A Tragic, Familiar Scene

I wrote this one three years ago. The post-script is Josh is now incarcerated. A follow-up essay will come soon.

                                                       A Tragic, Familiar Scene

                                                       By Breea C. Willingham


I’ve always secretly dreaded the day when I got a call from my mother telling me my little brother was dead or in jail.

I thought I had received that call on January 9, 2007.

My mother was crying hysterically. I froze when I heard her voice.

My heart raced. I could hear it pounding. I braced myself for what was about to come next.

I could barely understand what my mother was saying, but I was able to make out the words “stabbed all up” and “in the hospital.”

I feared my brother wouldn’t make it to his 22nd birthday.

As I tried to figure out what to do – jump in the car and make the five-hour drive to Philly; wait to hear back from my mother; go shopping for a black dress – I couldn’t help but remember an eerily similar scene about 20 years ago when my older brother Rodney was shot.

***************

Rodney was serving a four-year sentence in Camp Hill but was home on a weekend furlough. He had gone to visit a female friend a couple of blocks from our house. Some words were exchanged between my brother and his friend’s jealous boyfriends, and Rodney wound up shot in the chest.

By the grace of God, the 110-camera in the left breast pocket of Rodney’s burgundy Members Only jacket slowed down the bullet, which traveled down to his side; it’s still there today.

Rodney was able to flee on foot, with his shooter close behind him, and make it to our front door. I believe God was truly with my brother that night because my mother usually at least keeps the screen door locked, but that night it wasn’t.

He casually walked into the house where my mother was talking with her friends at the dining room table and simply said, “OK. Take me to hospital. I’ve been shot.”

I was in my room upstairs when I heard the chaos erupt.

I thought I was going to lose my brother. My mother thought she was going to lose her son.

We didn’t lose him that night, at least not to a gunshot to the chest.

Rodney underwent emergency surgery, but the doctors said it would be too dangerous to remove the bullet, so they left it in. He recuperated in the hospital for about a week, guarded by a cop the whole time. Once he was given a clean bill of health, he was hauled back to prison to finish serving his time.

***************

Just like Rodney, Josh ended up recuperating from emergency surgery handcuffed to a hospital bed. There were some conflicting stories over what happened between my brother and his alleged attacker, so the police arrested them both. My heart ached for my mother as she watched another son fall victim to street violence.

Josh has since recovered from his stab wounds and is in barbering school, but he still hasn’t found his way. He simply can’t seem to catch a break. He has an 11-month old son, Josh Jr., and as my mother told him in the hospital, he has something to live for.

I still worry that the streets – or prisons – are going to take another brother from me.

I often pray that Josh will find his way soon because I want my nephew to one day be able to look up to a successful father, not one behind bars.

By the time Rodney answered his wake-up call he found himself serving a life sentence for a murder he didn’t commit.

There’s still time for Josh, I hope.

The Visits

I wrote this essay four years ago. I never got it published, but it's still one of my favorite pieces.

THE VISITS



By Breea C. Willingham



The 5 ½ hour drive to Hunlock Creek, Pa., is always filled with conflicting emotions. I’m excited about seeing my brother but at the same time I dread the visit because of the overwhelming guilt I feel when I leave.

Visiting a loved one in prison never gets any easier, even after doing it for more than 15 years. For me, having to leave Rodney behind to spend the rest of his days and nights behind bars in a cold, cinderblock cell while I go home to a nice, warm house leaves a sometimes unbearable weight on my heart.

And while I know it’s not my fault that he’s serving a life sentence for murder, I can’t help but feel it’s unfair for me to have my freedom while someone I love has to suffer. In many ways I feel just as imprisoned as he does.

But in many regards, I see my brother just about every day. Every time I’m in court covering a case and I see a young black man standing before the judge in an orange jumpsuit with his hands and feet shackled, I think about my brother.

When I look around the courtroom and see a mother crying for her son, I remember the night about 20 years ago when I held my mother as she sat on the edge of her bed crying like a baby the first time my brother was sent to prison.

Or when I see a woman holding a young child as she watches the judge sentence her boyfriend or husband to prison, I think about the two daughters Rodney had to watch grow up in pictures.

And every time I look at a picture of Rodney, I think about the day my mother called me at school to tell me he had been sentenced to life in prison and how I cried uncontrollable tears because I couldn’t imagine ever seeing my brother again. He was just at my high school graduation. How could this be happening? I remember thinking to myself.

I tried to console myself by saying “Well, at least he’s still alive and wasn’t sentenced to death row,” but that wasn’t much comfort then and it isn’t now.

Rodney, who is nine years older than me, was always my protector when we were growing up in Philadelphia. He was the one who beat up the boys who picked on me. (Well, actually I did a good job of roughing up the boys myself, but if I couldn’t handle the big ones, Rodney stepped in.)

And when I stopped beating up the boys and started dating them, he was the one who taught me the lies boys told to get what they want. Rodney was my buddy, my fellow rebel in the family which is why it kills me to know that I can’t protect him now and give him what he yearns the most – a life outside of prison.

Several attempts at getting an appeal on his case or a new trial have been turned down, and although my family hasn’t given up hope, it gets harder for us to be optimistic as each year passes.

So once again here I am crossing the big, silver iron bridge at the entrance of the State Correctional Institution Retreat to sit with my brother for another hour-long visit, or longer depending on how good of a mood the guard is in.

Rodney will give me a big hug, lifting me off my feet, then we’ll sit and chat over microwave popcorn and sodas – Mountain Dew is his favorite. I’ll fill him in on my life and what’s happening on the “outside;” he’ll tell me about his job in the laundry room, how he’s saving his money so he could buy gifts for his daughters Ashley and LaKeeva, the latest letters he got from the girls and how he wishes he could be there for them more.

We won’t spend our short time together crying and wishing things were different, even if we are inside. Instead, we laugh and reminisce about the days growing up, like the time when I fed his goldfish too much and they died, and my mother had to keep Rodney from beating me up.

Then the guard will announce “Willingham, five more minutes.” We’ll sigh and prepare for the dreaded good-bye hug. But we still don’t cry. We just swap I Love You’s and See you next time’s and go our separate ways.

And when I get to my car I cry – just as Rodney does when he gets to his cell – wipe my eyes and drive back over the silver iron bridge, already dreading the next visit.

Copyright 2004, Breea C. Willingham, All Rights Reserved

Convicted murderer visits my class

Last week, my students didn't believe someone like Jerry Balone - who spent 37 1/2 years in prison for murdering three people in 1973 - was capable of redemption. After he spoke to the class today, the students lined up to take pictures with Jerry (in the middle) and asked if they could friend him on FaceBook. It was a great "teachable moment" day and reminded me why I love teaching.

Book Chapter

I'm writing a chapter on contemporary prison writing for an upcoming book about prison education and research. I spoke last week with one of the editors and he was excited about my ideas, which makes me excited.

Now, I'm getting nervous because this is my first book chapter and I don't want to mess it up. (Not that I'm expecting to; being nervous is just part of my process). But I figure if I can make it through the hell on earth that was called COMPS two months ago, surely I can write this chapter!  :)

I'll keep you posted on how it goes.

This should be interesting

I start teaching my prison writing course to high school students on Monday. This is my third summer teaching the English course at Hilbert College's three-week High School to College Program.

It should be interesting to see how a condensed version of the course goes over with high school students.

Heaven help me!

I'll provide (almost) daily updates on the blog. Stay tuned.

"If Love is the Only Answer"

By Rodriguez A. Peake
Muskegon Correctional Facility

If love is the only answer ...

Why are there so any questions? Why are there so many lessons in life to live and learn, like fire burns and life is truly a blessing, if love is the only answer?

If love is the only answer ...

Then how did hate ever become a choice? And how did evil ever get such a loud voice? Or why did I sit by the still waters and still hear so much noise, if love is the only answer?

If love is the only answer ...

Then why in your heart do you wanna hurt me so bad? And why do I wanna hurt you? And why don't we both see the same truth when only one God created both you and me?

Why do we do the things we do?

If love is the only answer ...

"Today"

By Rodriguez A. Peake
Muskegon Correctional Facility

Today ...

I looked in the mirror into my own eyes and saw so many other people's tears and so many of my own lies, I wanted to cry.

I felt the pain of a heavy soul that couldn't move on because of a heart that was cold, and beating in the chest of a man that had done so many wrong.

I wanted to cry.

Today ...

I looked in the mirror and for the first time in my life saw the very reason why I wanted to cry
Cause for every lie I had ever told, certain pieces of my life had been put on hold
And for every hurt I had caused another was another piece of one's joy I had stole
And for every tear I had caused and left behind was another teardrop that fell from the clouds of my own mind

And now I finally realize it was time to look back into my past and ask forgiveness for all teh wrong I had done that was mine

So ...

To all those out there who I ever cause hurt, pain, tears, heartache and told lies ...

I ask of you, please forgive me 'cause from the bottom of my heart,

I truly apologize