Page 65 of The Embers That Remain

I nodded, listening.

“And it’s not just busy work,” she continued. “It matters. You can actually see it helping someone in real time. A kid understanding something they didn’t before. Someone feeling a little less alone for a couple hours.”

Her voice softened slightly. “It gives your brain something else to hold on to. Sometimes volunteering gives hope too.”

That made sense in a way that went beyond theory. We’d talked about grounding techniques and regulation strategies in medicine. This was something different. Purpose woven into routine.

“And the volunteers here,” she added, glancing toward the door. “They are the best people around.”

“I noticed that. I saw a flyer on the bulletin board at the hospital, and it seemed like this was a really special place,” I said. Lane fit that description too.

She nodded. “It’s not about fixing anyone. It’s just about showing up consistently.”

There was weight behind that statement. Consistency mattered. More than most people realized. During a brief lull in the conversation something occurred to me.

“I actually know someone who might benefit from something like this,” I said. Lacy immediately came to mind, but I kept that to myself for now.

Her brows lifted slightly. “Yeah?”

“My son—Jace,” I said. “He’s been in and out of therapy for a while. I adopted him through a kinship placement four years ago. We’ve been trying to find something that helps outside of that environment. Something . . . less clinical. Would there be an opportunity for him to volunteer as well?”

Sawyer’s expression softened with interest. “How old is he?”

“Fourteen.” She nodded slowly. “That could work. He could join in a group session and be an encouragement to the others there.”

“I didn’t even think about it until now,” I admitted. “I didn’t realize places like this existed locally.”

Sawyer smiled faintly. “It’s relatively new, but we’re incredibly lucky to have something like this in such a rural area. This wouldn’t be possible without the foundation that pays for it.”

I hesitated, then added, “You mentioned structure and predictability. That’s something he struggles with. Not the structure itself—but trusting it.”

“That makes sense,” she said. “Trust takes time.”

I nodded. “It always does.”

“What kind of therapy is he in if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Mostly trauma-informed,” I said. “Some cognitive behavioral work. We’ve been discussing adding group sessions, but . . .” I trailed off.

“But that environment can be overwhelming, and finding the right group is crucial," she finished.

“Exactly.”

Sawyer tapped her fingers lightly against the table, thinking.

“Well,” she said slowly, glancing at her calendar, “I think this might be a really good fit. My friend Talia volunteers Thursday afternoons and leads a session for teens. The Thursday group currently has five teens. I think he might be a great addition.”

“That’s worth a shot,” I said. “He’d be much more likely to join in if he felt like he was there for someone else.”

Sawyer nodded, a little amused. “That might actually help. Whatever it takes.”

“I’ll talk to him,” I agreed. “He does better when he’s not walking into something completely unknown, but if I give him too much time to think about it, sometimes he gets overwhelmed.”

“Then this might be a good middle step,” she said. “Not exactly therapy—but still supportive.” For the first time, the path forward felt obvious.

“I think I’ll bring him by,” I said. “Just to see how he responds.”

Sawyer nodded. “No pressure. That’s the whole point here.”