We at Justice for Families (J4F) have welcomed the greater focus on the impact of incarceration. As families, we have long understood that system involvement is somewhat like running into a giant spider web: once you’re in it, it’s really tough to get out of. The recent report by the Ella Baker Center for Human Rights, “Who Pays? The True Cost of Incarceration on Families”, talks about the financial, physical and emotional burdens of incarceration on families and their communities, shedding light on what is often ignored when calculating only the economic cost. “A Shared Sentence, The Devastating Toll of Parental Incarceration on Kids, Families and Communities,” released by the Annie E. Casey Foundation, confirms the brutal toll incarceration takes on our children and the long-term damage. It has taken us decades to become the “incarceration nation”; identifying and implementing effective solutions, while still caught in the tangled web, will take time, patience, a wide range of diverse participation in the reform process and a passionate determination. Unlike a superficial brush with a spider web, the impact of incarceration is complex, deep and intimate, weaving in and out of all aspects of our lives, and to free ourselves, we must fully understand the depth and breadth of the impact.
I am often asked, “How do you feel on Mother’s Day when your child is incarcerated?” The superficial answers mothers like me are used to giving — and the world is used to hearing — are, “hard”, “sad”, or maybe, “difficult”. We have learned to provide responses that are geared to the short attention span of the world around us and are aware that the more complex and often dismal truth isn’t considered polite conversation. However, if we are to find our way out of the web of mass incarceration, I must find the strength to speak our truth and the world around me must find the courage to listen.
My son first entered the juvenile justice system in 1998, though it took nearly a year before he did his first “bit” in a juvenile detention facility. He would back that first stay up with one after another until he pipelined into the infamous “Tallulah” juvenile prison (Swanson Correctional Center for Youth, Louisiana) that would forever alter the course of his life and the life of our family. In the 15 years since his first stay in a facility, we have spent more days apart than together, including the standard holidays like Mother’s Day and Father’s Day but also graduations, the death and funeral of his grandfather and uncle, the birth of his niece, the wedding of his sister and many other days that after so many years, I find it difficult to remember them all. Dates of arrest, sentencing, parole, parole hearings, transfers to unknown facilities in unknown towns, potential release dates and the ultimate date, the coveted and long-dreamed of release date, have likely taken up the corners in my mind once reserved for what we once called a “normal” life.
Yet, these are not just days, they are the experiences that help shape who we ultimately become. The experiences of life, love, birth, sickness and death help us develop our abilities to live life to the fullest. We, through those experiences, build our capacity to love, create life-long bonds, learn to care for others, find our strengths, overcome or navigate our challenges, and ultimately learn that the world can be ugly and scary but also beautiful and loving. Today, my son sits in a prison that is nearly 1,400 miles (or 20 plus hours) away from his home and all the family he has ever known. I feel very fortunate that I was able to visit him last Sunday. Sadly, the majority of families with a loved one in prison will not be near as fortunate. I was also fortunate to get a visit that lasted almost 4 hours, the longest period of time I have spent in his presence since he was arrested on January 10, 2011.
I was unable to hug him when he entered the room, that special privilege being reserved until the end of the visit. I didn’t dwell on this though, because for the first time since January 9, 2011, I was able to sit in a chair next to him, with no glass or partition separating us. For the first time, I saw my son aging. His hairline is receding and he needs glasses. For the first time he also saw me with gray hair and this became a big part of our conversation. On the 2-½ hour drive back to my hotel, I pondered his reaction and wondered why this, of all things, caused him so much concern. I realized that while the rest of the family saw this happen gradually and had the gift of time to gain acceptance, he did not have that luxury, and he is in very quick succession tackling one of the toughest transitions a child ever makes: the aging and loss of a parent. We talked it through on subsequent calls and I saw that on an even deeper level, my son understood in the finite time that remains that he has no finite time to spend with me. When the walls and razor wire fences no longer separate us, parole in another state far from home will further eat into that time. For those of us on the outside, this ordinary fact of life slowly brings us understanding of the larger cycle of life and helps us make peace with it. For him, the realization that he can’t change it is hard, fast and he is mostly alone as he thinks it all through. He tells me, “I always knew you were not going to here forever, but seeing your gray hair set off a ticking clock that I hadn’t heard before.”
When I am asked how it feels on Mother’s Day when my child is incarcerated, I suppose I feel the same as any other mother. I am thankful for my children and for all they have taught me, grateful for the time I have had with them, looking forward to even more, and hoping that the best is still yet to come. The harder answer is that when we gather, I will see the smiling faces of my healthy daughters and granddaughter and I will feel gratitude and joy. Yet, almost as if one can’t exist without the other, soon the sadness and ache that comes from my son’s incarceration and separation from our family will overwhelm all other emotions. Mother’s Day will tear me in two and now, I hear the clock, too.
–Grace Bauer