A message from our Maryland Program Outreach Manager

by Renee Angelo Mauk

What feels like so many years ago now, I worked frontline at a youth program that served teenagers involved in systems- social services, juveniles services, etc. Like many of us that work in the field know, systems involved youth are at increased risk for the greatest adversities and trauma life has to offer. Late spring, we learned that one of the youth served by our southern Baltimore city team had been killed. The team was devastated, and the rest of us were devastated on their behalf- unable to imagine losing a client that we had mentored, advocated for, built rapport and spent time with- as well as connected with their family. The team supported the family best they could, and organization-wide we were permitted to attend the memorial service in support.

What we never imagined, was that it was the start of a season where multiple youth we served were killed over a six-month period. Again and again, an organization-wide email was sent. A supervisor was contacted by higher ups. A team was called in for a private meeting. The clinical social worker who served our organization was busier than ever. And then- it happened to my team. I received a call from a higher up to meet at another office that afternoon. I was actually in a great mood- as I had recently been offered a promotion within the organization and for some reason thought that maybe this was a sort of cool surprise meeting in relation to that.

When I arrived, the room felt very somber. There were quite a few people there from different teams so I still wasn’t exactly sure what was up. Then the news came- a youth I was very close with (and was served by multiple teams which explained the crew) had been killed. I immediately covered my face and began to cry. The higher ups shared what they knew. A friend walked over to console me. I saw a stoic looking coworker let a single tear fall and my heart broke.

My youth was not the last of that season we lost. Eventually, as an organization, we spent a day receiving grief training. We got to express our experiences with the youth we knew and lost and the youth we only knew thru our colleagues. We shared our personal grief and the grief we carried through and for our coworkers. I heard my teammate share just how hard it was for her to see my struggling as I dealt with this loss. Despite all this loss we shared organization-wide, we all kept showing up to work…

I’ve decided to not include names in this story because the fact of the matter is, we can imagine the inclusion of any of the young people we know being featured in this story. We can imagine them being in the classroom in Uvalde. We can imagine our student’s grandparent grocery shopping in Buffalo. We build relationships with our students’ teachers who we know would dive in front of a bullet to save them.

During and after that huge season of loss, I kept showing up- and I don’t say that as a recommendation, but as a fact of the matter. The youth workers of the field and those who truly love and care for children, you show up because you know no one else will. And I hope those in the field across Maryland and DC reading this know that here at MENTOR MD|DC we are here showing up for YOU, so you can show up for our KIDS. In these times where it’s not just a season, but a reality, we are here to hear from you about what your needs are, so we can get those resources to you in a way that supports you, your programs, and your kids, whatever that support may look like.

After that season of loss, I ended up attending an 8-week grief support group for those who had lost someone to homicide. I learned so much- I truly believe learning about grief should be ingrained into our school system, now more than ever. One of the most amazing resources we learned from was a children’s book called Tear Soup by Pat Schwiebert and Chuck DeKlyen. An old woman loses her husband. She cries and cries. Friends and family try to visit her and offer their condolences but it’s just not what she wants at the moment, she just wants to cry. She cries so much she uses her tears to make soup. It’s all she does- make soup! Eventually, she stops crying and she puts the soup in her freezer. She tells her grandchildren, when she wants to or needs to, she can take some of the soup out of the freezer, feel a little sad, spend time remembering her husband, and she can always do that because she has her tear soup. Grief is always with you, and it’s okay.

Lastly, I want to speak on hope. A friend explained to me recently that we need to look at hope as a practice, rather than a feeling. A feeling or an emotion, is fleeting. Hope as practice gives us agency, gives us the power to do something for ourselves. And the things we do for ourselves will always get back out to our community (the filling of your cup first analogy we always use, you know it). How do we practice hope? That’s just for us. What we do with our hope- what we do with the energy hope gives us (I can only hope) is to organize for the change that systemically values children for the wonder that they are.