Daughter. Granddaughter. They feared she was dead. They knew she was homeless. But they didn’t know where she was. No one had seen her for weeks. She had gone on one of her drug binges that lasted for days.
Their family bond was strong. But what bound them together at this moment was deep sorrow and bitter heartbreak. Salty tears and grief so overwhelming that only a mother and grandmother could understand.
She was always a happy child. Playful. Imaginative. Growing up, her pictures covered the refrigerator and walls of a modest home filled with love. When she was born, her grandmother helped care for her because her mom suffered from post-partum depression. Her life was dominated by strong, loving women.
In her teens and early 20s, she became more distant and ran with a new group of friends. They partied. They got high. They dated dangerous boys. Before long, she was in and out of jail and had become addicted to drugs. The drugs had taken over her life until no one else was left - she was homeless and alone.
They gave her money to eat but knew it would end up being injected into her arm.
Mom and grandma prayed. They cried. They gave her money to eat but knew it would end up being injected into her arm.
One day, she came into the Women In Crisis Center to find a safe place to sleep and recover from a binge the night before. But she found more than sleep. She found love and compassion. Ulitimately, she became a resident at the Women’s Center of Hope at Steelbridge.
Today, she has a job with a lot of potential. She’s going back to community college. And this past Christmas, she helped her mom and grandma bake Biscochitos from scratch. Her grandma’s secret recipe.
Her mother and grandmother look at her pictures now and their eyes fill with tears.
Her mother and grandmother look at her pictures now and their eyes fill with tears. But for a completely different reason.