Families of the Incarcerated

Hey guys, I apologize for the delay in hopping on the blog train. I will start with my most recent experience. On Saturday morning I had the privilege of attending the first session of a six month program for mothers of the incarcerated. I drove down Washington, passing several areas of construction, Factories, Taco shops, LAPD, more urban clutter, and finally found the building squeezed in next to a freeway. After parking in front of what looks like a warehouse building, across the street from a fancy Gentlemen’s Club, I rang the grey buzzer. Amalia Molina, wearing bright blue and a warm smile, escorted me into the building. Amalia is the director of Families of the Incarcerated. She introduced me to the women, Rosa, Lilia, Diane, Nora, Reyna, and Amada, to name a few. I walked around close quarters to a small kitchen where breakfast was served. Shortly after breakfast, we began the session.

“I just need to exteriorize how I feel.” Paranoia, Frustration, closed society, self deprecation, embarrassment, and shame were a few of the things mentioned by the women when they answered to how they feel when they encounter other people. The day before I had heard Amalia tell me that the families carry the prison sentence as well, I then truly understood. We went around the circle introducing ourselves, and listening to introductory remarks. The group then broke off into women that had already gone through the six month healing program, and the new members. The women that had come back went off to work on creative workshops of knitting while sharing valuable conversation. I stayed behind to hear the stories of the women that were new to the center.

Whether it was Filogonia telling us how she pushed her son to paint as a source of strength in prison, or Nora telling us about her son’s one hour of daylight in the shoe, no story went without tears. Some women expressed the pain of losing their son, others of losing their son to prison, and in others both cases applied. One thing was more than clear, and one of the women clearly stated this, it does not matter what side of the tragedy you sit on, pain and grief is something we share. I was SUPER taken back, moved, and all sorts of other crazy feelings in hearing such STRONG stories being told –tears and all flowing of course.

Diane and Bertha were two sisters-in-law present. Diane’s son is currently awaiting trial in the murder of his Father, and uncle –Bertha’s brothers, and Diane's husband and brother-in-law. Their broken voices reflected reflected a broken story. Diane’s son suffers from mental disorders, such as schizophrenia, and she expresses how broken the system is in treating her son, and how he will be eaten alive in the prison system as a mentally unstable inmate. They sob as they share their stories. Yet, however, they recognize the pain they share, and how coming together will make them stonger. Anger is transformed into acceptance. In the picture, Diane and Bertha embrace below a symbolic painting of families of the incarcerated. This is just the edge of something I cannot give justice to in this blog post.

I also heard the story of Lilia Gallo, the mother of Andrew Gallo, charged with second degree murder in the drunken driving incident where the Angels pitcher was murdered. For her it has only been over a year and half, so she is new to the battle. She spoke of the amount of hate she received during the trial, and how she felt she was treated, and seen as an animal. Before I left she handed me a paper titled Surviving Sorrow. Her story is not mentioned in the news. http://articles.latimes.com/2010/dec/23/local/la-me-1223-adenhart-sentencing-2010122