I’ve become accustomed to watching my children grow up through photographs, and it has taken a deep psychological toll.
In the weeks leading up to the ceremony, I was filled with anxiety. I worried that something would go wrong. I was able to arrange to watch my middle child, Ja’Sean, graduate from high school from in here. My youngest son, Jahlil, and I used the GettingOut Video Visiting App on my tablet and it worked out perfectly. I’ve been incarcerated for 17 years, and this was the third high school graduation I’ve missed, with two more to go. Ja’Sean was just 10 months old when I was arrested. I’ve become accustomed to watching my children grow up through photographs, and it has taken a deep psychological toll.
On June 7, 2024, at 6:30 p.m., I made contact for the third time that day. When the call connected, I immediately saw families gathered in a gymnasium. I heard loud screams and cheers from onlookers as their children’s names were announced. Standing in the dayroom of the Earned Living Unit in South Block, I began to get nervous. My mind raced, would the signal drop? I couldn’t help but obsess over the fact that I should have been there. Seconds later, my son’s name was called. His supporters’ cheers were deafening. I watched in awe as my son slid across the stage in his cap and gown. As tears streamed down my face, something happened that I hadn’t anticipated. Jahlil got Ja’Sean’s attention and said, “Dad’s on the phone,” as he passed it to him. I didn’t even wipe my face. I congratulated him. I said, “I am extremely proud.” I told him to enjoy his moment and his evening. As I walked up the stairs back to my cell, I kept crying. Years of anguish and regret overwhelmed me. I was so ashamed that I couldn’t be there to celebrate.
