Incarceration

Sam has been behind bars for more than two months now. His addiction to heroin is all about loss now. First, he nearly lost his life, then his arm, and now his freedom. Many people are starting to ask me what's up and it feels like its time to write again.

Sam remains in the El Paso County Jail where he was taken shortly after his arrest in Denver in June and is charged with two counts of aggravated robbery, each a felony 3. His next hearing is next week and I am told that sentencing will be immediate. What a spiral into hell this summer has been. I am grateful he is alive and more than a little shocked at my own reaction to the situation. There is not an emotion that feels like it fits.

I can't be too upset because he is alive. I can't feel too sad because he is allegedly a criminal and deserves to be there. I can't be angry he is locked up because I turned him in myself. I can't feel relief because I just don't. I think it will come, but for now, I feel more devastated and anxious than relieved.

I received lots of messages and phone calls over the past couple of months that I never returned. I appreciated and read/heard each and every one of them, I just didn't have the energy to respond. Don't get me wrong, with every ounce of my being I believe that if he wasn't in jail, he would be dead. For some unknown reason, that should comfort me much more than it does. When I chose to write about my family's experience during Sam's heroin addiction and now its aftermath, I chose to be as honest as I could, especially about my own emotions, whether they actually make sense or not. If I went through an all-time low while the people who love me thought my primary emotion should be relief, it's part of my story.

Since his arrest, our only "direct" contact with Sam is video conference. We hook up the monitor to the tv for a better view and then we all line up on the over-sized ottoman and wait for him to appear on the screen, just like we would wait for a movie to start. Usually it takes a few minutes for everyone to warm up and get comfortable in the conversation and then we get going and almost forget we are talking to him in jail. All of the sudden the one minute warning comes and we all start telling him how much we love him, he says the same, and then poof he is gone till the next time. In that brief half hour, we try to tell him as much as we can about life out here. He, in turn, gives us the ins and outs of life in jail. I find it fascinating.

Jail is basically like a holding pen, at least for people like Sam. He is just there waiting to be sentenced. Some shorter term detainees spend their entire sentence there. By the time their hearing comes up, they have already served their time. Jail is no exception to the snail's pace of anything government. There is very little to do. No chance to study (and I am pretty sure he would be...(not actually)), no visitors, no computer time, etc. I would never argue that those privileges should be provided, I am merely stating the fact that they aren't. I am told opportunities like this do exist in prison.

One day a week, the commissary is open. It turns out that the bartering system in jail is huge. People with commissary goods barter with people with services or they trade one good with an expected pay back of two. Because of the transitional nature of the jail system, things don't always work out as intended in the trade system and it's a gamble to expect to be repaid. Services for goods are also rendered by various jail-mates.

Sam traded a Ramen for his last haircut. Apparently, the jailers deliver a couple pair of clippers occasionally and the jail-house barbers reap the rewards of providing buzz-cuts for their new buddies. The jail-mates have created their own community within those four walls, for better or for worse, and in many ways it mocks ours out here but in a much simpler and often meaningless fashion.

The dynamics of our relationship have changed since his lawyer told him it was me who turned him in. I had not been hiding it, it just hadn't come up. When it finally came out, he told me he had mixed feelings. He said he understood why I did it but he thought it was a pretty "messed up" thing to do. I told him I understand that and that he has a right to feel however he does, which annoyed him even further.

Despite his somewhat weak attempt to "blame me", he knows better that to go any further down that road. I called his bullshit immediately and we decided to hang up that day. He didn't call me for several days after that, and then he did again. Sometimes he calls every day, other times he goes several days without calling me. He told me that he struggles with me turning him in, at times more than others. I think sometimes he is mad enough not to call and other times he remembers I am his mom and needs to hear my voice as much as I need to hear his. He doesn't really blame me. He knows only one of us is the douche-bag in this particular scenario and it isn't me.

I am so sad and disheartened to acknowledge the depths of Sam's addiction. For nearly four years now, I have chased him down the rabbit hole. He has stayed one step ahead of me the whole way. If only I had been sooner, faster, hadn't spent all of my resources on a divorce, had forced him to play soccer as a kid, had taken him to play paintball more, had learned to cook, had been more motherly or strict or kind or fun or scheduled or relaxed or less selfish about running and yoga....the list is endless. I had put this list away at one time a few years ago when I learned not to blame myself for Sam's addiction but during the past couple of months, I have begun to obsess on it again. I have come to the realization that I will never know why Sam is an addict and therefore, it actually COULD be me.

Sam was my one child who would rage as a boy. I remember holding the handle of his bedroom door closed until he settled down or he would come out and attack me or his brother. This happened more than once. He went to behavior therapy to learn skills and we tried to develop new coping skills together. Maybe it didn't work so well after all. He was also very "boy" and I remember being terrified that he would accidentally sever one his little brother's fingers (the fingers on one of his hands were very very tiny and fragile due to a birth defect). I was likely too over-protective of his brother. I am not trying to be dramatic or looking for people to say "it's not your fault". Ultimately, I did not stick a needle in his arm and I have stood beside him the entire time as his biggest supporter. I really do know that it's not my fault. If it was, perhaps I would have four heroin addicts?

I am a very flawed and yet a very loving and caring (and funny-I think my kids all agree) mom. All four of my kids, along with my beautiful daughter in law, know how much I love them but it's also human nature to try to attach reasons to the traumas we face in our lives. It's part of the process and it's part of the story.

Where there is life, there is hope. Love you. #nomoreshame.