “judge, jury, and executioner.” Other concerns he voiced include risks to the doctor-patient relationship and violations of some medical codes of ethics, in addition to fears that this would a “cop out” to fixing current care inadequacies.

“Assisted suicide really risks, and probably does, erode trust in the doctor-patient relationship,” said Kim. “We’re talking about death or suicide as a medical treatment to be prescribed by the physician, in order to alleviate suffering or pain by the patient, and that has never been a part of any mainstream code of ethics than any physicians follow.”

While Kim is one of many physicians who firmly believe in literal definition of “do no harm,” other doctors believe that medical aid in dying would in fact help them uphold that oath to patients. Regardless, under the proposed legislation, doctors who do not believe in the practice can opt out.

Concern from marginalized communities

Another group in the discussion is the disabled community. For them, there is fear about how the legislation might put unequal pressure to utilize medical aid in dying. An able-bodied person might define quality of life in a completely different way than someone who is disabled and some in the community fear that such legislation would target or discriminate against disabled New Yorkers.

“If you look at the reasons that people give, that doctors are writing down for why people want assisted suicide, the top five reasons are not related to being terminal — they’re related to being disabled,” said Coleman, who has been disabled for most of her life, which was her motivation for starting Not Dead Yet.

Oregon was the first state to legalize the practice, with seven other states and Washington D.C. following suit. According to data from Oregon in 2017, the top five reasons were decreasing ability to participate in activities, loss of autonomy, loss of dignity, burden on caregivers, and losing control of bodily functions. These traits are felt by both the disabled community and the terminally ill. In Oregon, most patients who used medical aid in dying in 2017 had cancer, followed by ALS, and heart/circulatory disease.

In Oregon, 94.4 percent of patients who used this option in 2017 were white, and most were described as “well-educated.”. Only 5.6 percent of patients in the state who utilized medical aid in dying did so partly due to the financial burdens.

“From these data, and in the absence of verified reports of coercion or exploitation of people with disabilities or other vulnerable groups, analysis has concluded that there is simply no evidence of coercion of people with disabilities or other vulnerable groups, despite predictions to the contrary,” said Alicia Ouellette in her Barriers to Physician Aid in Dying for People with Disabilities paper.

Also preventing any hints of coercion is legislation stating that doctors and insurance companies are not supposed to offer this as an option. Rather, patients must be the ones to ask for it and seek it out, and still over one third of people opt not to use their prescriptions in the end.

“I don’t know, you know you never know, if someone is going to use it or not,” said Cavanaugh. “People sometimes don’t, but knowing that the option is available is a huge, huge benefit. And so, I think if [Chrissy] had the control should she want it, it would’ve helped her live longer.”

Supporters look to renew their push for legislation in 2019

Hearings for the proposed New York bills lasted more than 14 hours combined. Despite neither bill making it to vote in 2018, proponents viewed the year as an overall success. Cavanaugh spoke of 2018 as a “foundation-building year,” and was happy with how far the movement had come since she first got involved. Supporters are hopeful since the democrats gained control of the New York State senate.

Compassion & Choices  supporters sport the organization’s t-shirt at the April hearing before the New York State Legislature in Albany. Photo courtesy of Compassion and Care.

“The bill that was in the assembly now has even more co-sponsors, legislators who have now signed onto it,” said Bonnie Edelstein, founder of Death with Dignity Albany. “It’s been adjusted and redrafted, somewhat, for this next legislative session, to include even more safeguards and to allay fears of some people who are in opposition.”

On Nov. 14, New York State Senator democrat Neil Breslin held a fireside chat in conjunction with Death with Dignity Albany. Though he expressed mixed support, Senator Breslin seemed unsure of whether or not the bill would progress in 2019.

“With 15 new democrats — and really there’s only about eight or 10 long-term serving democrats, I’m not sure — it certainly will be much better than under the Republicans,” said Senator Breslin. “There’s, to me, a lot of discussion it still needs.”

The post Medical aid in dying debate rages in New York appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

As Puerto Rico continues to feel the aftermath of Hurricane Maria, New Yorkers with ties to the island are experiencing a mounting sense of desperation, not knowing how to help, and in many cases, unable to contact their loved ones at all.

“It’s so desperate. We are all anxious,” said Puerto-Rican born New York resident Juan Recondo at a demonstration to rally support for the island yesterday. “My wife is crying all the time and I completely understand — she hasn’t spoken to her brother for more than a week.”

Recondo, like many of his fellow demonstrators, feels paralyzed in the wake of the storm’s destruction. At least 16 people have died, and millions are without power, clean water and gas, according to a CNN report.

“There’s no way we can help,” Recondo said. “Our hands are tied. This is the only way, trying to get involved in this type of movement.”

Juan Recondo attends a rally in support of the people of Puerto Rico in Lower Manhattan yesterday. Photo by Amy Zahn

Recondo, along with over a hundred other protesters, gathered in Lower Manhattan to call for more aid to be sent to Puerto Rico and to condemn what they see as a slow response to the disaster by the U.S. government.

“I haven’t heard from my family at all, my whole family,” said protester Anthony Zayas, wrapped in a Puerto Rican flag. Aside from his mother, who lives in New Jersey, Zayas’ entire family is in Puerto Rico.

The state of New York is home to over a million people who identify as Puerto Rican, according to the U.S. Census Bureau, the largest number in any state. There are over 5 million Puerto Ricans on the mainland U.S. in total, making them one of the largest Latino groups in the country, second only to Mexicans.

“People are praising Trump, but you know what? He did it too late. It should have been done immediately,” Zayas said, referring to Donald Trump’s temporary waiver of the Jones Act last week, eight days after the storm hit. “We’re American citizens, too.”

The Jones Act, passed in 1920, requires all ships transporting goods between U.S. ports to be built by Americans, and primarily manned by them. Trump lifted it for 10 days to facilitate shipments to the storm-ravaged island.

But despite the difficulties of assisting 3.4 million people — the population of Puerto Rico — there are ways to tailor relief efforts to be as helpful as possible, or at least avoid making things worse unintentionally.

According to Tony Morain, communications director for Direct Relief, a nonprofit that provides medications to hospitals and other health centers in disaster areas, it’s important for people to be mindful about the kinds of supplies they send.

In natural disasters, he said, it’s common for a shortage of truck drivers to combine with an influx of supplies trying to reach an area, creating a bottleneck in aid transport. After the Haiti earthquake in 2010, Morain explained that well-meaning people sent nonessential items like stuffed animals and toys, which can clog up ports and slow the distribution of life-saving supplies.

Morain also advised against sending winter clothes, since Puerto Rico has been experiencing high temperatures. Water, food, gas and medicine are the essentials, he said.

As far as longer term help goes, Morain thinks awareness is Puerto Rico’s best bet at recovery.

“Keep this in the news,” he said. “It’s always the case that first people talk about the wind speed of the storm, and then they show palm trees swaying, and then things go dark for a bit because there’s no communication, and then we start hearing stories about how devastating the first response search and rescue is … and then it becomes communities that have been forgotten.”

Robert Perez waits for a pro-Puerto Rico rally to start in Lower Manhattan yesterday. Photo by Amy Zahn

Puerto Rican Americans like protester Robert Perez, whose aunt and sister are stuck on the island, are unlikely to forget anytime soon, and he hopes the government won’t either.

“After the pressure’s put on the government, maybe Mr. Trump will do something,” he said.

The post NYC Puerto Ricans’ frustrations mount in wake of destruction appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

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by Joanna Bouras

Ross Carlisle, of Brooklyn, searched through a sea of fluorescent runners, with his family in quest of his brother.

Stationed at the 24-mile mark of the 2014 TCS New York City Marathon in Central Park, this afternoon, they waved brightly colored signs as the family cheered and encouraged runners on. Carlisle, 28, was positioned to give his brother the final kick of adrenaline he needed to finish the race.

His brother Lee Carlisle, 30, was running to qualify for the Boston Marathon in April 2015. He has been trying to for several years.

“Its inspiring to see all the different types of runners from people with disabilities to senior athletes,” said Carlise.

With the predicted wind conditions runners knew that it wasn’t going to be a personal best race or a qualifying time race.

Temperatures were at a frigid 52 degrees and wind speeds up to 26mph. Officials said it was slowing down runners by five minutes on average.

“There’s no denying it was a beautiful fall day, said Carlise. “But for a marathon the wind was a bit much.”

Carlise said the most shocking aspect of the marathon was seeing competitors running without shoes on.

“Them some tough toes,” he joked.

Accompanied by his family, he had also been nervous they would miss his brother when large masses of runners came panting through at once. Dressed in a black hat, white shirt, and black shorts, they figured he would be easy to pick out in the sea of colors.

His mom, aunt, and sister had flown in from Ohio to join in cheering his brother on.

Carlisle thought it was heart warming to see all the fans cheering for strangers as a community, especially at a point where everyone is exhausted.

With reddened noses and jumping to stay warm, Carlisle shouted, “Hit the nos breh,” as he held a sign with the words colored on it.

The phrase is an inside joke between the brothers from the movie The Fast and the Furious.

Being at the 24^th mile, Carlisle chanted encouraging words at runners that looked like they were struggling.

To give them a boost he cheered their names and offered high fives as they passed by.

This is Carlisle’s first time seeing the race up close.

“It’s usually just another NYC road block on my way to work,” he said. “It’s so nice to see how supportive and friendly everyone is.”

Carlisle and his family picked their race location based on good photo opportunities and where the after parties would be.

“Marathon parties complete with mimosas and bloody marys,” he said.

Carlisle has never participated in a marathon before, but is currently training with New York Road Runners to train for next years.

The post NYC Marathon: Family support in Central Park appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

ASHBURN, VA-Since she was six months old Murielle Tiernan, 18, has been fighting cystic fibrosis, a genetic disease that causes her lungs to produce an excess of thick mucus. But anyone who has seen Tiernan take to the soccer field can see that in the fight against CF she is clearly winning.

Tiernan, a senior at Stone Bridge High School in Ashburn, Va. was recruited by Virginia Tech’s Women’s Soccer team and will begin her career as a Division I athlete this summer.

“The fact that Murielle has been so heavily involved in sports has been therapy and treatment and a health bonus because that’s the ideal circumstance, to go out and run and exercise,” her father, Ed Tiernan said.

Off the field, keeping Tiernan’s lungs as healthy as possible has been her family’s priority since her diagnosis. But as she prepares to head to college, Tiernan is confident that she can adequately administer her own nebulizer and mucus-loosening treatments.

“I could do it all on my own,” she said.

The post Thriving with cystic fibrosis appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

Inside this wooden container sits the flag that covered Johnny Kihm's casket when his body arrived at Dover Air Force base. Photo by Chris Palmer.

NORTHEAST PHILADELPHIA, Pa. – Cecelia Kihm’s life changed the day that two strangers knocked on her front door.

It was April 19, 2011. Kihm, 51, a freckled, sandy-haired pre-school teacher, was at home in her green-carpeted living room watching the television show “Ellen.”

She opened the door to two Army soldiers, standing in uniform on the concrete steps in front of her brick rowhome in the Castor Gardens section of Philadelphia.

“When I looked at them, heat just went down my body,” she said.

Her baby-faced 19-year old son, Johnny, had deployed to Afghanistan a month earlier. Several members of his unit had died already, including three that week.

She invited the soldiers in. After taking a few seconds to collect her thoughts, she asked them to deliver the news.

Her son was dead, they said. Killed in combat.

During sleepless nights since Johnny had enlisted, Kihm told herself that if this day ever came, she wouldn’t react like characters do in movies. No violent crying, no denial, no hitting the messenger.

But she was overridden with grief. She kept saying, “It’s too soon. It’s too soon.”

She went upstairs to tell her oldest daughter, Marybeth, who was 24 at the time.

“I didn’t even know how to say it,” Kihm said.

Her husband John, just returning from work, collapsed in agony when he saw the two men in his living room. He cried on the adjacent dining room floor.

And Kihm’s middle child, daughter Meghan, who was then 21, threw up after she was told.

“It was horrible,” Kihm said.

This scene – a family torn apart by news of a young soldier’s untimely death – is not uncommon. As of April 28, 2012, nearly 6,500 American soldiers have been killed in Iraq or Afghanistan since the Afghan War began in 2001. Thousands more have died in non-hostile situations, through circumstances like training exercises, illness, or by suicide.

But all military families who lose a loved one have to deal with a variety of unique challenges, according to Ami Neiberger-Miller, a public affairs officer with the Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors (TAPS).

“The experience of military loss is so unique,” she said.

According to TAPS research, more than 80 percent of military deaths are traumatic and unexpected, catching family members by surprise. Military families are often thrust into the spotlight after the death, forced to take up the role of spokespeople to the media and strangers who want to honor the family and the fallen soldier. And some military family members suffer from insomnia, depression or post-traumatic stress disorder.

“There’s no rulebook to guide families and help them,” Neiberger-Miller said. “It’s a long journey.”

For the Kihms, just over a year after Johnny’s passing, the sadness that comes from being one of those families, shrunken by war, never ends.

“I always feel like I’m stuck in that two week period, from when we found out until when we buried him,” Kihm said. “It doesn’t feel like we just had a year. It doesn’t feel like it at all.”

Marybeth, now 25, put it more succinctly.

“It sucks,” she said.

“If you’re going to be in it, you’re going to be in it.”

At Cardinal Dougherty High School, Johnny ran cross-country and wrestled. But he was especially drawn to the Marines “Delayed Entry Program,” which gives individuals under the age of 18 a chance to work with soldiers to prepare for enlistment at a later date.

Once a week, he trained with the Marines, and throughout high school he dreamed of enlisting after graduation.

In March of his senior year, though, he changed his mind. After high school, he spent a semester at the Abington campus of Pennsylvania State University.

But his interest in the military wouldn’t stay suppressed for long. After his first semester of college, Johnny returned home for Christmas break and told his parents he had made up his mind: he wanted to enlist.

Kihm wasn’t exactly thrilled, but she had told her son when he was in high school that she would support him if he decided to join.

“I knew that’s what he wanted,” she said.

Johnny and his parents considered both the Marines and the Army, and eventually decided that the Army would be a better fit. He enlisted, and on March 1, 2010, deployed to basic training at Fort Benning, in Georgia.

“I really thought he was going to be alright.”

Johnny Kihm in his Army gear. Photo provided by the Kihm family.

In June 2010, after completing basic training, Johnny moved to Fort Drum, N.Y., with the 10th Mountain Division infantry unit. He was supposed to stay there until May 2011, when the unit would be deployed to Afghanistan. But the deployment date was moved up two months. They shipped out on March 17, 2011.

Kihm had two phone conversations and four Facebook chat sessions with Johnny while he was overseas. She kept a record of all the interactions in a datebook.

“I would sit by the computer and just look for that little dot to appear,” she said, waiting for him to sign on to Facebook.

Her last phone call with him was on April 15, 2011. The conversation was brief, but he said they would talk more later.

He died four days after the call.

Before Johnny’s death, the possibility of losing her son never felt real, Kihm said. But now, the reality is inescapable.

“Some days it’s more like day one than day two,” she said.

“All this wouldn’t have happened if that wouldn’t have happened.”

While the Kihms grapple with Johnny’s death on a daily basis, they have also found various ways to dedicate themselves to new causes in his memory.

John, Johnny’s father, has taken up volunteering at the Philadelphia Veterans Comfort House, a shelter for homeless veterans.

Cecelia sends boxes of supplies – cigarettes, magazines, Red Bulls – to Johnny’s unit (a pack of cigarettes is accompanied by a note, telling the soldier on the receiving end that they have to promise to quit smoking).

One of her more recent efforts was to style pillowcases for the unit members.

And after finding out that the soldiers don’t have anything to put into the pillowcases, she decided that her next goal is to figure out a way to send the troops pillows.

Together, the Kihms established a foundation – the Pfc. Johnny Kihm Memorial Fund – that, among other activities, is raising money through events and t-shirt sales to refurbish a United Service Organizations lounge for military members at the Syracuse airport, near Fort Drum (the Kihms declined to say how much money they’ve raised so far).

And they’ve received countless gifts, tokens of support and donations in Johnny’s name – occasionally from complete strangers – which they in turn donate to the foundation, or use to buy supplies for the care packages.

Ingrid Seunarine, a bereavement counselor in New York City who directs grief counseling programs for Catholic Charities of Brooklyn and Queens, said that it’s common for people to donate time and energy to various causes after the death of a loved one. Doing so, she said, can help individuals cope with the loss, while also honoring the memory of the deceased.

“You have to keep that connection in your heart,” she said.

“It never stops.”

In the year since Johnny’s death, the Kihms have been visited by scores of wounded warriors and other supporters, wishing to pay their respects to the fallen soldier’s family.

Kihm said she has a deep sense of gratitude for the gestures and the soldiers who go out of their way to support them, especially those in the 10th Mountain Division.

“I feel like they’re mine,” she said.

But she also said that at times, unexpected visits, combined with the milestones that pass without her son – Memorial Day, 9/11, his unit’s first extended period of leave – can make it feel “like the viewing day never stops.”

After a few hours of talking about Johnny, with the smell of a home-cooked meal wafting through her living room, the pain in Kihm’s heart surfaced. With her eyes welling up, she recalled a moment that happened at Johnny’s funeral.

During the ceremony, she said, she reached out and touched her son’s closed casket.
Then she put her hand on her husband. Marybeth had her arm around him as well.

Kihm then whispered to Meghan, telling her to reach over and touch Marybeth.

And they formed a chain, linking Meghan, to Marybeth, to John, to Cecelia, to Johnny.

“We were all holding each other,” she said, her voice quivering.

Later that day, the Kihms would bury Johnny at the Holy Sepulchre Cemetery in Northeast Philadelphia.

But at that moment, they sat together as a family for the last time.

“It was beautiful,” said Kihm, fighting off tears.

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