P.A. (Pseudo-Adoption) 27814-18

When we first met, ten-year-old Yonatan was swinging on a swing set, possessing big, hopeful eyes that had already seen far too much. Father deceased from cancer, mother addicted - a boy accustomed to surviving alone on street benches without a home or anyone to rely on.

When another child asked who I was, Yonatan answered without hesitation: 'She's basically replacing my mom.'

I told him a mother cannot be replaced, but since things were tough for her, I was there to help however possible. Yonatan stepped off the swing, leaving it swaying - much like his answer, hanging suspended in the courtyards of my heart.

Our connection formed quickly. He waited for me, and I for him. He talked about games, dreams, and occasionally looked into my eyes to ask deep questions about life, the world, and God. I cherished his questions, even when I lacked answers.

At times, I felt he just wanted me to adopt him. At times, I felt that was all I wanted, too - to take him home, to belong to each other. How wonderful that would have been, if only it were possible.

But at the end of every meeting, he stayed behind while I walked away. Professional, legal, and personal boundaries existed, and I could not adopt him or replace his mother.

I could only act within professional limits: securing allowances, attending committees, arranging placements, funding martial arts classes to channel pain, build discipline, and learn self-defense against external and internal monsters.

I could be proud of him - almost as proud as a mother could be, and perhaps even a little more.