Chapter 4 - Grieving Loss

Chapter 4   Grieving

 

I realized a day or so ago that I have been going through a lengthy period of mental misery which began at the start of the legal wrangle and eventual imprisonment of my son.  I had never thought of this process as “grief”, but it is, nonetheless.

 
I should have recognized this feeling…this “grief,” since it is so similar to what I felt when my 16-year-old son died, possibly by his own hand, many years ago.  Grief is an insidious thing….it hits hard…it niggles sneakily…it robs one of joy…it pushes toward depression, and it goes on and on.

 This grief has been, first, the angry grief over realizing that my country’s justice system is broken and that I can’t fix it, that it will take decades for the U.S. to figure out what other countries, like Sweden and Norway have figured out, that punishment with no serious rehabilitation and reintroduction to society doesn’t work.  It only fills more and more jails and prisons and makes millions of dollars for those who profit and want keep it going this way.  Very few people are truly irredeemable.

 
Grief comes in recognizing that a person and his family can be subjected to the possibility of incompetent judges (who are voted in), vindictive prosecutors, and a culture of winning regardless of the damage and immorality of this “winning.”  I grieve in the realization that “justice” is not blind, that one is not innocent until proven guilty, that economic status and the color or one’s skin robs many of justice, and all swept up in a huge money-making machine called “justice”. 
 

My grief is for the losses that my son and I and our family have and will suffer.  My son will lose the middle third of his life.  He will most likely lose the love of his life as she must move on with her life without him.  He grieves the loss his beloved dogs that had to find new homes as they too grieved for him.  He lost his businesses, all of his possessions, and all of his financial resources.  His grief is enormous.

I grieve the loss of the joyful son that has brought me so much joy with his daring exploits and his rushing into all that life had to offer.  I have lost, most likely, the grandchildren he might have given me, since even if he has children later on, I may be long gone when he is released.  I grieve because I can’t reach out to him by phone or see him anytime I wish.    I grieve for the zest and spirit that I see slowly fading away in him as he endures his confinement.  I grieve that he may not be able to maintain even a bit of the joyous spark that made him who is was.

 I grieve that he has lost his faith and doesn’t seem to be able to get it back.  I grieve that his beloved grandmother isn’t alive to give him the words that might move him back to faith.

 I grieve for the man who died in the terrible accident on that highway in the deep, horrible, dark of night.  I grieve for the fact that he was a man that my son would have had so much in common with and am so sad that his family will never know that my son is a good and honorable person, not a crazed killer.

 
I am overcome with a mother’s sadness in having not recognized the devastation taking place in my son’s life as he became more and more dependent upon alcohol.  How could I not see?  Now this young man, grown from an adventurous child, has climbed one tall tree too many and the fall was life altering.  Yes, he must pay a price, but too many young men and women and their families are paying a far too great a price for accidents that are pushed into the criminal “justice” system.

Now that I have recognized these feelings of grief, I hope to be able to move forward.  Grief will never leave me, but I will go forward one step at a time.  I hope that those of you who read this story will reach out to those you may come across who grieve for a life lost, a child in terrible trouble, a loved one in prison, and let them know that you have had a tiny glimpse into their suffering and that you care.