I met two young women at the drop-in center. They are both pregnant. It’s not the first baby for either of them. They sit on the floor together, eating from their bowls of ice cream and swapping jokes between the two of them. They’ve been through a lot together; fights, breakups, good times and bad. The bond is almost visible in its strength.
Both women are young. They are at the age where they should be worried about prom season, the dramas of high-school and where they’ll be headed to college in the fall. Instead, they juggle complicated street relationships, morning sickness and other issues while trying to figure out how long they can couch surf with their friends.
One of them grew up in church, going to youth group and Sunday School. She placed her first daughter in an adoptive home instead of letting her parents raise her. It caused a split in her family and drove her down to Portland. She visits her daughter but is practically alienated from the rest of her family. She’s the girl you hear whispered about in church. The girl that needs a big hug and open arms. She’s hurting and she needs love.
The women are going to keep their babies. They are determined to carve out a future for their children. They don't want repeats.
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