There were no Wednesday Wins.

We didn’t have Wednesday wins last week. 

What are Wednesday Wins? Well, our staff and board share a GroupMe (group text of sorts) called Wednesday Wins. Each Wednesday, a staff member sends a message calling for the ‘wins’ from the last week. Staff pipe in throughout the day, sharing small and big ‘wins’ about the youth and families in our care. It’s an intentional way we cultivate hearts of hope in this work—most days, it’s much easier to see what went wrong than to stop and notice what went right. 

I was looking at our thread this week and noticed it’s been silent for over a week. I think I know why.

A few weeks ago, one of our advocates got “the call.” The first one in 15 months. An older sibling of a young girl we serve called and shared that after rushing her sister to the hospital from an overdose, she didn’t survive. Her advocate saw her a few days before. They even planned their next visit over spring break—she wanted to go to a Cat Cafe she heard about… she loved cats. As a young teen, she was battling a strong addiction to fentanyl for well over a year, in and out of treatment centers. 

A week later, that same advocate got a call that yet another young teen client on her caseload had overdosed and was in the ICU, fighting to survive. After being on life support for a few days, she passed away. 

This was a lot to hold. Two deaths in nine days of young people you’ve poured your heart into.

The primary goal of our advocates is to build trusting relationships with the youth on their caseload. Well, relationships are risky. It’s a risk to open your heart up to someone and know it can one day be broken. To love is to risk. It’s what we do every day with vulnerable youth in our community, walking close to them on their human journey. And sometimes, it crushes your heart into a million pieces, and you’re not sure you’ll recover.

Speaking of recovery, we’re learning more and more that recovering from the experience of trafficking and exploitation as a young teenager is nothing short of a miracle. We do see miracles sometimes. But as close as we are to the miraculous, we are also privy to the tragic endings. 

Of the survivors we serve, this is the 12th death we’ve grieved in the last four years. If you’ve been walking with us for a while, you’ll recall my emails about these deaths. This deserves our attention. This deserves our pause. This is not business as usual.

Grieving the lives lost has become a big part of our culture here at Traffick911. We take it seriously because we believe their lives are worth our pause—worth honoring and mourning. We don’t brush it under the rug and keep going. We stop. We are quieter than usual. We reflect. And we collectively mourn. We consider it an honor to honor their life. We help the families with the expenses incurred by their death and help plan a memorial service if they don’t have the funds to do so because every single child is worth remembering—every single time. 

I wish I could tell you their names. And the intricate layers of complexity in their lives and families that led to these tragic endings. But for now, I ask that you hold space for us in solidarity. That you would say a prayer for these families, others stuck in cycles of addiction after trauma, and our brave advocates. 

You are a part of this community, and we believe communities that feel and grieve together are communities that heal together.