MY PRIVILEGE, MY HONOR, MY MISSION

Today was one of those unexpectedly wonderful, moving and motivating days—they happen from time to time, and I like to share the joy with everyone, not just for the hope it engenders, but because making everyone happy and tearful makes me happy and excuses my own tear-ups.

Today, I had the privilege, the joy, of telling a young man, incarcerated since he was a teenager, that after more than a third of his life, he was going home on parole, and sharing a few tearful moments when he realized his struggle for freedom was coming to a successful conclusion.  Found suitable a few months ago, his grant had been sent to the en banc process by the Governor, for a review by the whole board.

After his grant he began calling our office for a better understanding of the process after a grant.  Because of some of the facts of his crime it was quite likely that he would be referred to the en banc process by the Governor—yes, Governor Newsom has triggers too.  And while most of the grants sent by the Governor for a second look are affirmed and the individual goes home, it’s still just another layer of concern and possible delay. I spoke with him frequently over the next few weeks, helping him understand the process, encouraging him to stay positive and hopeful.

His case was considered by the board yesterday.  And his grant was affirmed—he’s going home.  And so, he called today, because I told him I could let him know the outcome, as I would be all the en banc discussions, as I have been for every month’s considerations for the last 15 years. 

From his voice on the phone, I could tell he was worried, steeling himself for the worst.  So that when I told him his grant was affirmed, he was going home, there was silence.  Stunned silence.  I said it again, “You’re going home, it’s over.”  It took him some few minutes to take it in, to believe it, to understand what the words meant.

Then the thank yous started bubbling out, followed quickly by a choked-up voice, and then silence again as he tried to regain his composure and pretend the tears weren’t there.  And then, he haltingly said, “I need to call my family, they don’t know yet.”  Followed by more thank yous to me, for helping him understand and giving him the final answer. 

But he didn’t hang up, because it seemed that so long as I was on the other end of that phone telling him he was indeed going home it was easier to believe, it might just be real—but if he disconnected, maybe it would just be a dream.  Finally, I told him to get off the phone with me and get on the phone with his family, but with the assurance that he could call back.

And while that phone call was undoubtedly the highlight of his day, probably his life to date, it was also the highlight of my day—how could anyone not love being the bearer of the news of freedom to someone?  For a few minutes I got to bask in the second-hand joy of a young man, on cusp of an entire life, after surviving more than a decade of incarceration and separation. 

Today was my honor, my privilege and a fulfillment of my mission—to be able to tell many more lifers they’ve made it, all the work, self-evaluation, reorganizing their reactions and beliefs, they have met the bar and can rejoin the rest of the world in just living their lives. 

All of our members share in this honor--by supporting our efforts you make it possible for us to be there, at every meeting for 15 years, at hearings, at workshops, reading correspondence course homework and advocating for more reasonable laws, helping lifers to understand.  So I pass along this young man’s thank yous to all of you as well—thank you for your continued support, thank you for enabling me to be your surrogate in sharing this young, soon-to-be-former lifer’s joy.