Don't Stare At The Door
What prison has taught me about waiting
If there has been a benefit to having a son in prison, it is the ever-giving gift of perspective-taking.
I was in an airport this week waiting for a severely delayed flight (eight hours to be exact) when, in the middle of the third delay my phone lit up with the D.O.C. number. My son's number.
Not a good time, I thought.
It turned out to be the perfect time.
“How's Sunday?” he began, and, while I couldn't very well come out of the gate with complaints to someone in a prison, he knew something was off immediately. “I'm stuck in an airport.” I admitted, and without missing a beat he genuinely empathized. “I know that feeling. It sucks to be stuck.”
Oh, what he wouldn't give to be in an airport with food options and people apologizing for any inconvenience.
Just hearing his voice over his clanging background reorganized my delays and ‘problems’ into a subfolder of life reframes. My airport status was possible only because of incredible blessing, and it was not really a hardship at all. In many ways, he has become my teacher. He openly advised me not to sit in front of the boarding door staring at it because he knows how crazy-making that kind of waiting can make you— he said to find a book or something to do and stop dwelling. I had been completely dwelling.
My boy knows what it is to sit and wait for a door to open. In fact, he has not opened a door for himself in years. He has had no choice but to embody an infinite pause, and find a book or something else to occupy his mind all hours of his day, for years now.
By the end of our 15 minute call, he had me laughing. I told him to enjoy the Sunday brunch and his trip down to the pool (we have a long standing joke about the fictitious prison clubhouse)— and he got in a jab about my age and calling customer service.
Not all calls from prison need to be heavy.
Some even help me lighten up.
There are other reasons for us to be grateful this month too, and we're moving forward (shuffling slowly) in the cue.
After a year and a half of being on a waitlist for a class required by the parole board, he has completed paperwork to move himself into said class. Let me clarify— he's not in the class yet, but he's a red-tape inch closer. It is this incremental baby-stepping of incarceration that people outside of the system seldom understand. Prison is nothing if not an experiment in how long one can survive unexplained delays without losing their mind or soul (or both).
Even medical requests can take years.
My son waited three years for essential dental work— in spite of pain, decay, and severe weight loss on a mandatory soft foods diet. He requested help through the proper channels during those years, escalating the requests to the Legislative Ombudsman’s office who came in to investigate his claims. Last month (a full year after that investigation) he finally saw the dentist, and his teeth were so damaged that they all had to be pulled. While you might not care about my incarcerated son's smile, that delay cost you tax money. Lots of it.
A few weeks ago, we were on the phone when an air-raid siren suddenly blasted into our conversation. Before I could ask if he was okay, he shouted to me they were going into lockdown and he'd call when he could— love you, bye.
It was two days before he returned the call.
In the past, I've been ready to fight someone when the airline won't let us off quickly enough at the arrival gate. These days, all I have to do is close my eyes to think of my boy, and I am there with him— sitting on a flimsy bunk bed for days on end next to a shared toilet. In comparison, it's not so bad that people are blocking the aisle.
I often get asked when my son is coming home, and I can't answer that question. We are still waiting for an out-date. Though he has long passed his ERD (earliest release date), the parole board will not consider release until he repeats a class that he already took and passed in 2022— the class that they have not been able to offer him for a year and a half because of staffing shortages and instructor constraints.
Someone clarified recently, “So, he's there for administrative reasons now?” Yes, essentially. He is now caged for bureaucratic nonsense. There is no additional social benefit to keeping him in prison except that he is a money-maker for a big bully that profits from its own stumbling and bumbling.
While we, as a society, deeply care (and loudly bitch) about the increased cost of delay-prone air travel, we seldom consider the massive hits our pockets take every year to maintain prisons that cause more costly delays. The average annual cost to incarcerate a single individual is approximately $50,000 (as of 2025). Behind the locked doors of prison, my son is now costing taxpayers an extra $100k for being on a D.O.C. class waitlist— and I repeat— for a class he has already taken and passed.
All in, it costs about $961 a day to keep an addict behind bars. That’s your money paying for a massive loss of human productivity and health. Now multiply him by tens or hundreds of thousands of other people, and you start to see why this whole thing is a massive sham. Instead of rehabilitation and mindful re-entry, your D.O.C. is systematically wiring young people to helplessness, complacency, and stagnation.
“But they are criminals and deserve to be there,” someone says. Um, just watch how a group of ‘civilized’ people with money and tablets and hoards of food behave when a flight is delayed for the 4th time.
I don’t wonder at all why prison is violent.
Speaking of which— this week HBO released a new documentary called The Alabama Solution, and it is a must-see for all Americans. It is one of the most disturbing documentaries that I have ever seen, and I deal in prison stories every day.
Men inside of several Alabama prisons have risked their lives to show you what is going on and we must not look away— These are things that my son tells me about (and many he won't), the things that the prison system wants to keep hidden from you (taxpayers).
Whether you have to borrow an account, get a free trial, or buy HBO for the month, please (and I am begging now), watch it HERE. If you have seen it, please leave us your thoughts in the comments section—
Life Update— After decades of wanting to do so, I have begun my first real book! I am blessed to have a wonderful coach and lots of logistical support behind this project already. Black Sheep Mom is the springboard for all that is to come, so consider yourself an early adopter and supporter of this work. Only through you has any of this been possible. As such, I will turn to you from time to time to take a poll or get a sense of direction, and your input will be invaluable. As my writing schedule morphs to fit in chapters of a book, I want to know what you would prefer. If you have time, please respond below:
I did not respond to your poll because I am open to whatever writing options provide you the best outlet, and I will simply read any and all that you post. I appreciate your insight and the vulnerability you openly share.
Huge congrats on the book project, Bridget - I’m working on mine too 🙌 keep us posted on how we can help along the way!