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Abstract

und him while he slept.I’d imagine a prison inmate might feel the same way walking through the exit door, with nowhere to go at this moment in time.A normal prison release places you either in a community shelter or a halfway house. That’s the last place anyone would want to be during a viral pandemic, when isolation is the key to survival.During a normal release, once you’re sheltered you need to recreate your identity. You need a bank account, a job, a doctor to register your prescriptions with. And yes, you need a phone and internet to find a the job and the resources as quickly as possible.During a crisis where businesses are closed and society is locked down, how does one even begin to attempt these tasks? How does one find shelter when available space is being used as makeshift hospitals?Amid a crisis where regular, law-abiding citizens are waiting for government financial assistance, where will the ex-con be placed on the wait list? Will he qualify for assistance from a government already overwhelmed with requests?Of all the things I wish to hear about in current news, I’d love to hear more about the prisons.Thankfully, my loved one was granted a special call recently to update me on the situation inside prison. My mind was put at ease knowing the facility is taking it very seriously. Sanitizer is in abundance and groups are being segmented for recreation time.Aside from that five-minute phone call there is nothing else I can do for him. Air travel is cut off, hotels are closed, and prison visits are suspended.One issue that hasn’t yet been addressed is his imminent parole, given the current situation. Because he’s in a different province, crossing provincial lines is not an option upon release. Surely they can make an exception for a parolee who has family willing to take him in while we ride this out, can’t they?But what if they won’t? What if he’s left to flounder under near impossible, and unhealthy circumstances due to rules which were im

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plemented before a pandemic situation was on the table? I mean, who actually plans for a pandemic?Surely not the prison system. Although he assured me that he has been promised a mask as he walks out the front door.Thirty days doesn’t seem like enough time for a government institution to map out a release plan under unprecedented circumstances. I see it as a simple solution — let me make the twelve hour drive to get him and bring him home. They see it as inter-provincial red tape. Tape they may not be willing to cut, even if it’s in his best interest.Those of us with loved ones behind bars aren’t just thinking about our mothers up the street. We can call our mothers. Instead, we’re more concerned with how this pandemic is affecting our unreachable family. The ones who need our love and support now more than ever.As a family member of someone in prison, dealing with the correctional system on a good day is difficult. They’re not required, nor are they permitted to give out any information about incarcerated adults, not even if they’ve been hospitalized.The system classifies my loved one as a grown man so us outsiders have no say in his situation. I still try to fight for his well-being as much as society allows me to, but that allowance isn’t much.As a mother I understand those in charge also have families to worry about. Prison staff are considered essential services and they’re putting themselves on the line each day, just to show up at work.My hope while we’re all waiting for the pandemic to subside, is that the people who have the power are willing to provide leniency under extreme circumstances.We all just want our loved ones to be home surrounded by family, where they have the best chance for success.If you enjoyed this story, here’s my non-intrusive way of ushering you <a href="https://writtenbykristi.substack.com/">toward my newsletter</a>. When you subscribe, I’ll know you’re cool with hearing from me once in a while.</article></body>

Walking Out Of Prison Into a Pandemic

It must be how Rick Grimes felt waking up to a zombie apocalypse

Never in my life did I think I’d be living through a situation similar to ones I’ve watched in the movies.

All global disaster movies portray families who are split apart during an “end of days” event, and depict their struggle to locate each other and reunite amid extreme adversity.

But when you have a loved one in prison in a different province, there’s no struggle to reunite, because you can’t. We can’t even call to see if they’re okay, and if they’re out of phone money, neither can they call you.

Being in isolation myself, there’s not much else to think about besides loved ones. The feeling of the unknown can become overwhelming. Are the prisons providing sanitizer? Are the guards being assessed for good health before showing up to work? Are inmates being given the same safety measures we have?

More importantly, is your inmate maintaining his sanity should he be isolated to his cell? I’m barely maintaining mine and I have a phone, books, and internet.

But the irony isn’t lost on me. Prison currently offers more safety and security than the outside world.

One thing that trumps all my fears about how he’s doing inside prison walls, is that he’s scheduled for release in thirty days. His pending release brings on a whole new set of anxiety-laced questions.

Getting out of prison is difficult enough during normal times, never mind adding a pandemic to the mix.

Remember season one, episode one of The Walking Dead? Rick Grimes wakes up from a coma in the hospital, having no clue the world collapsed around him while he slept.

I’d imagine a prison inmate might feel the same way walking through the exit door, with nowhere to go at this moment in time.

A normal prison release places you either in a community shelter or a halfway house. That’s the last place anyone would want to be during a viral pandemic, when isolation is the key to survival.

During a normal release, once you’re sheltered you need to recreate your identity. You need a bank account, a job, a doctor to register your prescriptions with. And yes, you need a phone and internet to find a the job and the resources as quickly as possible.

During a crisis where businesses are closed and society is locked down, how does one even begin to attempt these tasks? How does one find shelter when available space is being used as makeshift hospitals?

Amid a crisis where regular, law-abiding citizens are waiting for government financial assistance, where will the ex-con be placed on the wait list? Will he qualify for assistance from a government already overwhelmed with requests?

Of all the things I wish to hear about in current news, I’d love to hear more about the prisons.

Thankfully, my loved one was granted a special call recently to update me on the situation inside prison. My mind was put at ease knowing the facility is taking it very seriously. Sanitizer is in abundance and groups are being segmented for recreation time.

Aside from that five-minute phone call there is nothing else I can do for him. Air travel is cut off, hotels are closed, and prison visits are suspended.

One issue that hasn’t yet been addressed is his imminent parole, given the current situation. Because he’s in a different province, crossing provincial lines is not an option upon release. Surely they can make an exception for a parolee who has family willing to take him in while we ride this out, can’t they?

But what if they won’t? What if he’s left to flounder under near impossible, and unhealthy circumstances due to rules which were implemented before a pandemic situation was on the table? I mean, who actually plans for a pandemic?

Surely not the prison system. Although he assured me that he has been promised a mask as he walks out the front door.

Thirty days doesn’t seem like enough time for a government institution to map out a release plan under unprecedented circumstances. I see it as a simple solution — let me make the twelve hour drive to get him and bring him home. They see it as inter-provincial red tape. Tape they may not be willing to cut, even if it’s in his best interest.

Those of us with loved ones behind bars aren’t just thinking about our mothers up the street. We can call our mothers. Instead, we’re more concerned with how this pandemic is affecting our unreachable family. The ones who need our love and support now more than ever.

As a family member of someone in prison, dealing with the correctional system on a good day is difficult. They’re not required, nor are they permitted to give out any information about incarcerated adults, not even if they’ve been hospitalized.

The system classifies my loved one as a grown man so us outsiders have no say in his situation. I still try to fight for his well-being as much as society allows me to, but that allowance isn’t much.

As a mother I understand those in charge also have families to worry about. Prison staff are considered essential services and they’re putting themselves on the line each day, just to show up at work.

My hope while we’re all waiting for the pandemic to subside, is that the people who have the power are willing to provide leniency under extreme circumstances.

We all just want our loved ones to be home surrounded by family, where they have the best chance for success.

If you enjoyed this story, here’s my non-intrusive way of ushering you toward my newsletter. When you subscribe, I’ll know you’re cool with hearing from me once in a while.