THE SORROW'S OF AN INCARCERATED FATHER

It started with a phone call from my son's mother telling me she was pregnant with my child, and as a seventeen year old immature adolescent, I didn't know what to do with that information. I remember her talking about what we were going to do, and me blanking out on the phone and hanging up because I couldn't coherently fathom what that meant for me. I sat stunned for about fifteen minutes replaying what she said and just thinking about my life and the things I had done up to that point.

I was a drug dealer, a womanizer, a liar, a cheat and an overall piece of shit. I had nothing meaningful to give a child, no morals, values or courage to do the right thing with my life. I am sure my mother instilled those attributes inside of me, but at the time in my life, I didn't possess any tangible characteristics worthy enough to be in the presence of a child. I was irresponsible, immature, and I cared only about my self interest. I was drawn to a void of darkness that held no visible light or promise of righteousness for my life, and it was in those insecurities and self doubts that I ran from the responsibilities of fatherhood.

When I was arrested in 1991, my son Gregory was one, and I remember looking at his picture everyday wishing I had made better choices with my life. Before I left the streets, I never had the opportunity to see my son face to face and hold him in my arms. The only reason I had his picture was because his mother sent a bunch of photos to my aunt's house when he was born. I remember being very excited showing my son to my family and friends and seeing their reactions of joy as they looked upon MY SON!

I was proud in that moment because I had produced such a beautiful baby, and grew happier when my mother said he looked just as I did when I was a baby. But that was as far as my admiration for my son went, I had entirely too much pain I was carrying and constant feelings of death being around the corner to include him in my mess. His mother even sent a letter with the pictures hoping that her words and his precious little face would make me come for them, but it only pushed me further away.

I didn't have the self confidence to stand on my flaws and be there for my son, plus I was dealing with the abandonment by my father, and I didn't want to step into my son's life knowing that I couldn't consistently be there for him. I truly believed that he deserved better than me, and when I was in the streets, I lived just like that. Alcohol, pain, and denial were the daily intoxicants that helped bury my accountability, which made it easier for me to push my son to the back of my mind. I had known so much pain and dissatisfaction in my life that it did not bother me that I chose to omit my son from it, rather then have him love a very flawed and emotionally disconnected human being.

I was lost beyond the ability to be found, and I internally knew on my eighteenth birthday that death or prison was in my immediate future. I felt it like a lightening bolt hitting my body, because I was getting bolder in my lack of concern for my life. I was doing things I had never done before, like robbing people, drinking and smoking marijuana all day long, and living so close to the edge that a strong gust of wind could have pushed me over. It felt like when I turned eighteen, the consequences of my actions caught up with me and started pushing me to make a change in my life. But my lack of heeding that epiphany led to my incarceration shortly thereafter.

Getting locked up at eighteen immediately changed everything in my life. I started to feel the strongest sense of lost regarding my son due to the pressures of my confinement. I felt like the biggest loser because I didn't know where he was, how to reach him, or if he was even okay. The realization of those truths burned a gigantic hole inside of me that made me feel helpless and afraid like I did when I was seven years old. Being locked in a cage with no escape or intoxicants to suppress my true feelings, made it impossible to run, bury, or deny the existence of them. I had no choice but to deal with the pain of abandoning my son and leaving him to fend for himself. So when I tell you that to do so was unbearable and gut wrenching, I mean it literally had me begging for death.

Knowing I gave birth to a child that I wasn't prepared to raise haunted my nights early on in my incarceration. Although I was trying to get adjusted to the abnormality of prison, my son stayed in my thoughts. This was surprising considering that when I was in the streets, he was the furthest thing from my mind, but in prison he was my most requested thought. Even though I was full of so much pain, I found myself praying and begging God to bring him into my life.

In 1994, at 21, my prayers were answered. I received some 'proof of parentage' papers in the mail requesting my signature, but I refused to sign because I didn't know if my son was even alive. Instead, I called my mother and she dialed social services on the three-way and I spoke to the social worker. To make a long story short, the social worker took my mother's phone number and said that she would pass it along to my son's mother.

In two days time, I was talking to my son's mother, she had another son and was engaged to be married. All that was cool with me because the only thing that mattered to me was my son, so I asked could I talk to him. He got on the phone and I talked up a storm. I told him how much I loved and missed him, but if you know anything about four year old children, their attention span is very short so he gave the phone back to his mother. I asked her to send me some pictures and when could my son visit my family. She told me some pictures and a letter would be in the mail soon.

The following week I received a four page letter and some pictures of my son. I couldn't believe how much of myself I saw in him, but reading her letter hurt me and made me feel disrespected. She basically told me that my family would see my son when her and George felt it was okay. Her and George was throughout the entire letter when it concerned my son, and for a twenty one year old angry man, I was steaming when I called and explained this to my mother. She tried to warn me not to call and accept her terms so she could see her first and only grandchild. But I wasn't good at masking my anger even when it was for the greater good.

I called and said some very harsh things to her, things I won't repeat today because even the thought of them repulse me. But after hanging up the phone, I thought I won, I thought my point was made and my family would be seeing my son soon. But I was so wrong because she disappeared and didn't surface again until sixteen years later. I felt like a complete ass when I dialed her number and it was disconnected, I hated that because I allowed myself to be open emotionally for the first time in a long time and that shit hurt real bad. It hurt so bad that I found myself hating her and George and wishing bad upon their lives. I carried that hate and pain for so long until the suffocation of it almost ended my life.

Pain was coming from so many different directions that I eventually broke down and surrendered to a power much greater than my own. I was missing my son, I loved him and I needed him in my life, but I knew that I first had to get myself together before any of that could happen. I was hurting deeply and I had been for most of my life, and I was ready to change. I started to believe that I was worthy of my son and he was worthy or me, and all I had to do was prove it by committing myself at being better.

Once I internalized that transforming my thinking was in me and my son's best interest, I didn't let anything get in the way. Change was difficult in the beginning, but difficulty produced a greater me in the end. I emerged from what seemed like a lifetime of pain with a brand new perspective on life, I no longer felt like the person that had been carrying that hurt little child everywhere I went, I felt like for the first time in what seemed like forever, my life was given back to me. I had been restored through giving and asking for forgiveness, and I felt more alive then at any other time in my life. I was still in prison physically, but in my mind, I was among the stars because my heart was full of love and I was no longer bitter or angry about anything.

I was changed on every level and what I prayed and thought about more than anything else was working to get a second chance with my son. He had become my every thought and I craved to be in his life more than I craved my freedom. I loved my son because he was the inspiration that encouraged me to find my wholeness again. Loving him became my greatest joy and one of the many reasons why I am the man I am today. I proved that I could be more than a victim and a victimizer, but a man of conviction and humanity. And it was all because of my son and I needed to have him in my life because living without him was just too unpleasant.

I felt like I had reached the apex of my emotional self and was now ready to be completely transparent with my son. I finally understood what it meant to be a father even though my father had never been in my life. The suffering and endurance of prison brought the kind of clarity to my life that made my son more important than all of my previous issues of abandonment by my father.

I had forgiven my father and in turn the heaviest burden that I ever carried was lifted, plus forgiveness allowed for me to understand that maybe he wasn't evil or malicious, but that maybe he just didn't know how to be a father to his son. I accepted his shortcomings and came to believe that he loved me in his own way despite the fact that he never found his courage to reach out to me.

When I came through my darkness, I knew that I didn't want to make the same forever mistake that my father made. I say forever because I heard he has since past and I didn't want that to be my fate before I made it right with my son. So I worked extremely hard on myself and I prayed faithfully for years for God to bring my son back into my life, but only when he thought I was truly ready to appreciate him.

In 2010, God answered my prayers and reunited me with my son. He was twenty and when I saw him walking into the visiting room, I couldn't contain my emotions. Hugging him in my arms for the first time felt like all the love I had missed in my life. I felt unconditional love for my son in that moment and I knew that I never wanted to be without him ever again. We talked as men, and although our connection was genuine, it took years to develop that father and son relationship that we share today. Gregory forgave me and allowed me to work on our bond, and I took what he was willing to give. I let patience and sincerity dictate the motion I made, because I came to see that although he was an adult, he still needed his father and that was priceless to me.

My son is the greatest gift that I've ever received in my life, and although I regret that it took the extremity of prison to show me that, I am thankful that before I died, my son was able to see and feel just how much I love him. I was lost without him, but I came to know that he was also lost without me. My poor choices severely hurt him yesterday, but today, who I have become has enriched his life as he has enriched mine. Me and my son are one today, and I can carry and maintain the weight of prison, as long as I have him in my life. He means everything to me. I love you Greg!

I thank everyone for reading this! INCARCERATED FATHERS, never give up, stay committed to being in your children's lives by any means necessary because they truly need you.