24 May 2007

A Death in the Family

When I got to work yesterday, there was a message from an offender's dad. His voice broke. He needed to talk with his son. There'd been a death in the family. Two-year-old Hailey was dead, apparently shaken by her 19-year-old mother's boyfriend. The offender is Hailey's uncle. I'd seen the news story the night before.

I made a mental note to call the man's unit to talk with him later in the morning. In the meantime, there were ten men scheduled to see me starting at eight-thirty. Unlike so many other Wednesdays, nine out of ten men showed up. One story after another, sometimes something simple. This one needs a bible. That one hasn't told his parents he's in prison.

An officer came to the door when it was almost ten. "The sergeant from Unit 5 needs to talk to you. Now." I left the small office and went out to the phone. The sergeant said, "I have a guy sitting here who needs to talk to you." Could he wait til after lunch, I asked? I'd be done with this group in this building and would be back at the chapel. "Chaplain, he's sitting here and he's crying." Send him up.

Fifteen minutes later, he was in the little space of an office that held three chairs and a too-big table. He shook with anger. He'd thought the boyfriend was an okay kind of guy. He'd talked with him on the phone just a few days ago and the boyfriend had said, "Your sister's at work. Do you want to talk to Hailey?" and he'd talked to the niece he'd babysat and played with and doted on. Now the sorrow took over and the tears flowed. His 21-year-old body got smaller and smaller.

I got up from my chair and moved another chair next to him. His body was hot with tears. I put an arm around his shoulders and he collapsed against me, sobbing as if tears might be able to bring Hailey back. I held him, one hand holding his hands, the other rubbing his back. We sat there a long time.

We talked about this big ugly thing that had happened to Hailey and how much she was loved by a huge extended family. "No matter how big and ugly this was, the love Hailey knew was bigger, much bigger."

Later, he asked about going to the funeral and I promised I'd get the information and see what could be done.

In the early afternoon, he came to my office in the chapel and we called his father. He talked with his sister. The bond between them was palpable.

I don't know if he'll get to go to the funeral. Policy says that it has to be "a close relative" and that's usually a parent, spouse, sibling, or child. Sometimes the system has room to bend. I'll find out when I'm back on Sunday.

One of the other men I saw that morning had lost a 15-year-old daughter to an overdose of Ecstasy on May 5th. It was a follow-up visit, a chance to see if the shock was wearing off. Not too much, not yet. But he'd been sitting in the waiting room when the other man had come in crying and he'd noticed. I couldn't tell him what was going on, but I said, "Other people are standing now where you were two weeks ago. Pray for them." He only nodded.

There are some basic rules about working in prison and one of the primary ones is, "Don't touch the offenders." The easy back-slapping or pokes to the arm can be miscontrued or misunderstood. Can't give someone the wrong impression, make him think I think he's special. We give handshakes, not hugs. But there are some days, and Wednesday was one of them, when only a hug makes sense. Hailey's dead. She's not coming back. She was and is deeply loved.

2 comments:

Rachel's Big Dunk said...

Shannon,

Hailey and her family will be in my prayers tonight.

cfisherose said...

Dear Shannon,
Yesterday's daily Rumi, edited with love from Cindy:

What is the deep listening? A balance,a greeting from the secret ones inside
the heart, a letter. The branches of your intelligence grow new leaves in
the wind of this listening.
The dead rise with
the pleasure of listening.
Listen, and feel the beauty of your
separation.
There's a moon inside every human being.
Learn to be companions with it. Give
more of your life to this listening. As
brightness is to time, so you are to
the one who talks to the deep ear in
your chest.
I should sell my tongue
and buy a thousand ears
when
one steps near and begins to speak.

Version by Coleman Barks
"The Glance"

There is more to say, but the listening that you did, alone, made the breath and word possible.
Prayers go out to all the men..and you.
Cindy