When Bob* called his aunt yesterday evening after not hearing from his mother in a long time…
…he learned that his mom had just died of AIDS. She had been sick for at least nine years, he told me today, as he wept in my arms. Bob is only twenty years old, and he has at least another twelve years to do on a sentence of “15-years to life.”
Before coming to prison, he grew up in a handful of foster homes, after a family court judge separated Bob from his troubled mother. She was on drugs, and his father departed from Bob's life long ago. Bob, however, loved his mom and was able to stay in touch with her through one of his mother's sisters.
He also has two brothers and two sisters. Yet, because they were several years younger than he was, when the family court intervened and split them up, his brothers were eventually adopted by one family, and his sisters with yet another. As the oldest of the brood, he was sent to one foster home after another, never successfully adjusting to any of them. He ended up dropping out of high school, although he is very bright and seems to have a high reading level, Basically Bob is a smart kid who caught some bad breaks.
In time, to add to his misfortune, Bob fell in with a bad crowd. He ended up taking someone's life. His sentence of fifteen years is actually the minimum under New York State law that a judge could give for the crime of “Murder in the Second Degree.” So obviously, the criminal court judge took pity on Bob and considers him capable of rehabilitation and redemption. And he is!
I told Bob that it's okay to cry. He asked me if I thought he was being a “wimp.” I told him no way. But this is how a guy his age thinks in prison, always afraid to show any traits of humanness having been indoctrinated at the youth facility he first went to. There he learned that real men don't cry and that a man must be tough and hard. This is the typical mindset of most prison inmates. Being pressured to accept the jailhouse code is part of what makes many of these men so slow to change. They have no proper concept of what it is to be a mature man. They think that a male must be rebellious, rugged, stoical, and unyielding.
Nevertheless, I told Bob that I am going to be praying for him. I did not pretend that I have all the answers as to why these things happen, or why life sometimes seems so hard. He told me that he even thought of suicide when he first got the bad news. Of course I do not try to handle these situations on my own, because I am no expert. The prison's mental health staff are already aware of Bob's needs because, as is the procedure, the mental health staff automatically get notified when an inmate loses an immediate family member. Yet the fact is, there isn't very much they can do for Bob. I will end up spending more time with him than they will with their short and occasional counseling sessions and their overburdened caseloads.
As a friend and fellow prisoner, I was able to spend most of the morning hanging out with Bob. We went to the gym together, talked, played a little basketball. We then talked a little more. I invited Bob to church this Sunday, and he said that he will try to come. I hope so.
Last Sunday, my chaplain asked a handful of “elders” (mature Christians) to gather around to pray for a man who recently lost his father. He was devastated and wept rivers of tears at our chapel's altar. And on another Sunday several weeks prior to this, we had to gather around yet another man who lost his mother. I wrote about this in my journal for August 26th.
For these men, and for prison inmates in general, when a close family member dies it is exceptionally devastating. The cell walls seem to close in on you. A man cannot be with his family. His mind gets flooded with thoughts of regret and failure. There are the guilty feelings of not being the kind of son, father, or brother he should have been. This is a time of great emotional pain.
Over the years I have seen many men make the arduous journey of grief over the loss of a parent, child, or other family member. But I have seen too, that life goes on. God comforts. He heals. He gives inner strength for the weary. And God allows men to mourn.
D.B.
*Bob is not his real name.
Before coming to prison, he grew up in a handful of foster homes, after a family court judge separated Bob from his troubled mother. She was on drugs, and his father departed from Bob's life long ago. Bob, however, loved his mom and was able to stay in touch with her through one of his mother's sisters.
He also has two brothers and two sisters. Yet, because they were several years younger than he was, when the family court intervened and split them up, his brothers were eventually adopted by one family, and his sisters with yet another. As the oldest of the brood, he was sent to one foster home after another, never successfully adjusting to any of them. He ended up dropping out of high school, although he is very bright and seems to have a high reading level, Basically Bob is a smart kid who caught some bad breaks.
In time, to add to his misfortune, Bob fell in with a bad crowd. He ended up taking someone's life. His sentence of fifteen years is actually the minimum under New York State law that a judge could give for the crime of “Murder in the Second Degree.” So obviously, the criminal court judge took pity on Bob and considers him capable of rehabilitation and redemption. And he is!
I told Bob that it's okay to cry. He asked me if I thought he was being a “wimp.” I told him no way. But this is how a guy his age thinks in prison, always afraid to show any traits of humanness having been indoctrinated at the youth facility he first went to. There he learned that real men don't cry and that a man must be tough and hard. This is the typical mindset of most prison inmates. Being pressured to accept the jailhouse code is part of what makes many of these men so slow to change. They have no proper concept of what it is to be a mature man. They think that a male must be rebellious, rugged, stoical, and unyielding.
Nevertheless, I told Bob that I am going to be praying for him. I did not pretend that I have all the answers as to why these things happen, or why life sometimes seems so hard. He told me that he even thought of suicide when he first got the bad news. Of course I do not try to handle these situations on my own, because I am no expert. The prison's mental health staff are already aware of Bob's needs because, as is the procedure, the mental health staff automatically get notified when an inmate loses an immediate family member. Yet the fact is, there isn't very much they can do for Bob. I will end up spending more time with him than they will with their short and occasional counseling sessions and their overburdened caseloads.
As a friend and fellow prisoner, I was able to spend most of the morning hanging out with Bob. We went to the gym together, talked, played a little basketball. We then talked a little more. I invited Bob to church this Sunday, and he said that he will try to come. I hope so.
Last Sunday, my chaplain asked a handful of “elders” (mature Christians) to gather around to pray for a man who recently lost his father. He was devastated and wept rivers of tears at our chapel's altar. And on another Sunday several weeks prior to this, we had to gather around yet another man who lost his mother. I wrote about this in my journal for August 26th.
For these men, and for prison inmates in general, when a close family member dies it is exceptionally devastating. The cell walls seem to close in on you. A man cannot be with his family. His mind gets flooded with thoughts of regret and failure. There are the guilty feelings of not being the kind of son, father, or brother he should have been. This is a time of great emotional pain.
Over the years I have seen many men make the arduous journey of grief over the loss of a parent, child, or other family member. But I have seen too, that life goes on. God comforts. He heals. He gives inner strength for the weary. And God allows men to mourn.
D.B.
*Bob is not his real name.