A Voice for Every Child

There are times when I find myself alone in the CASA office suite. Usually it’s late in the day (never early in the morning, mind you) or on a Friday. The staff knows these are dangerous times because I tend to step away from my computer and start rummaging through the office. I’m usually looking for things we no longer need, items that can be recycled, or ways to reorganize a space just a little better. More than once, someone has come back after one of my “projects” to discover that something has moved—or disappeared altogether.

When we recently replaced the carpet throughout our office, my urge to purge kicked into high gear. Kent County’s facilities team brought us boxes to temporarily store everything and a huge gray bin for trash and recycling. I was in my happy place watching everyone sort through accumulated files and supplies.

But there’s one thing we clear out that feels different from everything else.

In two filing cabinets, we keep the paper files from every CASA case. After seven years, they’re ready to be shredded. The files are organized alphabetically, so when it’s time to go through them, we start at A and work our way to Z, looking for files that have reached that seven-year mark.

As I flip through the folders, I see names. Dates. Reunification. Adoption. Guardianship. Aged out.

Once I’ve gathered the files, I take them back to my office to begin the tedious job of removing all the papers from those stubborn folders with the metal fasteners before everything can be shredded and recycled.

And that’s where something shifts.

I can’t help but think about the children and families behind each file. I wonder where they are today. I think about the judges, referees, attorneys, caseworkers, foster parents, therapists, CASA volunteers, and so many others who poured countless hours into helping children and families find stability, safety, and hope.

Every folder represents a season when people chose to walk alongside a child and family during one of the most difficult chapters of their lives.

In many ways, it feels like holy work.

The child welfare system is vast. It can be overwhelming for everyone involved. Children need someone whose focus is always on their best interests, and families need people who believe change is possible. While CASA volunteers are appointed to advocate for children, they often become a source of encouragement for parents and caregivers as well. When reunification can happen safely, it’s something worth celebrating.

As I’ve worked my way through those old case files, I’ve found myself thinking about the thousands of people who have walked alongside children and families over the years—and the privilege CASA volunteers have had to be part of those journeys. It reminds me why our vision is so clear: A Voice for Every Child.

It’s also why this year’s Heart of CASA theme—Walk With Me—feels especially meaningful. Thank you for making it possible for CASA volunteers to walk alongside children and families when they need someone most. Your support gives children a voice, offers families hope, and reminds them all that they don’t have to face their hardest days alone.

P.S. The good news (at least according to everyone who works with me!) is that the courthouse and CASA are gradually moving to digital case files. Apparently, someday there won’t be quite so many opportunities for me to reorganize filing cabinets. I’m not convinced that’s actually good news.

This story is featured in the Fall 2026 edition of CASA Connect, CASA of Kent County’s quarterly newsletter. Click here to view a pdf version of this newsletter.