No Prayer Forgotten: The 60-Year Journey to Find Her Brother 

Ruth Brauer spent decades wondering about the brother she never got to know. Born with Down Syndrome in the 1960s, he’d been sent away with little explanation, and she was discouraged from asking questions. After years of dead ends, a series of connections only God could have orchestrated led to the reunion she’d been praying for. Sixty years after his birth, Ruth finally saw her brother for the first time.  

It was March 1960. Ruth was about to turn seven when her baby brother was born on March 8^th at Iowa Methodist Hospital. The excitement of finally having a brother to join her and her three sisters quickly turned to confusion as she was unable to meet him. Later, she learned he had Down Syndrome and that doctors had advised her parents to place him in a care facility at the nearby Woodward State Hospital.  

“Back in the sixties, that’s just what you did,” Ruth shared. “But I know it tore my parents apart.” 

Questions about Alan were shut down. Ruth didn’t know where he was or even his exact birth date. 

“I always wondered about him, but I’d get in trouble when I asked.” 

Even without knowing him, Ruth had always felt drawn to him. That compassion shaped much of her life. After being invited to Journey Church in 2016 by a friend, Ruth was especially moved by the church’s outreach events for children with special needs. As a barber, her favorite clients were those with special needs, and she also volunteered for years with the Des Moines Special Olympics. 

That’s where the first breakthrough came.  

One day, she struck up a deeper conversation with a fellow volunteer named Ray. He mentioned he had worked at Woodward State Hospital starting in 1959. Ruth’s attention snapped into focus. 

“My brother was there in 1960! His name was Alan Politsch.” 

Ray’s reaction was immediate. His eyes widened and he began to walk away. 

“Wait—what did I say?” Ruth called after him. 

“I’m not allowed to talk to you,” he replied. “Your parents banned me from talking to you.” 

Still, she pressed him for one thing: a birthdate. 

“Please, my parents are gone. I just want to find my brother.” 

Before the day ended, Ray quietly gave her the month and day. It was enough to start, but not enough to get through the wall of privacy protections. Every group home she contacted turned her away. 

Years passed. 

Then another door opened—this time at a food pantry. Ruth shared her story with a volunteer named Bob, who offered to connect her with someone in the state department.  

“They may not even call you,” he warned.  

But they did.  

The woman on the phone didn’t give her name, but simply said, “Bob said I needed to hear your story.” Ruth told her everything she knew: names, dates, places, family history. Weeks later, the phone rang again.  

“Hi, this is Michelle,” the voice said. “I’m Alan’s guardian.” 

Tears falling, Ruth began to speak. 

“I don’t want to take anything from you. I just want to know he’s okay… maybe see a picture. And someday, maybe meet him.” 

As she spoke, Ruth’s phone began to ping. Michelle was sending photos. 

The call came in 2021, but it would take almost two years to build enough trust for a visit.  

In August of 2023, Ruth was invited to a staff meeting at Alan’s care facility. As she sat in the room with nine other employees staring at her, Michelle walked into the room, Alan beside her, and guided him to the seat right next to Ruth.  

I always felt like he was close by,” Ruth said. “I just didn’t know he was five miles away my whole life.

“He kept looking at me, nodding, with this little crooked smile,” Ruth said. “I had my hand on the table, and suddenly he was holding it.” 

A nurse watching over video spoke up: “He knows you’re his sister.” 

The bond was immediate and mutual. 

“I always felt like he was close by,” Ruth said. “I just didn’t know he was five miles away my whole life.” 

Since that day, they’ve spent birthdays and holidays together. 

“He’s the best,” she said. “He fits right under my arm—he’s tiny. He loves Santa, the color red, Coke, and sunglasses.” 

But the reunion has come with weight, too. Now 66, Alan’s health is declining, and Ruth has been asked to help plan his funeral. 

“I just found him,” she said. “And now I’m helping plan his funeral… But he’s mine. He’s my baby brother. The one I waited for when I was seven.” 

Looking back, Ruth continues to uncover the fingerprints of God. Ray, the man who first gave her Alan’s birthdate, later shared that he had cared for Alan during his first sixteen years at the hospital. 

What are the odds? 

When asked what this journey has taught her, Ruth doesn’t hesitate: 

“Patience, persistence, prayer, and people.” That’s what it took to find her brother, and it’s what the Lord provided along the way.  

Some stories don’t unfold quickly. Many of them take time, and it’s only later that we realize how God was working in our waiting. Ruth’s story serves as a reminder that no prayer is forgotten, no relationship is beyond reach, and that even in life’s chapters that feel long or uneventful, God is still writing.  

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