Love — the word follows me and haunts me in all its very guises.

Love — it's what these young people need more than oxygen itself. Consistency and love. "Do you love me?" I am asked a thousand times an hour. "Can I stay in your office? Ride with you in the car? Can I get dropped off last and picked up first? Can I ride shotgun? Can I be in your life? Can you see me as a real person? Do you love me? Are you leaving? You can't get old or sick or die. I need you. Do you still love me? Are you still here?"

When I say I carry the world's troubles, that's not quite right. I carry my children's fears and anxieties and if that gives them some relief, even for a moment, I guess it is a deed well done. A small flicker of light in many different lives in many different ways.

Saturday, folks from Target volunteered to come to QUEST and clean. The nice thing was they even brought cleaning supplies. We are continually in need of mops and brooms and buckets. Not to mention Pine Sol and bleach. A never ending river of green and white cleaning liquids.

It being Saturday and the hour early (9:30 a.m.), you would think I would be alone in that parking lot anxiously scouting for lost and wary Target people. But no, various QUEST teenagers begged to come. To clean and hang out and to have a Saturday destination. And yes, they all cleaned. The freezer, being old and cranky defrosted, that was a serious mess. Closets were opened that had been gathering dust and insects for years. I'll never forget Izzy screeching as he leaped over the couch running from an unidentifiable insect.

Or Karrie and Hannah cleaning and rearranging my office. I have yet to see the end result. I'm a little nervous about this.

Kids kept dropping in. "We're closed," I'd yell up the stairs, but the door was open. My car was in the parking lot and they dropped in to say hello and maybe empty some trash on their way out.

Then, there was Farell, whom I've known for at least 10 years. We've been through hard times together and when he got "student of the month" in sixth grade, I went to his school and brought him red roses — real flowers. Children gathered round to smell and touch them. I was a big hit in the classroom and so was Farell.

Today, though, was different. Not so neat and pretty. Farell and Matt, an inseparable pair, looking like two mendicants from an alien nation.

Tall, rangy boys, always dressed entirely in black. Long, baggy jeans, huge black T's, black hooded sweats covering more than just the back part of the head. Farell comes over often to shoot some hoops, get some food and always to give me a huge bear hug. Today was different. I was sitting in a sling chair, really, really tired and he came up behind me and draped his arms around my shoulders and down my arms. Bending over to rest his cheek on my head. We stayed that way for 10 or 15 minutes, he massaging my hands, me not wanting to do anything to frighten him away. He always asks if I'm OK. I always say yes. Today, though, I admitted to being a little weary.

I look into his concerned face and am jolted out of my complacency. He has gotten so very thin. His face looks like a death head.

"You're so thin," I say. "No, no, no," he replies. "I just gained 10 pounds." He eats his share of pizza, throws a few basketballs, empties some trash for me. "See ya," he calls as he leaves.

Later that day, I find out from friends he's on the street, bed hopping and homeless at 16 years old.

I am hopeless, I can rant and scream, but that is all I can do. Rules. Rules — everywhere. I am not his parent, I am not a relative, I have no authority. I am helpless. Oh, I can walk my usual route, Social Services, CPS, city government. Nothing nowhere. Again, another child gone through the cracks just like the garbage he carried out for me. A wasted life.

I spoke at the Unitarian Church at Sunday. I spoke of my children, their sorrows, their small lives. We wept. Together, as a community, we held hands and cried. There has to be another, better way. CONFIDENTIALITY means simply, only family admitted, only family allowed. And I ... I stand outside the gate and watch another person, a young, caring, boy child I cannot touch. Winter is coming; we cover our plants up, but not our children. What would you do? Ask yourself, "What would you do in that place, at that time?"

Two weeks ago, I wrote a blog on love. I talked about second chances and dedicated that column to Izzy. He took that blog to school, it fell out of his back pocket and was picked up and read by one of his teachers. The class assignment that day became LOVE. To go on the Internet and find out something about love. They looked up the Love Statue on the Internet and marveled at its size. "I didn't think it would be that big," said Izzy. Love brought art and poetry and psychology, as well as second chances to those children that day. Needless to say, Izzy got an "A" and a feeling of pride and accomplishment. And love? Love was spread around the school that autumn day in October.

Let's all spread love like fertilizer and watch it bring children joy and safety and the ability to love another. A magic garden of giving. "Kindergarten" — do we remember what it means? A garden of children. Let's invite all children, all people into the circle. Love, the gift that keeps on giving.

This blog is dedicated to Farell. You have given me more than you know.

PS — If you have a comment, please feel free to email me at judy@questkids.net and I will be more than willing to answer or respond to anything you have to say.