How many years did you say??

My son grew up knowing how much I love him and he still does. He also had wonderful opportunities to learn, grow, and have success during his early years. I spent countless hours encouraging him and providing guidance. Most of all, I set an example for him, he watched me earn a BS then an MBA, work and earn a decent living which provided comfort for him and his sister. I also took my children to church. So that they could have faith in God. My son had every opportunity to shine. Despite my parenting efforts, he ended in prison by the time he was 19 years old.

I remember sitting in the courtroom with my stomach in knots, in a surreal fog as the sheriff lead my son out in front of the judge, shackled and handcuffed. My heart sank into the bottom of the Atlantic—never to forgive myself, how the hell did I let this happen? Then a quiet voice reminds me: I gave my son everything I had as a mother to give, love, support, encouragement, he made some bad decisions—despite my best intentions for him. I must allow him to take responsibility for his mistakes or he will never learn lifes lessons. I cannot protect him from this, this horrible court case, that will land him in jail for at least 3 years I cannot protect or shield him for that, nor should I try. I snap my attention to what the judge is saying, its like I can hear nothing else in the room but what the judge is saying about MY son. My rib. My blood. I am focused on every syllable coming out of her mouth. She is a middle aged white woman, red hair, and kind. Yes, the judge was kind, she kept asking my son why did he plead guilty and want her to sentence him? But my son doesn’t answer, his attorney is answering for him, “Your honor, my client doesn’t feel that this matter needs to go to trial”. 

What the attorney didn’t tell the judge is that a few weeks before my son’s sentencing hearing, we met at the attorneys office. The attorney’s office was on the 14^th floor in a building owned by a major bank in downtown, we rode the elevator up to the attorney's office, myself, my son, and his father. We sit down at a large conference table and the attorney walks in. He has a folder with my son’s name on it. I stare at the folder and look up at my son, he looks at me, scared and very nervous. The attorney spends the next hour explaining to me, my son, and his father that our son is facing a mandatory 3-year sentence for his charges, with an additional 10 years for additional charges. Hold up, WTF did you say? My son is facing 13 years or more if the jury finds him guilty?? Oh hell no, I am about to get me and my son a passport and we are leaving America—she can kiss my ass. Somebody is crazy if they think they are going to lock my baby up for somebody’s 13 damn years! Mexico or Canada here we come!!  Then I realized I would teach my son to run from his problems and don’t own his mistakes and become a fugitive. That wasn’t going to happen. So, I listen to the attorney, from his experience with criminal law, over 25 years, I vetted him, he suggests that my son pleads guilty to 2 of the charges and the prosecutor will drop the other 3, lessening his prison sentence. My son seems to be having an out of body experience, he just looks dazed and confused, then suddenly he speaks up, "that’s fine, I would rather do the 3 years then face 13+ plus, I ain’t doing that". I'm feeling so helpless. My son has no real options here, jail or a lot of jail The matter is settled, the court date for sentencing is set Oct 31, 2015. It’s about 6 months away. Me and my son drive back to the city we live in. I feel numb. I’m fighting back tears, feeling like somehow we still lost. So my son gets to go to jail for less time, but he still HAS to go to jail. No Lord, please don’t let this happen.

Over the next 6 months, I’m encouraging my son. I’m praying and fasting for my son, for his life. The judge finally concedes with what the attorney is saying, “ OK, I have no other choice but to accept this plea of guilty and under state law, I sentence you to 3 years in state prison; with 10 years suspended and 2 years of probation upon release".  Even though I thought I was prepared for this moment, I wasn’t. I sat back into the bench and all the air in the court room was filled with agony, my heartbreak and helplessness. I stared at the back of my son’s head. Remembering him as a baby, he was so active, I had to chase him every where once he learned to walk. I was too hurt to even cry. I felt a pain I cannot explain. I knew I wouldn’t be able to hug my son before they took him away. I knew he would face unimaginable circumstances over the next 3 years. They lead my son away.

I walk out of the court room, my mother, his father, and Emily—yeah she showed up for this  And I’m numb, I cannot feel anything. I just remain silent. Sometimes things can hurt so deeply that you cannot even find words, this was that day.  Over the next 3 years, I would struggle with my back injury and insurance issues, and my son being incarcerated. Nothing but the Grace of God would keep me standing. Somehow, I found strength to make it through. However, no one was going through more than my young son being thrown into the prison system. We were in for a fight. I put on my boxing gloves.