Jeremiah’s Story

I looked over to Jeremiah as the juvenile detention center came into sight. He’d spend his 18th birthday behind the barbed wire fence that was now visible in the distance.

Beyond his involvement with the justice system, Jeremiah is an easy kid to root for.  He was the victim of horrific abuse throughout his life.  He struggles with the extensive trauma he experienced as a child and the lack of any meaningful family support in the first eighteen years of his life. Like many young people who lacked a stable home environment, he got involved with a gang at a young age, needing some sense of belonging. Yet, he shows remarkable resiliency. 

As his Savio worker, it was my job to help him transition from detention to a normal life. It was easy to spot his energy pick up when we talked about a new lifestyle for him. I kept telling him that the past didn’t have to define his future. He was quick to open up – always sharing what was on his mind. Jeremiah wanted something else, even if he didn’t quite believe it was possible.  Just a couple weeks away from being released, he had been asking a lot of questions. He’d what his future would look like: “Where will I live?” “How will I get there?” “How can I make money?”  He’d barely let me finish the answers before tossing out another inquiry.  He openly talked about his hopes – and doubts – about the likelihood of these plans working out.  It was hard for this eighteen-year-old, who’d spent his life surrounded by abuse, gang violence, and drugs, to imagine something better. But Jeremiah was trying.  

Today’s conversation was lighter - and he hadn’t said anything about not wanting to go back to the facility tonight. He was still swept up in rehashing his small birthday celebration.  “I’m just so glad my brother came. That was cool,” he remarked, before stating, “you know, this was the best birthday I ever had”.

He made the comment almost off-hand, and completely sincere.  It was a basic meal, a simple recognition of his official transition from childhood to adulthood, attended by just two family members.  And now I was dropping him back off at a juvenile detention facility to be locked up for the night. But for Jeremiah, who had grown up without family support, even this small sense of belonging gave him a glimpse that there was more to life than what he’d known. And this emotion overshadowed the fact that he was about to return to the detention facility.

There were just two weeks before Jeremiah would be released. We needed to ensure he had an income, re-enroll him in high school, and connect him with services to support his developmental disabilities. Most challenging, we’d need to find a host home for him. When we talked about how he could find a new life moving forward, Jeremiah was honest with himself. He recognized to be successful he needed a new beginning and not return to Pueblo and the people he knew there.

We focused on how and where we could surround him with new healthy people, ones that would model positive behaviors and show him a life beyond the one he knew.  Identifying a host home would be critical for that.  After multiple unsuccessful visits, we were excited to find a host home that seemed like a perfect fit in Colorado Springs.  Jeremiah was genuinely excited; his doubts had been proven wrong, and he truly believed this home would make a new life.

Unfortunately, it was only a week before the host home called and said they were no longer able to take him.  They didn’t provide much of an explanation, but we knew finding a host home that would accept someone with Jeremiah’s juvenile record was always going to be a challenge.

Jeremiah was heartbroken.  He responded to sudden rejection and crushing disappointment by quickly turning to anger. “See! You are wrong! No one wants me!” he kept shouting. It wasn’t easy for him to face the possibility that he’d be returning to the same empty life.

Finding people willing to help teenagers like Jeremiah is not always easy. This wasn’t the first time Savio encountered a last-minute obstacle like this. We’d do whatever it took to help him in his transition. 

There was only a week before his release. I called every agency I could find, determined to find the right place for him. We scheduled visits with anyone that would allow us to come. Just two days before he was scheduled to be released. I found a home that welcomed him. As we talked with the host, I could see Jeremiah’s excitement start to feed his rapid-fire questions before he’d silence himself.  He was trying to contain his hope, out of fear that this one – his last chance before leaving detention - would fall through just like the last one had.

The host picked up on Jeremiah’s emotions.  She paused, looked straight into his eyes, and asked “can I hug you?” Jeremiah nodded as his eyes started to water.  It probably had been many years since he’d allow someone to hug him.  I watched the two embrace, both with tears in their eyes. 

To Jeremiah, the home was more than a place to live.  It was proof that his deepest hope existed: that his past wouldn’t define his future. 

- Meg, Savio Transition Program