I’ll be honest—when I got the reminder that it was my turn to attend Luzerne County’s annual adoption celebration this November, I wasn’t exactly eager. It’s a beautiful event, a bright spot in a field that is often heavy, but that morning I felt paperwork was my higher priority that day. I even called my supervisor from the car and asked, half-joking and half-serious, “Do I really need to go?” Lorelei didn’t hesitate: “Get your butt over there. They’ll even have food you like.” So off I went.
I walked into the venue and joined my colleagues from Voce—Becky and Ashley—along with our partners from another service provider agency. We settled in at table #3. I hadn’t yet looked at the list of families being recognized, and I expected a quiet afternoon of friendly conversation and good food. I didn’t even have my jacket off when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
I turned—and there was Annastasia.
I recognized her instantly, even though it had been six years. Before I could get a word out, she asked with a note of uncertainty, “Do you remember me?”
“Of course I remember you!” I practically jumped out of my chair. We wrapped each other in a hug that felt like it held years of history.
Then she said words that were completely unexpected and caught me off guard: “You saved my life. I got adopted. If you hadn’t done all the stuff you did when I was little, I wouldn’t be here.”
I was stunned. When you work in child welfare, you get conditioned to keep moving—to assess, document, support, repeat. You don’t expect thanks. You don’t always think about impact when you’re consumed with the day-to-day. You do the work because it’s the right thing to do. Hearing her say that pulled me out of that routine in the most unexpected way.
I told her, sincerely, “No—you saved your own life.” But the truth is, her words were deeply touching for me and everyone sitting around me.
I had been her caseworker from the very beginning—through shelter care, referrals, petitions. I’d always tried to approach every case with integrity and compassion, because that’s who I am. When I switched jobs to become a child welfare paralegal with Voce, her case transitioned to another caseworker. I knew her adoption was nearing finalization, thanks to a nudge from my co-worker, but I had no idea I’d see her that day.
She’s sixteen now, a high school soccer player whose entire team showed up for her adoption. She told me, “God bless you,” and I said it right back.
That moment—surprising, emotional, overwhelming—reminded me why our work matters. And as we hugged with my colleagues in tears, I felt something I didn’t even realize I’d needed reminding of: the warmth of knowing I truly made a difference.
