Jerry, 47

Jerry, 47

Meet Jerry…

“I shot and killed a man. No matter how much I’d like to change the past, I cannot. But I can strive to be better.”

Incarcerated: 26 years
Housed: Thumb Correctional Facility, Lapeer, Michigan

I shot and killed a man. No matter how much I’d like to change the past, I cannot. But I can strive to be better. My first ten years of incarceration, I refused to accept responsibility. I blamed others. I was a drunk idiot. I began to attend AA. A volunteer asked me, “Do you feel you have a drinking problem, young man?” “I guess,” I replied with a shrug. “What do you mean, you guess?” I shrugged again. “Have a seat, we’ll do our best to figure it out.”

Now I train service dogs for Paws with a Cause. Today, it hit me how much these service dogs’ lives parallel our own. The incoming dogs come in young and wild while the outgoing dogs are well trained and mature. Like Digit, a new dog, as soon as my youth was over, I was caged. Convicts are yanked away from their loved ones, loaded onto transfer buses and shipped to strange places. Both groups are rewarded for good behavior. “Good boy, Digit, you’re doing a great job!” “Good job, inmate Jerry, your cell looks so clean!” We are punished for bad behavior “Bad dog, Digit. Down. No jumping. Go to bed!” “Damn it, inmate Jerry. Get out of my f***ing face and go to your cell!” We learn how to follow commands without question no matter how ridiculous. We come to rely on our masters for our health and happiness.

In prisons across America people slave away for pennies per hour, cooking, scrubbing toilets, cutting grass, farming, working in factories, building roads, digging ditches, the list is endless. Unlike the dogs, we are not loved and nurtured. Though in the end, many of us do leave prison better than when we entered. I can’t imagine how much better our system would work if the US treated its prisoners with respect and dignity. If we started with giving a little love, nurture, and the chance at hard work, how many of us would leave prison rehabilitated, the way the dogs do?

Donnie, 46

Donnie, 46

Meet Donnie…

Growing up in the eighties, fast food was everything and nothing was bigger, or cooler than McDonald’s.​

Joseph, 68

Joseph, 68

Meet Joseph…

I have always been a proponent of pro-choice; and if anyone ever asks me what my feelings are on the abortion issue, I’ll firmly tell them that; but I’ll also have to tell them about the love I have for the girl who never was and how very much I miss the times we never shared together.

Incarcerated: 16 years

Housed: California Men’s Facility, Stockton 

I firmly believe in a woman’s right to choose, but difficult choices sometimes come with adverse emotional effects. I also know from experience that difficult decisions can come with consequences. Sometimes those results are fleeting, at other times they affect who and what you are. Following is my experience with an abortion, and how it affected me. Some years ago I met Joy, a woman who shared my love of the written word, as well as my joie de vivre. We shared our dreams with each other and began discussing a possible future together – even making plans to retire at some point to somewhere remote and beautiful where she could write her stories, while I put mine down on canvas. We talked excitedly about taking trips afar and sailing my yacht to distant ports to seek inspiration for our endeavors. 

Unfortunately, circumstances caused us to split up. Even though we were far apart, emotionally and geographically, I knew that I was in love with Joy, and was certain that she felt the same way about me. I kept in touch with her via email, often attaching stories and poems I’d written expressly for her. Some of the writing I did during this period was the best I’d ever done, because it was sincere and from the heart.

Two months after our split I was surprised by a call from Joy, who informed me that she was pregnant, and already being a single mother, wanted an abortion. Since she seemed rather flustered and apprehensive, I offered to make all the arrangements for her and pay for any costs involved with the procedure if that’s what she really wanted to do. She assured me that she wanted to get it done.

Over the years, I’d heard horror stories about abortions, so after hanging up with Joy, I felt compelled to research the procedure and investigate facilities in her area. After conducting this due diligence, I set up an appointment for her at a clinic near the university she attended. I then called Joy to let her know about setting up the appointment, and to alleviate any trepidation she may have had, told her what I found out about modern abortions: it involved the ingestion of a medication that aborted the fetus. If this wasn’t successful within a few days, she would have to return to the clinic to do it again. I offered my moral support and told her that I’d drive her to the appointment. Joy seemed relieved to not have to go through the experience alone, saying that she appreciated my support.

I began pondering something over the next few days and called her a few days before the appointment to share those thoughts with Joy. I told her that if she wanted to do so, I would love to have the child with her. She gave me an emphatic “No.” So I picked her up at her house the next day to take her to the facility that was about forty minutes away. As we drove, I reiterated my desire to have and raise the child with her ; but she wouldn’t be swayed, so we continued on to our appointment.

When we got there, I was glad to have done the research I’d done on the clinic – it was very professional. In light of the emotions involved with the procedure, it was important to me that Joy was comfortable, and more importantly, safe. There vere about a dozen other women in the waiting room. Only one was accompanied by a man , and he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. Like many other medical facilities I’ve been to, the room temperature seemed rather cold. I imagine that if you are experiencing any fears about what was about to happen, it would seem even colder. Joy did seem apprehensive, and sidled up close to me; so I put my arms around her as I assured her that everything would be fine. As we waited, I started to feel uneasy about the situation. Up to that point abortion was just a concept to me, now it was a reality. I thought about the fact that there was a tiny person inside of the woman I was holding- a woman I was in love with. I felt revulsion that there might be as many as two attempts to terminate this potential person. I turned to Joy again and asked, “Are you sure about doing this?” 

She hesitated for a moment, but said, “I have to do it.”

Just then a door opened, and a nurse called for Joy. She got up and followed the nurse through the doorway into the operating area. As she did so, she looked back at me and I saw uncertainty in her face. My heart felt like it was in a vice.

As I had feared, the procedure didn’t take, so we had to go through the process again. There was no question about going through with it this time since there was a high probability that the first attempt had caused irreparable damage to the fetus.

Because an appointment I had ran late, I missed my flight and had to meet Joy at the clinic. I felt awful during the first appointment, but the second one was so much worse for me. Joy later told me that she had felt the same way. That’s a thought that haunts me to this very day: a sense that we’d made a little girl, and she seemed to have fought to live.

After the appointment, Joy told me that she had a sitter for the night, and asked if we could go out for a bit. We drove separately to have dinner at her favorite restaurant followed by a movie. After the movie, Joy called home and after hanging up she told me that the sitter was willing to stay the night, so we could stay out as long as we wanted to. I drove to a nearby casino, where we caught a lucky streak and had a great time through the early morning hours. 

When we got back to where Joy parked her car, I walked her to her vehicle, opened the door for her and shut it after she got in. I motioned for her to roll her window down, and when she did, I kissed her goodnight and she willingly kissed me back.

As we drove away from each other, she went to her home and me to the airport, we talked on the phone like we used to do- full of laughter and animation. On my flight home, I was glad that Joy and I seemed headed for a reconciliation; but that elation was countered by the overwhelming feeling that the abortion had been a terrible tragedy. I agonized over the fact that I hadn’t been able to talk Joy out of going through with the abortion.

Joy and I eventually married, and a year and a half later we had a beautiful little girl. I just couldn’t imagine this incredible child not being part of this world.

Because of the incredible relationship that blossomed between my daughter and me, I often think about what might have been with the little girl who had not been given the chance to live, love, be loved, and become the person she had the potential to be. Although she was never born into the light, I often imagine what her birth would have been like, and the journey she would take into adulthood. I think often about all the questions I would have answered for her, the things I would have shown and taught her, and the places we would have gone to together.

I envision being with her at birthday parties, Christmas celebrations, playgrounds, parks, and on vacations. I picture myself laughing with her, teasing her, comforting her when she is hurting physically or emotionally, and staring in awe at her as she makes new discoveries and learns all that she is capable of. As we are the sum of our experiences, she is a part of who I am. I feel a love for her as any father would love his daughter, and feel the paternal instinct to love, teach and protect her even though she’s not there. I have always been a proponent of pro-choice; and if anyone ever asks me what my feelings are on the abortion issue, I’ll firmly tell them that; but I’ll also have to tell them about the love I have for the girl who never was and how very much I miss the times we never shared together. “The most painful state of being is remembering the future; particularly the one you no longer have. ” Kierkegaard

I was actually brought to tears when I saw scans of my child in her moms tummy. She was a girl and I was ecstatic about it! My favorite picture is a side view of her in a fetal position sucking her thumb. This seemed to be a conscious act and made her seem so much more real to me. She was only the size of my thumb and I started to love her already.

I was actually brought to tears when I saw scans of my child in her moms tummy. She was a girl and I was ecstatic about it! My favorite picture is a side view of her in a fetal position sucking her thumb. This seemed to be a conscious act and made her seem so much more real to me. She was only the size of my thumb and I started to love her already. Once she was born I couldn’t stop singing her my favorite Elvis’ song:

Love you tender.

Love you sweet.

Never let you go.

You have made my life complete.

And I love you so.

I was trying to convey a sense of serenity to her. I started to throw in a few animated tunes while I moved her hands in rhythm to the songs, trying to get her to interact with me.

I feel that books open windows to the world and doorways to imagination. We had a daily ritual where she sits on my lap while I read to her. I point out the characters and what the words say they are doing. When done, I ask her to identify characters and things in the picture.  She now looks through her books on her own and brings books to me so we can still share what we both recognize to be special moments.

One day, Kauai was having a tea party at her little dining table with some of her stuffed animals. Apparently, one of her friends did or said something inappropriate because Kauai stated very firmly, “That’s ridiculous!” About a week earlier, I said the same thing when I was on the phone with someone who was doing some work for me. Her inflections were as if I were saying it. This was definitely a reminder to watch what I say when she’s around. I miss her so very much.

No matter who or what she becomes, I’ll always treasure the special moments I’ve experienced with my daughter during her formative years. Because of the memories we’ve created through the sharing of experiences together, I’ll always feel that she’s my little girl: The one who sat on my shoulder as we walked along the beach while watching the waves, chased after seagulls and built castles in the sand with her Daddy.

Joseph’s story is a culmination of excerpts from a journal to his daughter.

Michael, 61

Michael, 61

Meet Mike…

“I opened my eyes and relieved myself of the burdens, drugs and alcohol that was literally killing me. Now I have a natural high from love and forgiveness from above.”

Incarcerated: 33 years
Housed: Jefferson City Correctional Center, Missouri.

They give poor people of all colors a public defender, who barely graduated law school. Rarely does anyone convicted or who has plead guilty get a case overturned. Many innocents have fallen victim to the state of Missouri. Some life sentences get out in 20 years. Others, like mine at 33 years are still waiting on a date to go home. I’m an Army vet. I have been incarcerated for 33 years for second degree murder, a life sentence. Yet more hypocrites work for the state of Missouri, the “Buckle of the Bible Belt,” where a detective, judge or prosecutor will pound the Bible on Sunday and then lie or exaggerate evidence at work. Life has no cap here at the mercy of the board. Fortunately, I found Residents Encounter Christ who showed me I was still human and able to see the light. I help others turn their lives around. To be of service inside prison, wow, what a way to shine in a real dark space. Joe, a REC volunteer, told me I inspire those around me by being of service – even in prison. Betty, another volunteer said, “I wish I could have gotten to know you better, your great smile and enthusiasm is a gift the Lord will use over and over.” Sister Debbie said, “You have the peace of God within you. May you continue to use it to bless others as you live like Jesus commanded.” Prison has reformed me with Christ’s love. I opened my eyes and relieved myself of the burdens, drugs and alcohol that was literally killing me. Now I have a natural high from love and forgiveness from above. I want to share the feelings through my words. So I can be paroled next year and make amends.
Mike, 61

Antwann, 46

Antwann, 46

Meet Antwann…

I know staring down at a lifeless body did something to us all emotionally. There was one pivotal moment where I found myself questioning life itself.

Incarcerated: 18 years
Housed: Jefferson City Correctional Center; Jefferson City, Missouri

My day started as any other. I was checking in on a patient when the manager asked if I would live in the medical unit. Nurses and medical personnel who cared for ill and dying inmates with COVID needed assistance. At first, I felt reluctant, this virus was still a mystery. Moments later, I was informed that my cousin and two of my close friends had tested positive. I made the decision to work in the medical unit was to face and confront my greatest fear, dying alone. I’ve seen firsthand how many of the inmate patients don’t have any family or people who care. Two inmate patients battling COVID had a bittersweet ending that would ultimately give me the strength to continue fighting for this worthy cause. Stanley, 64 had COVID and pneumonia. He was in such bad shape the outside hospital sent him back and said he would not make it. As he lay in his bed, I stared at him and imagined that it was me lying in that bed fighting for my life. We became close and I did all that I could to assist the nurses. He thanked us, he knew his condition was bad that we were doing our best to keep him alive. He expressed to me how he didn’t have any family or friends, I took it upon myself to care for him as if he were my own family. George arrived and was diagnosed with terminal cancer. This was a death sentence for him. Stanley knew that I had a passion to help others, so he did not feel neglected or alone while I was holding George. I have to admit, George was a fighter. Just as with Stanley. George and I became close. George would not allow the custody staff to touch him unless I was present. You would have to be here to truly experience the joy these patients bring to our medical team and vice-versa. We’re a big family that relies on each other for strength and support, and we have the biggest prison medical facility in Missouri. Each plays a pivotal role in making this unit function, but it’s the hospice workers who have compassion for human lives. Its true meaning. Sometimes things were so chaotic nurses wanted to walk off the job, and we four hospice porters were losing hope. I know staring down at a lifeless body did something to us all emotionally. There was one pivotal moment where I found myself questioning life itself. One of the COVID inmate patients words still lives in my thoughts, “Against The Odds Goldie, it’s funny how cruel life can be, huh?” I responded, “What do you mean?” He replied, “never smoked, but I’m dying from lung cancer, and I have COVID. It’s ok, because I know I don’t have long. But I want to know, Goldie, why do you do this kind of work?” “I hope that if I’m ever in your situation that someone would be by my side in my time of need.” Two weeks later, he would be dead. During the rougher times, I found myself stepping into an empty cell for a few moments because I had to pull myself together mentally, emotionally, and also spiritually. If I told you I wasn’t affected by the death of another human, especially one I’d grown close to under these circumstances, I’d be lying. I have a newfound respect for healthcare workers. Working alongside them, I feel like a real human being and not some worthless criminal. This is the first time in my 24 years of incarceration that I have felt like this. It’s hard to hold back the tears looking at the work we have done. How we’ve received no recognition from the prison officials. I’ve witnessed firsthand how this virus attacks the body with no regard for human life. Nothing prepared me for that moment one of the hospice porters woke me to share George was no longer with us. I rushed to my feet to begin the process of notifying his family. It has been a rough journey being a hospice porter, and it has humbled me. There were times when I felt lost, confused, and couldn’t process the loss of another. For us four porters, it brought us closer together. The fact that we put other lives before our own convinces me of our shared compassion. Two of the porters gave me strength, they caught the virus, yet came back to work knowing they could contract this deadly virus again and die. I say, “Against the odds, for a worthy cause.” I’m an innocent man fighting a murder conviction only to witness COVID  kill eight people before my eyes. I am now questioning life, wondering where justice is, and if death is the actual answer to true freedom. I’ve truly become a broken shell among damaged petals. If there is anyone beyond these gates who is willing to listen, please become that “SEED OF HOPE” and share my story, because I’m only a Voice of Conviction. Antwann CEO

 

Touched By An Angel…

I have a sense of gratitude to God for blessing me to have been able to share precious moments with a woman who meant the world to me. Just the thought of her stirs up uncontrollable emotions as I attempt to hold back tears. I’m speaking of Anna Mae Johnson, my late grandmother of whom we all affectionately called “Granny.” Many of us have experienced and suffered through, the loss of a loved one, who has made a significant impact on our lives.

Sunday mornings growing up will forever be ingrained in my mind and within my heart. On Sundays we attended church and I enjoyed being in the company of my grandmother. I would sit in a chair at the kitchen table as she cooked, lectured me, and always made sure to keep God at the center of our conversation. She possessed a presence that absorbed and gave a feeling of warmth. It was her mild temper and soft-spoken voice that held my attention, but ultimately it was her smile and tender hugs that assured me that I was worthy of being loved.

I can remember occasions when we all would be having a good time, dancing, laughing and enjoying each other’s presence. Those moments of peace would be short-lived because we always had that one member of the family who would indulge in having one too many drinks and end up causing a scene. There would also be times when I could sense something was troubling my grandmother. She would be lost in thought as she rocked back and forth while humming to herself. She would call out to me “lil-man” and just like that I would come running. As I became enveloped in her warm embrace, it always seemed as if all of my problems and cares would instantly vanish. I often told her how much I loved her and how she was the greatest Granny in the world.

She taught me important life lessons through her actions. I watched how she would tend to her garden, I saw how she would plant just the right amount of seeds, perfectly spread them apart and add fresh soil. But most importantly, I saw the amount of care and patience that was required to make the garden bloom. I truly got my strength from watching her. She was the rock and foundation of the family. I never saw her cry until one day when she seemed to be in extreme pain and distress, crying out to God. This trapped me in a mix of emotions. I learned she was experiencing emotional anguish because my aunt (her daughter) had succumbed to cirrhosis of the liver, and she had to be the one to make the decision to pull the plug on her child. That would be the first time that I really experienced the effects a person’s death would have on a loved one.

God has a way of putting people in our lives, whether it is for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Whatever His purpose is for unifying people is beyond our comprehension, but one thing is for certain: there is no dollar amount that can be placed on memories made with a loved one. Even if it was not spent doing anything but spending life together. Not having my grandmother here to lean on for strength is painful.

I often find myself lost in thought, replaying scenes from my past and becoming emotionally joyful. Being in my grandmother’s room where she spent her final moments overwhelms me. I know she is listening and watching over me, as my guardian angel. I just have one request, granny…. smile for me!

I’ve learned to come to terms that death is always going to be a part of life, and to be grateful for those special moments we have with loved ones. I’ll meditate and talk to my grandmother, telling her how everyone is doing and how we all miss her dearly. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to just see her again.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that in order to gain peace of mind we must forgive, let go and let God deal with those we feel have wronged us. There have been times when I thought that God had forgotten me due to my situation, but by staying faithful to Him during my journey in prison, several people have appeared in my life and filled the void of emptiness.

Not long ago, we all suffered the loss of a true here at this facility, Nurse Pauline. If you knew her, you knew that she had a mother’s touch. She possessed the heart of a lioness, and the compassion to care. She touched so many lives. Sometimes it’s not easy trying to make sense of why we sometimes lose the ones who are the closest to us. However, I want you to take a brief moment and reflect on a time when you may have experienced a sudden gust of wind hit you, a soft touch on the shoulder, or something lightly brush against you…or perhaps you just sensed the energy of something in your presence when you were alone that gave you comfort. Whatever the case may have been, one thing is for sure…

You were touched by an angel….

Daniel, 42

Daniel, 42

Meet Daniel…

It’s not easy to come to the point where you want to change your mindset. It can be a mentally painful process. I still have a lot of fine-tuning to do. It comes in increments, when it does, it feels good. My heart and mind feel nourished.

Incarcerated: 23 years

I was a gang banger with little fear of death. I had little respect for people, their belongings and especially their lives. Including my family members, my baby’s mommas. I never took heed to their messages, concerns or pleas. Anxiety attacks led to violence, blackouts, feelings I was an outcast. Depression led to hatred. I didn’t have ways to cope. I fell in love with the street life, where I found happiness. Chasing all sorts of women, mastering the art of mackin, I began to overcome anxiety and shyness. My father missed a big portion of my childhood, I didn’t know how to turn to him. My mother was busy working, paying bills and didn’t know how to help. She raised us alone. We were the roughest, toughest boy pair. If our attitude and temperament weren’t so much like hers, she probably would’ve given us up for adoption. I hit California’s Pelican Bay’s level four at 18. I had never worked a job or gone to school due to gang affiliations. I started going to church and school, self help groups and conflict management. I was forced to shift gears in my rehabilitation path. I began to get yard and participate in recreation. Convict politics on the yard was abundant. People handled their problems by stabbing each other. My last year went without incident and I transferred to a level three. It was lovely and quiet. I felt like I was at rehab rather than prison. You could see the mountains. We were surrounded by hundreds of trees. The correctional officers weren’t yelling all the time, they talked to us like human beings. We could walk into a self-help group and get a crash course. One time I fell asleep on the yard and had no worries about it. I reconditioned my thought process there. This really flipped my wig. I could see why I was in prison for 37 years. I was misguided, had no positive inspiration or motivation. So many lives could have been saved. It’s not easy to come to the point where you want to change your mindset. It can be a mentally painful process. I still have a lot of fine-tuning to do. It comes in increments, when it does, it feels good. My heart and mind feel nourished. 📸 Daniel’s

 

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