Confession #2: Sarah Connor

They won't let me see my son.

I have not been allowed to visit my son in over 6 months.

This reality is made harder by the fact that his birthday is this week.

I want to begin this post by promising this to readers: it is not my intention to throw a pity-party nor focus my energy on our losses in this blog. I can grieve in private. That said, the first few posts are going to require an inside look at our reality, and will include details about loss. I say this with a perspective that my son offers me regularly, "It could always be worse."

For instance, I met a mom who hasn't been allowed to visit her son in over 6 years. A recent parolee shared that he wasn't allowed visits for 14 years. Watch more about loss of visits here. It’s a whole thing.

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This is the 2nd year that I will not get to hug nor share a meal with my oldest son on the day that he was born. He will not see family nor friends. He will not get any gifts. There will be no cake.

I know that prison isn't meant to be a country club but the dog pound would be a better option for our loved ones most days. Birthdays are especially hard for mom.

Let me explain.

Last year, my son spent over 100 days in "Administrative Segregation" (aka solitary confinement, aka The Hole). This largely occurred through the months of December and January. Why was that?

Because Punishment is a For-Profit Business in this country. As such, random Covid testing resumed at his facility just in time to reduce DOC staffing burdens during the 2023 holiday season.

I said what I said.

All other mandatory virus testing had ceased in our society by then (i.e., schools, hospitals, etc.), however, as a matter of business, the DOC held in place a procedural mandate that required the systematic isolation of any prisoner who was merely exposed to the virus. They still might; I'll have to check.

When one of his cellmates tested positive during a random test, he and 8 of his fellow block mates were remanded to solitary confinement, indefinitely. As a result, all visits, calls, and messages stopped immediately (thereby requiring less staff to oversee them). His family was (of course) not notified and, after days of no contact, I navigated the Everest climb that is the DOC phone system and game of operator to learn of his fate and be informed that there was no end date to this decision.

For inquiring minds: My son never tested positive for Covid. In fact, he tested negative at least 4 times during this 10-week stint in isolation.

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Our DOC's Mission Statement is...

"We create a safer state by holding offenders accountable while promoting their success."

On his birthday this year, my son will again sit in his cell for 23 hours, like he does every day, in a situation called LOP (Loss of Privileges). ¹

Since May 2024, we have only been able to correspond with him through written snail mail. He remains in a cell 23/7 with no visits, no phone, no JPay, no tablet, no TV, no programming, no activities, and no job offerings. He receives all of his meals in his cell. He gets yard time 6 hours per month. I'll repeat: my son only sees the sky for 6 hours every month. Only during these times in the yard can he stand in line to use the phone. He has been ordered to remain at this level of restriction until July 2025 when reinstatement of visits and “privileges” will be up to the discretion of the facility.

It would be natural to assume that he has been violent or done something egregious to merit this LOP status. Assume nothing when the State and DOC is involved.

This is a young, first time, non-violent offender who, in three years of incarceration, has initiated ZERO fights, had zero weapons, no gang affiliation, no riots, no resisting, and nothing discernible that raises his safety risk level. My son entered the system a Level 1 offender who the prosecutor, the probation agent, and a judge agreed needed drug treatment.

In three years, he has received only 12 weeks of classes and no program placement.

Nevertheless, he has been raised to a Level 4 by the same DOC and moved to a max security facility through their arbitrary, archaic, and subjective ticketing system. He was issued a statement by the DOC’s parole board that as a result of the following tickets, he has been considered a “danger to the community.”

This, friends, is his list of "dangerous" misconduct:

• Didn't wake up for med line, twice (there are no alarm clocks in prison)

• Declined/refused medications after requesting several times through proper channels that they be stopped and weren't (his meds were are voluntary)

• Tested positive for Buprenorphine (a substance which DOC was injecting into him as part of a Medication-Assisted program) *More on this for paid subscribers

• Having an apple juice container in his solitary cell (yes, they brought it to him)

• Picking up food from the wrong serving line

• Having possession of a heating element (I'm told by staff to heat up water for coffee)

• Defending himself when bashed in the head with a chair by his cell mate (aka, he did not run to the guards; aka defending yourself considered "fighting") *More on this for paid subscribers

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On These Grounds, He Was Denied Parole

When I accepted the collect call from a county jail several years ago, I believed in the practicality of a few things:

• The justice system.

• Human decency.

• Mental health care.

• Rational thought.

I now know that these things post-arrest are not only not practical, they are nearly non-existent in prison.

We exist in an alternative universe. Time here is marked by how long it has been since he/we last [insert the memory]. Over the past 3 years, I have cried harder than I knew a person could. The no-sound-can't-breathe cry of a mother who cannot hold her child. This is the death of innocence. This is the grief of what might have been.

He is alive, but not in the world where I live.

And Yet, Another Year

As his peers graduated college, got engaged, and recently started having children, his days have also passed by, albeit with other experiences. Strip-searched, beat, hungry, tired, and alone.

Yes, he is an adult. Yes, he made choices. And yes, he is still the baby that I carried within me and gave birth to and nurtured and whom I still love beyond my own life.

In spite of my great desire to live as a law-abiding citizen, I have often dreamt myself in Sarah Connor mode. I'm fighting through cement and brick walls, sliding down hallways and stealing keycards to open locked, metal doors to the amazed looks of the guys and gals with stun guns on their belts. I run to him on his bunk in a unit in a cell that I have never actually seen. You are not alone, son, no matter what.

Admittedly, I have lived with the angst level of Sarah Connor. Half unhinged, protective mom and half beaten down, weary soul caught up under powers and plans that I, alone, feel powerless to change.

The toughest moms on the planet have a son or daughter inside a prison cell. We do every minute of the time that our children are sentenced to while also carrying on for our other children, spouses, employers, families, friends, and communities. We endure the degradation and condescension by corrections staff whose paychecks are written with our tax dollars. We walk in silent pain through our workdays, dodging questions and family updates. Holidays are grief-laden. We bear up under the weight of our child's humiliation, isolation, darkness, torture, injustice, pain, and poverty. Sending them off to kindergarten was hard. This is a living hell.

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But Yes, We Need Accountability

At all levels.

And maybe we should actually know what we're talking about when we say/type out things like:

“Where were the parents?”

“That’s what you get when you have no discipline in the home.”

“Worthless criminals.”

“Throw away the key.”

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”

“Do the crime, do the time.”

Democrat or Republican, I do not care. I have heard “tough on crime” bellows and “we need law and order” quips (i.e., prisoner conditions do not matter) out of friends and family and sound-bite snark from all sides of the spectrum. The most beautiful thing about America is that we are all equal citizens, born (Happy Birthday, son) with inherent rights. Sadly, unconditional positive regard isn’t one of them.

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Your Money

According to 2023 data from the Bureau of Justice Statistics, the US spends an average of $31,286 per year on each inmate ($49k in more recent, local figures). In contrast, K-12 schools spend an average of $12,756 per student annually. This means the US spends more than double on each inmate than on each student. (Source) Want to know your priorities? Look at your finances.

I can assure you (hi, Law and Order crowd), that my son has paid for his addictions and for the pair of shoes that he can't remember stealing during a 5-day bender over 3 years ago. Like many moms in my position, I am forced to define "justice" every day of my life. I submit that this is NOT it. Our prisons are overcrowded with those needing help for addiction. Our correction departments are underpaid, under-trained, and [shocker] under-staffed.

That is a topic for another day.

So, the hope that I have for my son's birthday this year is that my latest letter has cleared the month-long maze of DOC inspection in time for him to have something from home to hold in his hand. Of course, it will not be my actual letter that I touched or wrote on, and no colored pictures are allowed. Everything he gets is a monochrome gray photocopy.

Then, when I lay down to sleep on his birthday, I will also send up a familiar prayer that goes something like this:

"Hi, God. Me again. I know you know. Please watch over him and keep him safe tonight. Protect him from evil. I am asking that you intervene to turn up the heat a little bit and make sure he gets a piece of chocolate or a hot cup of watery coffee and a shower and that by some miracle, God, he can look up at the stars tonight and know that I am with him, always. Help him to stay positive and surround him with good people. Thank you for his life, for his strength, and that he is becoming who he is meant to be."

Up next week: How did we get here?

1. For my paid subscribers, this week we shall discuss in depth the lunacy that has led to his LOP status. After 6 months of waiting, I finally received the contents of a FOIA request, including official descriptions of his life in prison. Check your inbox.