I am one in eight billion.

And so is the innocent, malnourished, and neglected human being that I am doing everything in my power to raise money for.

His name is Kristian A. Johnson.

Born with sickle cell disease, he is constantly in a state of dying and reviving, dying and reviving, and waiting for the final blow. He knows that it is coming, and is afraid to think about it.

HE WAS SUPPOSED TO DIE TWO ATTACKS AGO.

AT THE AGE OF 17.

But, by the power of God, he is still here.

Weak.

Afraid.

Broken.

Dying.

But still here.

You see, stress often causes his frequent attacks. But what stresses him?

Foster Care.

At the age of fourteen, Kristian was removed from his home due to a very personal, harmful, and neglectful situation that worsened his condition.

His mother is incarcerated.

He hardly knows his own father.

So he was placed with a foster family.

With five other foster kids.

Awesome, right?

No. Not at all.

I have watched him get picked up from the high school in an ambulance.

I have called 911 to speak for him when he couldn't breathe.

I have had to listen to him tell me his body is going numb and cold because his blood cells are dying.

THE. BLOOD. FLOWING. THROUGH. HIM. IS. DYING.

I have heard him cry out.

"bbbreaathing...in...hurrrts...because...I...I...feel...a...grip...IT IS KEEPING MY HEART FROM BEATING! OH GOD!!!"

There is a grip on him. Death is attempting to grip his heart. A heart that had already been wronged and broken by the first family who didn't love him and left him with nothing.

And this new foster one?

They know he has life-threatening attacks.

Their response?

Little to no food.

Neither foster parents work.

They lock the pantry.

And yell at him to get a job.

He starves until he has another attack.

I've heard it and seen it myself.

And I am as helpless as he is.

He has no money at all.

Not for anything other than generic medical care.

Not for college funds.

Not for food.

Or for housing when he turns 18.

He is trying to keep track of school.

He was an awesome medic for the sports team I was on.

He loves his two separated sisters.

He cares.

Even though the world didn't.

And, now, both him and I, are praying that it does.

Fight with him.

I can hear his heart monitor beep at the hospital as I type this.

Be strong with him.

It stopped, and I don't know if that's bad.

Love him.

I hope he is sleeping, and when he wakes up, he realizes that he is loved.

And for the first, and maybe the only time he has left...

He can feel cared for.

Psalm 46 1-3:

"God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging".

Help those in need. Be there for the weak. Stay safe. Protect yourself.

And may peace always be with you.

from: someone who cares

Family Friend of Kristian

I refused to let AI type or edit this.

I find that insensitive and impersonal.

He deserves better than that.

And so do you.