Immediately after graduating college, I spent the summer interning with the St. Louis City Fire Department in their ride-along program. St. Louis city fire’s work schedule is 24-hour shifts on and 24-hours off. I spent much of that summer working in the busiest engine houses in the city — which meant that the following mornings I was exhausted and ready to sleep — the entire day away.

Around late July my college friend, who was also my spiritual mentor during that period, Teresa, called and said she was visiting St. Louis and asked if I had time for breakfast the following Friday. I told her my schedule and she suggested we go to mass together at the world-renowned Cathedral Basilica of St. Louis right after I ended my shift with fire. “That works”, I responded.

Quick background on Teresa: In the Catholic Church you have two types of Catholics. Those who arrive to mass 15 minutes late, sit in the back, and leave after communion. Then you have those that arrive 15 minutes early, sit in prayer until the priest arrives, and stay until the last song is played.

Teresa puts the latter to shame.

She keeps holy water in her pocket, has almost every saint either worn on her fingers as rings or as necklaces, and when you would normally say, “peace be with you” during mass and shake the other church-goers hand, Teresa uses that hand to pull you in for a hug and then whispers a quick prayer in your ear. How we became friends I don’t know but until this day she was one of the best friends I’d ever had.

Friday morning arrives and I meet Teresa outside the church. We greet each other with big smiles and a long hug before I open the door to lead us in. As we walk down the aisle I stop mid-aisle of the church to my usual church pew. Teresa, all five-feet-four-inches, stands up on her tippy toes and whispers in my ear that she sees better seats “wide open”. Considering we were two of about 15 others at mass that morning in a church that has a capacity of 5,000 I knew where this was going.

Teresa walks us right up to the front row and we take our seats.

Mass begins as it always does. We sing. We pray. 25 minutes later, “go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”

Or so I thought.

As Mass begins to conclude and right before the priest dismisses us he begins to pray the Rosary. Not sure what’s going on I look around as I see the other 15 church-goers, Teresa included, joining the prayer. Just as my eyes made their way back to the front of the church I noticed the priest walking towards the congregation.

Teresa and I are his first points of contact as we’re seated right in the front row. He waves to us as he guides us down the aisle all the while still praying, “Hail Mary, full of grace…”

All 18 of us end up right outside the church. At this point I have no idea what’s going on — totally exhausted and not trying to find out, I whisper to Teresa, “let’s hit this breakfast spot, I’ll drive.” She immediately shushes me as the prayer continues, “Hail Mary, full of grace…” and we all begin our walk down the church steps onto the street to only God knows where.

As traffic passes by we walk down the sidewalk on Lindell Boulevard, hungry and deprived of sleep I join the prayer, “Hail Mary, full of grace…” Teresa, now hearing my voice amongst the congregation, looks at me with a smile and rubs my back as to say welcome to the team.

Eventually and after a bit of a walk we reach our destination: 4251 Forest Park Ave. Anyone familiar with St. Louis’ geography knows exactly where we are. Planned Parenthood.

As we arrive at the far west gate of the property, the priest, the loudest voice in the prayer, begins to slowly whisper, “Hail Mary, full of grace…” We, too, do likewise. An octave lower and another lower we are no longer praying. We’re all silent as we look on for minute after minute after minute.

The parking lot is half full but as cars drive into the south entrance they are met with screaming voices who hold signs that read, “It is not a choice! It is a child!” Car after car arrives through the gate where women from inside the building, presumably nurses, rush out to help guide their patients into the building attempting to shield or protect them from the protesters to the south.

The women, some in tears while others hide their faces with their hands, exit the car they arrived in. The cars as if reenacting a scene from a Fast & Furious movie fly out of the parking lot past the screaming protesters. No brakes. All speed, into the distance leaving behind their passenger.

It is in these moments — car after car — that it becomes clear that these women, until they arrived there, were all alone.

After 20 minutes of silence, the priest prays a quick prayer and we continue on our walk back to the church. Mass concludes and Teresa and I go to breakfast. At breakfast I have very few words. I’m no longer tired or hungry. I ordered a water and a croissant — mostly because I didn’t want to sit empty handed or offend Teresa.

Teresa explains to me all the goings of her life and we catch up — ever so slightly. She thanked me for joining on the walk. “No problem”, I responded — both of us knowing I didn’t have a choice in the matter. And then she asked how it made me feel. I told her I didn’t know but that I feel like we could do better. I explained that I felt like some of those women were abandoned at a time where they needed great comfort and support.

This was my first experience witnessing anything related to an abortion. I suppose I was still processing.

Breakfast ends. Teresa sends me on my way with a prayer and a big hug and her usual, “Goodbye, for now.”

Nearly a decade later when I reflect on the walk I am incredibly grateful for the experience for two reasons. First, because I witnessed humanity in a way that I was totally unfamiliar with. And two, it was a recognition that health care clinics such as Planned Parenthood are often places of refuge that should be protected.

Yes, 10 years later I still do believe we can do better. Much better! First, by ensuring we support women in making their own healthcare decisions. Second, provide medically accurate health resources and education to those women most in-need of them. And third, create spaces where women aren’t ashamed or embarrassed to ask questions and seek help.

Moreover, I am pro-life and the true essence of life is freedom — the quality or state of being free. If women can’t freely make decisions about their own bodies then women aren’t free. And if that’s true then none of us are free.

I’m the Police in the third largest city in the country with fairly strict gun laws. Yet, we lead New York City and Los Angeles in gun related homicides. Criminalizing abortions will prove ineffective in stopping them.

If we’re interested in reducing abortions we should double down on effective sex education in schools. Private schools too — including those with a religious base. Second, we need reliable insurance options for those most at risk: low income and unmarried women. Access to birth control can and should be affordable and most accessible. Third, we need to take serious arresting and keeping locked up perpetrators of domestic violence and sexual abuse. Rarely are offenders committing these crimes just once.

Finally, do I close with the parable of the Good Samaritan or the parable of the Adulterous Woman? The former teaches us to love our neighbor as ourself and the latter teaches us mercy — more importantly that Jesus was so unfazed by her alleged sin that he never left her side.

There is enough written on both of those.

In closing, remember that no one should ever be left alone — especially in their moments of most need. We’re all human after all.

Julius