If you believe in reincarnation, I think I would have been a researcher in another life. I hear about something that intrigues me, if you give me the resources to do so, I’ll research the heck out if it. I will become obsessed with learning all I can about the subject. When it became obvious that my youngest granddaughter was autistic, I dug deep to learn everything I could so hopefully I could help her. When I was diagnosed with ADHD, I couldn’t stop searching for anything and everything related. My mental health counselor has been wonderful to fulfill my cravings for knowledge and flood me with information.
When my son was incarcerated, I went in search of anything and everything I could from how to deposit money, visitation, available resources to what kind of support was available to the family left behind. You might be surprised at the information that is out there. Some of it was information I wish I didn’t have to see, and some seemed to apply to facilities more humane than our regional detention center.
One bit of information I found on more than one website referred to the emotions most inmates go through are the same emotions someone grieving the loss of a loved one go through, commonly referred to as the Five Stages of Grief. Having gone through all of those stages when my husband passed away, I could relate to those emotions and see how they could be applied to his situation also.
For those of you who are fortunate not to have experienced great loss, the five stages of grief are: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. These don’t necessarily come in any specific order and it would be safe to say, you might go through some of these stages more than once.
I didn’t want to accept that my husband was really gone. I knew he was as I stood by his bed and watched him take his last breath, but wanted it to be a bad dream. I was angry that he was gone. I was angry at the projects he had started but never finished. I was angry at God, telling him I understood if it was my husband’s time to go, but why couldn’t he have fixed the current problem we were facing before he took him. I had to ask forgiveness for this one more than once.
I don’t think I stayed too long in the bargaining phase. I had a lot of “should’ve, could’ve, would’ve”, but I knew no matter what I promised in return, he wasn’t coming back. My bargaining phase was more in regards to my son. If you will heal him and turn his life around, I will do such and such. But, God didn’t want to bargain.
I did feel depression, but that was caused by other factors as well, so hard to pin it all on the loss of my husband. I was already on a pretty high dose of antidepressants and didn’t want to add more, but consistent therapy helped with this. I think my depression was more a matter of anxiety about how I was going to handle every day by myself, or how I was going to go from a “We” to a “Me”. I had been with my husband for 45 years, starting at age 16. I didn’t know how to be alone.
Then there is the final stage – acceptance. The love of my life was gone. Life as I had known for the past 45 years was gone. No amount of bargaining, denial, or anger was going to change anything. Being depressed wasn’t going to bring him back. I was left only with the option of acknowledging that things would never be the same and I had to figure out how to live.
I can see how an incarcerated person could experience each of these emotions. There is the denial that they are really there, and if it applies, the surprise of such a harsh sentence for such a minor offense. The denial that you deserved such a sentence swirls in your brain. You’re angry, either at the system because you were wrongly accused, or yourself for doing what put you there in the first place.
You probably start bargaining with God to do this and that in exchange for being released or having your sentence reduced. There is probably nothing you won’t promise in exchange for your freedom. All other bargaining efforts have not turned out well, so you try to bargain with God.
I would think depression would be a given while you are incarcerated. You have to wait days, even weeks for all processing to be complete so you can be assigned to your “new home”. During this time, you are confined to a cell 23 hours a day. You have nothing to do but think of the family you left at home. You think of the mistakes you made, and wonder if anything will ever be okay again. If you’re like my son, you are being driven nearly crazy thinking of your children who don’t understand. The only thing he felt he was any good at was being a father and now that is gone. I’m not surprised more incarcerated people do not go crazy during this phase, and I’m not sure that isn’t the facility’s intent. Drive them crazy, medicate them and throw them to the wolves. Yes, the whole experience would certainly breed depression.
I would imagine there are some incarcerated people who finally are able to reach the acceptance stage. After all appeals are exhausted, all hopes are dashed, all doors to freedom are closed, acceptance would probably take hold. But for many, like my son, incarcerated for such a petty wrongdoing, a victim of a police department known for their bullying tactics, acceptance just can’t be found. Another thing to chip away at an already fragile mental state.
We are a family of deep faith, and thankfully we have a multitude of prayers warriors sending up prayers to the Lord for my son. Hopefully we will see God’s intervention before the depression wins out and we lose the man my son has worked hard to become.
I DIDN’T GIVE UP! 