By Shari Shapiro
The amazing work that our team does every day isn’t read in the newspaper or watched on the news.
No headline for the child who made it through the day. No story about the parent who got through a hard night without calling 911. No article about the moment when something almost became a crisis and then didn’t.
That’s how it usually goes.
And then, sometimes, you have a day like this one.
7:55 a.m.
The backpack is open on the kitchen table at The Farmhouse, the Kids In Crisis SafeHaven Emergency Children’s Shelter. Papers sticking out. A sweatshirt pulled on without much thought. The child had arrived the night before.
We drive them to school.
That might not sound like crisis work. It is. When everything else in a kid’s life has shifted, getting to school on time can be the one thing that still feels like something from before. One of our counselors grabs the keys, talks about a test or a teacher, and keeps the conversation small enough to avoid the silence.
The school drop-off this morning looks like every other drop-off. Other parents. Other cars. Same Tuesday.
No one watching would know where that child slept.
That’s the point.
11:09 a.m.
The helpline has been busy since before most people had their first cup of coffee.
A call comes in from a parent who started with 211, and eventually got routed to us because we’re local. That loop happens often. Families can call us directly at 203.661.1911, but people in town don’t always know that.
The parent is trying to figure out what to do. Their child hasn’t been to school in days.
This morning feels different. More tense. More like something is about to snap.
The counselor slows the conversation down. Asks a few questions. Helps the parent think through what’s actually happening instead of just reacting to it.
They hang up twenty minutes later.
5:29 p.m.
A child was brought to the hospital in Stamford earlier in the day. The police officer handled the immediate situation. She wasn’t looking forward to the long stretch of time waiting.
So the officer calls us.
The handoff is fast. Someone from our Crisis Outreach Team is there within 30 minutes. The officer heads back to her shift. What’s left for us is a quiet room, a child who hasn’t said much, and a chair pulled up next to the bed.
Hours pass that way.
A nurse comes in and out. There is a ruckus in the hallway. But this room stays still.
This is the part most people never see. Not the call. What comes after. Sitting with a child who is trying to understand what just happened. Making sure no one makes the next decision without them.
Eventually, the child asks something.
“Do I have to go home today?”
Sometimes, there isn’t a clean answer to that question.
But there’s someone in the room to walk through it. To make sure whatever comes next doesn’t happen too fast.
Nothing escalates out of control.
Nothing breaks down further.
That’s not luck. That’s what we train for.
9:58 p.m.
One of the kids at SafeHaven Emergency Children’s Shelter can’t quite settle in.
Pacing from one room to the next. Still agonizing about whatever brought them here. A counselor stays close without pushing it.
After a while, the child sits down on the floor.
The counselor sits down on the couch next to him.
The conversation starts small.
Upstairs, the crisis helpline rings. A parent is trying to decide whether to force open a locked door or wait. We stay on with her. Talk through what to say. What not to say.
How to slow it down before it becomes something bigger.
The door stays closed.
The situation settles down.
Most people will never know how close it came to going a different way.
There’s no clean ending to a day like this. Some situations resolve before midnight. Others carry into the next morning.
If you’re in one of those nights right now, you can call our Crisis Helpline directly at 203.661.1911.
Most of what we do won’t show up anywhere. You won’t read about the child who made it to school. You won’t hear about the parent who got through the night.
That’s our work. Not the stories you hear. The ones you don’t.
Shari L. Shapiro is the Executive Director of Kids In Crisis, an emergency crisis shelter for children and teens located in Cos Cob.
