April, 2023 V.17
An honest chronicle of the stories and service of the incarcerated
women and men of the Illinois Department of Corrections
Two Roads V.17
Although Two Roads e-zine is produced in
Kewanee Reentry Center, it is a state-wide platform
for ALL confined contributors and voices. Through
sharing your personal stories, you enlighten,
inspire, empower, grow and heal.
Therefore, join the conversation and be a value
added to our collective consciousness by
contributing your writings and poetry. However,
we strongly ask that you limit your personal
expressions to the chosen topic and requested
length. (See back pages for the details for
upcoming topics: Peer Pressure, Mothers Day.)
Two Roads V.17
Two Roads
Mission Statement
“We are committed to empowering those most
impacted by harmful systems to become servant
leaders and agents of change. Using the
connecting, restorative power of stories, we hope
to do our small part in bringing us all together to
overcome societal ills such as violence, poverty
and mass incarceration.”
TWO
ROADS
Trauma Issue
Table of Contents
Two Roads V.16
8. Guest Contributor
- Lt. Nathan Decoster
10. Editor’s Note
- Keith Aquil Talley
12. Associate Editor
- Kenji Haley
14. Forgiveness
- Evelyn Jackson
17. Chihuahua
- Leo Cardez
19. "Real" COVID
-19
Survivor
- Mr. Anderson
22. There Was a Time
- John Williams
24
. In the Blink of an Eye
- Tammy Englerth
26. The Pain Within
- Jeff Kennedy
28. Deliverance
- Ronnie Carrasquillo
30. My Story
- Asia Jackson
Table of Contents
Two Roads V.17
TWO
ROADS
Trauma Issue
32. The Demon That Become
an Angel
- Joshua Scott
34. Trauma at Sea
- Steven Hanserd
37.
Let Go & Let GOD
- Carlos McDougal
39. Jekyll & Hyde
- Franklin Heindricks
41. Hurt People . . . Hurt
People!
- Antonio Aguirre
43. Search for Redemption
- Toola O. Taylor
45. Sounds a Lot Like
Weakness to Me
- A Contributor
47. A Not so Unique Story
- Antony Bell
50.
Lost Boys
- Tyrone Delaney
51. Healing Through Grieving
- Herbert Stewart Jr.
55. Future Articles
TWO ROADS
Charles Murray
(House Artist)
Two Roads V.17
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decisions with our humanity in mind.
Two Roads V.16 8
While working with the juveniles at Illinois Youth Center Kewanee, I and
most of the staff I worked with had to overcome a great deal. Personally,
I dealt with many assaults to myself. I received my first concussion while
breaking up a fight and was punched in the temple area a few times. Not a
big deal at the time, but as I went forward in my career, it became a problem
for me.
In November of 2013 I was promoted to Juvenile Justice Specialist
Supervisor (Lieutenant); soon after that is when most of my assaults
happened. I broke a finger when a youth was trying to kick me. Once I
returned back to work from that, I was dealing with the same youth and
broke the same finger again. I came back to work after a short time of
recuperating only to be bitten on the leg. The bite left a bruise for more
than two months, luckily it did not break the skin. The very next day I was
checking a cell when I was punched in the side of my face, and got another
concussion.
Lt. Decoster
**U.S. Marine**
(Guest Contributor)
Two Roads V.17 9
Two months later another JJSS and I were dealing with a youth when the
youth suddenly struck me in the side of the head multiple times,
and in the process of restraining the youth, I separated a shoulder.
I ended up spending eights months off recovering from my injuries. About
eight months after returning from those injuries, again I was attacked and
punched in the side of the head and received another concussion. It was
my third in about eighteen months, and fourth while working for IDJJ. This
time I was off four months recovering.
During this time off I made the decision that I was going to transfer to
an adult facility to get away from the assaults. Before I could return and
put in my paperwork for transfer, IDJJ made the announcement that they
were going to close IYC Kewanee. Soon after that, IDOC decided that they
were going take over the Kewanee prison and turn it into Kewanee Life
Skills Re-entry Center. I decided that I would stick it out at Kewanee and
see what changes would be made before transferring somewhere else.
Once the last of the youths were sent out at the end of July 2016, we
had six months of fixing and getting our facility ready for the future. That
included changing our perspective of how we operated and dealt with the
individuals in custody in our care. Personally, I had to decide within myself
to be a better person and not hold our new residents responsible for what
the youth did. Once I made that choice the changes became natural to me.
Through such practices such as: therapy, games on my phone and
relaxing my mind, I prioritized my personal wellness and then began to
look outwardly. I learned that a smile, handshake, good morning, good
afternoon, good evening and general politeness went a long way. Also,
setting the example to treat people the way you want to be treated is
indeed true leadership.
In the almost six years that Kewanee LSRC has been open we have not
had a single staff assault; in fact, I cannot even remember the last time I
was threatened or even cussed at. I’m sure it was when the juveniles were
still here.
Two Roads V.17
10
Keith P. Talley
Trauma, for many, strikes at the heart of our affair—
confinement. Most of the thinking, attitudes, and behaviors that
have led to our many troubles can be less characterized as rational
self-directed actions, and understood better as misdirected
reactions. Our inability to adjust and cope healthily to the
difficulties and challenges that we've experienced changes the
question from "What's wrong with us?" to the more appropriate
question, "What happened to us?"
The personal accounts in this issue, Trauma Resilience, are
resounding affirmations that we are not victims; we have agency!
**U.S. Army**
Two Roads V.17
11
Therein lies the dynamic power of the Two Roads e-zine for the
state's confined citizens. Through sharing our personal stories of
active hope, purposeful striving, and determined grit, we breathe life
into each other and empower each other through exchanging proven
tools, techniques, and internal resources.
Service, the antidote for my selfishness and self-centeredness, is
an indispensible pillar for my personal wellness and ability to
successfully navigate beyond my traumatic past; hence, serving as
the Editor-in-Chief of Two Roads for the past year has been a
therapeutic experience to say the least. I was afforded the gift to sit ,
oftentimes emotionally full, with your personal stories in a more
involved way than the average reader. I felt your victories and
defeats, your hopeful yearnings and crushing disappointments, as if
they were my own; indeed, I am you, and you are me.
I am humbly grateful to all who have helped me to serve us. From
the mission-driven staff (Ms. Rowan and Mr. Warnsing) and our host
of staff, guest contributors (Ms. Wilson, Sgt. Flagg, and Lt. Decoster)
—the entire Kewanee Horizons team, a supportive branch from the
same tree—the Two Roads editorial team, thanks for supporting my
leadership—all those who graciously acquiesced to my incessant
harassing throughout the campus for submissions—and finally, all
those sisters and brothers in confinement who answered the call to
join the community conversation by sharing their voices.
Kenji Haley
Trauma, by definition, is "a wound; an injury to living
tissue by an extrinsic agent.” The dictionary further goes
on to define it as "a behavioral state resulting from
emotional stress."
Many of us have endured this emotional stress caused
by the injuries of life. Emotional, mental or physical stress
has mounted for years by either poor choices or poor
circumstances that we have engaged in.
I find it interesting that we as men and women in
custody have developed a callous mind to events that
have taken place in our lives. Now, this is not to say that a
person should not learn how to deal with things and move
on, but there is a systematic issue when we become
"desensitized" to the trauma that we have been dealt time
in and time out.
An example that comes to mind is living in the confines
of prison: a cubicle of a space with another human being,
where you learn to eat, sleep, and maneuver over days,
months, years, decades. To evaluate this and say "its okay"
is a travesty, especially knowing that these conditions
were never meant to serve a comfort.
Two Roads V.17
13
Furthermore, your mind becomes callous to this and you
adapt; yet this becomes your emotional depot where you
have no choice but to deal with all the workings of daily
life.
This issue is built on the activities that one has had to
work through, as well as how to make changes in them. It
is amazing to see how many of these men have progressed
and succeeded in life due to their circumstances. But yet
trauma is still there, and it becomes more challenging to
deal with as we age. The fights, the battles, the scars, the
treachery . . . all these things do damage to a person on
the inside. We collectively have to learn how to process
these things and find ways to heal these wounds.
Epictetus says: "Who, then, is the invincible human
being? One who can be disconcerted by nothing that lies
outside the sphere of choice. . . . Both I and my body bears
witness to that truth."
I hope that you look forward to these articles and to
take the time to reflect. Don't allow your callous mind to
hide the scars that have plagued you for years and left
you desensitized by life. There are no invincible human
beings, but we healing from the traumatic stress
something we need to do.
Evelyn Jackson
(Logan C.C.)
I’ve been incarcerated for 23 yrs. At 18 I
was charged withFirst Degree Murder and
Aggravated Kidnapping. I was convicted and
sentenced to 45 years in IDOC. When walking into Cook
County Jail, I shut all my feelings off. Being raised by men I
had a complete sense of how to control my emotions. So
much so that the judge and state’s attorney said that I was
unremorseful at my sentencing and that I was a menace to
society. Yes, I was guilty of some things within my case but
not the actual offense of murder.
When I first came to Dwight C.C., I was told to fail my
T.A.B.E. test so I could get into school. My failing the test got
me an 8.7. However I still got right into G.E.D. classes and
brought my score to a 12.9 to pass the G.E.D. on the first try.
Quickly, I enrolled in college classes and then started beauty
school.
My mindset was to stay in school and not get into any
trouble. But then my appeal was denied. Actually, I never
challenged the charge, just the sentence. After the
denial I lost all hope and stayed in and out of
segregation.
Fortunately, in 2010 I was given the
Two Roads V.17 14
Two Roads V.17 15
opportunity to tell my story on “Women Behind Bars“, after which I
received a lot of positive feedback. That experience put the fight
back into me. After that, all I could think about was being a mother
to my son outside of prison. I picked myself up and got back on track
with school, good jobs, and self-help groups.
Unfortunately Dwight C.C. closed in 2013; consequently, we were
transferred to Logan C.C., which was a 3 hour drive away from the
Chicago area. I quickly began to spiral out of control again. I wasn’t
able to have constant visits with my son. I didn’t care to stay out of
trouble because I felt that I had nothing to lose. I accomplished
nothing in Logan C.C. but a long ticket history in 3 short years.
One day, February 25, 2016, I was sitting in segregation and the
officer told me to get dressed; however, he didn’t say where I was
going. I turned around to be cuffed, but to my surprise he just
opened my door. After I asked , “Where are we going?” he
responded, “I’ll tell you when we get downstairs.”
The sergeant said that I had a visit and needed to be in proper
uniform. So I changed out of my seg uniform and was then escorted
to the visiting room where I was told to be prepared to receive some
bad news. Needless to say, the wait before they allowed my family
to come in seemed like years.
Immediately, I knew something wasn’t right when I didn’t see my
son. They were trying to get me to sit down, but I kept asking for my
son. Nobody wanted to tell me that my 17 year old son got shot and
didn’t make it. To make matters worse, I wasn’t allowed to view his
body due to my security level and being in C grade with four years
left on my sentence.
Two Roads V.17 16
A year after his death, I was on 10-minute suicide watch.
One day while being alone with my thoughts, I started
crying and praying. That day I vowed to get my life back on
track. I had to take accountability for my actions. I had to
own the fact that my loyalty to others had been more
important than my loyalties to myself and my son. I put
others' feelings and needs before my own. Slowly, by the
Mercy of Allah, I dug myself out that hole. I changed the
people that I was around. In 2017, I finally got a job in the
commissary where I still work at today.
I changed my way of thinking as a whole. My experience
has humbled me. I recently renewed my beauty school
transcripts by paying for my own classes through a
correspondence college. Upon my release, I can apply to get
my Beautician’s license.
I disappointed my son and family with my past actions.
Today I’ve made them proud of the woman that I’ve
become. All Praise due to Allah for opening my eyes to
forgiveness. By forgiving the young man that murdered my
son, I forgave myself and asked for forgiveness form Allah
and my victim's family. I know firsthand that undying
hand, that undying pain.
Two Roads V.17
17
Leo Cardez
(Dixon C.C.)
I was a loser. Growing up I was a below-average kid, unremarkable in
every way, much to my dismay, and especially my father's. I lived fearing I
could do nothing right, and always carried the idea that I wasn’t doing
enough by my dad’s standards, fearing that I wasn’t enough.
My father was a hard man. Five feet, six inches of old school Latino
machismo with a Napoleon complex, like a mean Chihuahua. He criticized
everything I did or tried to do. I learned to avoid him, and the first chance I
got I left. The day after my seventeenth birthday I joined the Army.
(Although, looking back today, I am not certain I was aware of what I was
doing and why I was doing it.)
We all have stories in our past we’re holding onto, tragic plot lines that
seem to run through everything we do. The more we believe them the
stronger and more real they become. I became a decorated veteran, college
graduate, and successful business executive. I thought rising to the highest
ranks would prove to everyone—especially my dad—that I was worthy and
had value. Unfortunately, no matter what I did, what I accomplished, I felt a
deep emptiness. I tried everything to fill it, even drugs. I soon found there is
not enough cocaine in the world to fix an old story that says
you’re not enough.
**U.S. Army**
Two Roads V.17 18
To make matters worse, my new reckless lifestyle was catching up to me.
I was arrested and looking at six-to-fifteen years in prison. My father came
to the county jail to bail me out. When I saw the disappointment in his eyes, it
tore my guts out. We spoke for hours on the drive home. I told him I knew I
had let him down yet again. He was angry, but quickly shifted to speak about
his love and admiration. I felt thirty years of pain and shame well-up in my
chest. As I sat next to him, still unable to make eye contact, I
felt the tears start streaming down my face. I begged for
his forgiveness. He simply took my hand in his and
whispered, I love you son.
This exchange began the kind of father/son relationship I had always
dreamed of. He shared in my highs and consoled me in my lows. We spoke
often, and with every conversation I realized I had wasted so much time being
scared and angry at him that it had clouded my perception. Now, I could
finally see him. He wasn’t a mean Chihuahua. In fact, every day I saw more of
his love and kindness. He was a nice Chihuahua.
Now, with my father being my best friend, I became less angry and started
treating myself better. Despite being in this place, I have become the kind of
man he could be proud of. I’ve worked as a G.E.D. tutor, volunteered to teach
yoga to special needs inmates, and am writing a book that I hope can help
others endure what I have survived.
It strikes me that behind every trauma we endure, there’s a core story we
tell ourselves, things like, “I’m not good enough,” “I don’t deserve love." As
long as these stories exist, we find ways to perpetuate them. There’s a funny
thing about these stories though: they tend to crumble under exanimation.
I have re-written my story and although I may still be stuck in prison, I am
living a life better than I could have ever imagined. Letting go of the old
internal narratives of who I thought I was has allowed me to see and live my
life with newfound hope and purpose . . . and that’s the best ending anyone
could ask from their story.
Two Roads V.17
Everyone knows me as "Mr. A". I am 61 years of age, and trauma is
definitely no stranger to me. At the age of 59, I contracted the deadly
virus COVID -19. On November 13
th
, as I was going through my weekly
routine of football watching, I decided to eat a snickers bar and could not
taste the chocolate, caramel, peanuts or nougat. I rushed to pack up my
property and bed. I then reported my situation to the duty officer, and on
November 14
th
I was diagnosed with COVID 19 and moved to the
quarantine deck.
On November 15
th
, the nurse came around to take everyone's vitals. It
was 9:15 a.m.. When it was finally my turn, everything was fine—
considering I had COVID—except for one thing: my oxygen level was at 72.
I didn't truly understand the significance of this, but the nurse panicked.
The nurse tested me four times before calling a code. They brought me
an oxygen tank and had me use it for about an hour; after being tested
again, my oxygen level was still 72. It was then that an ambulance was
called.
Darren B. Anderson
**U.S. Marines**
19
Two Roads V.17
I was immediately rushed to the Lincoln Medical Hospital and
observed for more than six hours. I was brought dinner, but I still
couldn't taste anything and soon found myself drifting to sleep. I
didn’t wake up until November 24
th
. I was told that when I had drifted
off to sleep, I had actually died and was resuscitated.
I was whisked away to Memorial Medical Center's ICU in
Springfield. When I woke up, I had IVs in both arms, an oxygen tube
down my throat, a feeding tube in my neck, all kinds of electrodes on
my temples and body. I had a contraption on my ankles to stop blood
clots. I was wrapped up like a caterpillar in a cocoon with a catheter in
you know where.
Within seconds of my awakening, all the doctors, nurses, and
technicians surrounded my bed and clapped and praised GOD and
sang for joy because out of all the people, at that point, that came to
their ICU and were ventilated, I was the first to wake up. After being in
a coma for 9 days, GOD raised me from the dead. There was no cure
for COVID 19, no vaccine, no treatment. All they could do was try to
keep me alive.
When I realized where I was and saw my surroundings, I panicked.
My heart monitor was going haywire. They had to talk me down and
reassure me that the worst was over, but to me, it was just the
beginning. This road to recovery was traumatic in itself. I was weak,
couldn't talk because of the big black tube going thru my mouth down
into my lungs. Yes, GOD did wake me up as HE said HE would. During
my time away from myself, I could hear HIS voice, "Don't worry
Darren, it's going to be fine," and I could see HIS angels hovering over
me singing and chanting "Don't worry." I also saw a dark place where
large black worms were devouring something that they were
covering; honestly, I believe it was me under all those parasites.
I was wrestling back and forth with the good me and the bad me
for approximately nine days. Then I woke up. Again I was weak,
scared, sorry, and most of all, worried! I was treated with the utmost
care and felt the love of strangers, human beings that genuinely
wanted me to live. I communicated with my eyes (blink once for yes,
twice for no). I also had to follow directions by squeezing the nurse's
and doctor's finger.
Two Roads V.17 21
I lay there, almost totally immobilized for another three days with nothing
to do but pray and think about my life, asking GOD to forgive me for all of my
sins and begging HIM to allow me to live, to get healthy, and to be able to
rectify all the wrong I've done to others in my lifetime.
Then it happened, the oxygen tube came out. My voice was raspy and
low, but I could talk. No damage to my vocal cords. For the next few days, I
was scared to close my eyes for fear I would never open them again. I
watched them take blood from me what seemed like every three to four
hours. I cried continuously. I didn't even have enough strength to use the
remote for the television.
Thanksgiving day, I was able to get up out of the bed and have a visit via
snapchat with my mother and baby sister. They cried and cried and cried for
the first five minutes. Then we talked, and that's when I found out that prior
to waking up, they were told to prepare for my demise. During those nine
days that I was in the coma, they were contacted every evening about my
status.
They asked my mother after the 7
th
day if she wanted them to
"pull the plug," and she told them, "No, he will fight it out; give
him a little more time." Thank GOD, because that is why I am
here to tell my story. Statistically, I was one in a thousand that
lived through this ventilation process. There were two other men
who had to be ventilated, one younger, one older. Both died.
When I returned to Lincoln Correctional Center, I was
considered a "miracle man"! When I returned to my unit,
everyone came out and met me at the door with nothing but
applause and love. Some of the men were told that I had died.
They all offered their help and encouragement. I had lost over 50
pounds. during the ordeal, but look at me now: healthier than
ever—physically, mentally, and most of all, spiritually.
Thank GOD for giving me another chance at life and
giving me the opportunity to tell about the "trauma" that
took my life, and the GOD that gave it back!
22
There was a time, when all was dark
So dark, I could not see.
When all the things, I thought were real
Somehow, had ceased to be
When all the good, had turned to bad
When sunshine, turned to rain
I can’t explain, or make it plain
The reason, for all my pain
♦
There was a time, when all was lost
At least, that’s how it seemed
When the beautiful things of this world
Somehow, had left my dreams
♦
For the life of me, I could not see
I could not understand
I did not know, which way to go
My life, I had not plan
♦
There was a time, I could not feel
I could not find my way
Stumbling through, this thing called life
Struggling, from day to day
♦
A gentle voice, came to me
It pierced my very soul,
It spoke to me, so truthfully
And here’s what I was told
John Williams
Two Roads V.17
Two Roads V.17 23
The problems in life, will surely come
In this, just rest assured
A test of faith, with every break
For all, who can endure
♦
No loads beyond, what you can bear
There’s nothing that you can’t do
All the keys, are in your hands
A gift, I gave to you
♦
Take a deeper look inside
Far beyond the lies
There you’ll see, reality
And truth, shown in your eyes
♦
Believe in self, right from the start
To thine own self, first be true
For all the answers to life’s questions
All rest, inside of you
There was a time, I did not care
My heart, was made of stone
Holding onto all the things
I knew deep down were wrong
♦
But then one night, I seen a light
A light, that shined on me
Showing me a better way
My life could truly be
♦
Don’t call it strange, this talk of change
(Though “yes,” it’s something new)
For lines like these, contain the keys
That unlock the inner you
Hello, my name is Tammy Englerth. I have been
incarcerated for eighteen years now. I was charged with
the death of my abusive husband. I almost died that day, but
he died six says later. I spent over twenty days in a coma on life
support. I woke up to realize that I couldn’t talk because I had a
tracheotomy and my abusive husband passed away. The media
painted me as a horrible person before they even knew what
happened. I learned that the media promotes falsehood.
Previously, I was facing a charge of four years for theft. I took this
charge because my abusive husband altered my checks. My boss told me
not to, but I feared for my life. The morning I was supposed to report to
serve time was when the incident occurred that put me in a coma.
Although I didn’t know what I was facing with the death of my abusive
husband because of my condition, I was shortly shipped to prison. The first
two years were difficult coping with everything and being away from my
children. My selfishness kicked in; I fell into self-pity. I tried
committing self-harm several times and almost succeeded, not thinking
how I’d hurt my children.
Two weeks before I was supposed to get out, I was charged with
my abusive husband’s death. The sentence I received was
forty years at 100%; this was in 2005. In 2015, the
Governor granted my clemency. My doctor, lawyers,
advocates, and others were able to speak
on my behalf, and all my orders of
protection and
Tammy Englerth
(Decatur C.C.)
Two Roads V.17 24
records were shown. My abuse was substantiated and the governor
took twenty years off my sentence
Prison has changed my life. I have transformed from a silent
onlooker to a vocal activist. My outward circumstances have not
changed. I am still another prisoner, but my inner world has changed
dramatically. I am an overcomer. I am a survivor.
Many individuals in custody lose hope. No matter if you get days
or not there is hope. I can’t change what happened, but I can use it
to help others in hopes what happened to me won’t happen to
them.
People will always judge you; don’t allow that to change you.
You're better than that. Don’t look at prison as a punishment, look at
it as a opportunity to better yourself. Take every opportunity to go to
school, groups, counseling, etc., even if it is not giving out good-time
days. Don’t let the time do you; do the time. Things change every
day. So tickets for fighting and acting out will only hurt you. Change
your direction of thinking. When you just walk away, it is your choice
to become a better person.
Today, I am a determined woman who stands on her two feet and
will never allow someone to hurt me again. I am now waiting to go
to work release any day. Remember, no matter what you’re facing,
you will overcome it! Use your voice. Don’t stay silent. Your story
could help others.
Two Roads V.17
Jeff Kennedy
Frodo says, “How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do
you go on when in your heart you begin to understand, there is no going
back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too
deep . . . that have taken hold.” (JRR Tolkein, from the Lord of the Rings)
Tolkein, a WWI 2
nd
Lt., was pinned down in a trench for six months (that’s right,
six months) during the “Battle of Somme” in 1916. Suffering from PTSD after the
war, he began channeling his pain, creating fantasies, eventually putting his stories
in books, and as they say, “the rest is history.” Writing was his form of therapy, thus
creating his own trauma resilience.
Many of us are suffering from one variation of trauma or another, mine is PTSD.
Although I was serving in the Air Force during war time (1991), I did not see
combat. My PTSD stems from an inexcusable murder I committed in 1993.
**U.S. Air Force**
Two Roads V.17 26
I have carried that guilt for nearly 30 years. The crime went unsolved for 17
years, during that time I spent my life drowning in alcoholism, despair, and
depression. My “demons” tormented my soul and I questioned my own
existence; I attempted suicide 4 times. Some people have said that I have
a “Greater Purpose,” meaning my attempts were thwarted by “Divine
Intervention.”
Ultimately, I confessed to murder in 2010, and I have been trying to forgive
myself ever since. I can say with certainty that it has not happened yet. I kept
trying though, and actually, doing things like writing this helps. I’m not creative
or artistic, so my therapy is telling my story, sharing my experience, relating to
people, and hopefully I can help someone.
I’ve recently learned how you approach trauma and recognize its impact on
you is how it dictates your life. Take me for example, I chose to live in the
suffering, and my life has been a painful rollercoaster of emotions. However, if
you look at Tolkien, he chose a creative, more positive path, and you can see
everything he gave the world.
Today, here a Kewanee Life skills Re-entry Center, I try to be an open book. I
try to talk about my pain, but I usually break down in an embarrassing, tearful
display of emotions. I apologize to the groups, and do you know what the guys
tell me? “It’s OK.” “You got to get it out.” “We don’t judge you.” “We’re proud of
you.” Is it easy? Not even close. I am constantly unpacking the baggage that has
weighed me down for three decades.
I have allowed my pride to build walls around my
heart, and the “pain within” has been building and
boiling. It’s time I let it go. The walls must come
down, because I can’t live like this anymore. I finally
want to be free!!!
Two Roads V.17
“Everyone is more than the worst thing they’ve ever done.”
Bryan Stevenson
Resilience: the ability to recover quickly from illness, change or
misfortune; the ability to remain.
Two Roads V.17
28
Ronnie Carrasquillo
Two Forms of Trauma
Physical: A wound, especially one produced by sudden physical
injury.
Psychological: An emotional shock that creates substantial and
lasting damage to the psychological development of the
individual, generally leading to neurosis.
Many sudden wounds from physical injuries that I have acquired and the
trauma attached to that involve others that didn't make it, but I am here to
give testimony of the psychological aspect of trauma. For the sake of time and
Two Roads V.17 29
space, I will just mention a few "Traumatic Valleys" that I've walked
through, like, how to find resilience through living decade after decade in
prison as a C-Number with 200-600 years attached to you—How to find
resilience when tens of thousands of dollars are lost after denials, decade
over decade—How to find resilience after decades of parole loss—How to
find resilience when your loved ones pass and you're not there to console
the family—How to find resilience from not being able to raise your
family—How to find resilience from the trauma of being separated from
your family by sheets of plastic in your face? These traumas can
traumatize you into an emotional shock which could create substantial
and lasting damage to the psychological development of the individual,
and generally can lead to neurosis.
I should have been gone due to my wounds, but I'm not; I should have
lasting damage to my psychological development, but I don't—because
GOD has chosen me to be an agent of overcoming trauma. HE allows
through HIS Grace my resilience, giving me the elasticity to stretch above
the "Traumas" that have tried to hold me back.
GOD delivered my consciousness to see liberty through it
all, as well as enabled me to pass this consciousness on to
others. My prayer is that you too, raise above! "I hold not
and am not defined by my Valleys of Traumas." Neither
should you be!
PRAISE GOD
Two Roads V.17
Asia Jackson
**(Logan C.C.)**
When I gave my dog to the no-kill shelter and walked out to my own
screwed-up destiny, I knew life was not going to be kind. My heart was
broken; the dog was my love, my companion of eight years, my friend,
closer to me than anyone. We had been through hell and back and clung
to one another safe together.
I had lost my apartment after losing both of my jobs and being
denied the unemployment I needed to stay on my feet. Really,
I had no choice; my dad’s house where I was going to stay at
had a pit-bull there, and I couldn't bring my strange Corgi Mix,
so I gave her away.
I want to bring awareness to mental illness in the
prison system. Because little did I know this act upon
others would be a spark to a match that would light
the flame to a long journey of me battling a
dragon of mental illness, alone and without
proper medical care and moral/emotional
support!
Other things were substance abuse
and physical violence, random
unexplained acts of physical
violence against me that spiraled
me into a vortex of confusion
and anger-fueled chaos,
which allowed me to lash
out at the people
30
who could provide me with help—“the authorities”. I didn’t know at
the time, due to the substance abuse, that I was looking insane
while asking aggressively and wildly for help.
So a lot of the times this resulted in my imprisonment instead of
my perpetrators'. This only further fueled my rage, feeding me the
gasoline that my internal fire needed for me to become a total loose
canon. I was overwhelmed by my own mental illness, the violence of
others, and the injustice of the system was harming my mind,
cracking the one thing that kept my world together. I was about to
break!
During a long period of unjustified incarceration, I finally got to
talk to a psychiatrist and be put on medication. I’ve been healthy
ever since, and now realize that I was in the midst of a mental
breakdown for about two years before I actually exploded. I was
helped by medication, moral support, and psychiatry.
I wish to bring mental health awareness to
everyone. Take care of yourself, your mind is
important. Your spirit needs safety. Sometimes what
we need is not to be imprisoned, but a trip to the
psych ward, a shoulder to cry on, or just some actual
help! I just happened to find my help here . . . in
prison.
Two Roads V.17
Two Roads V.17 32
Joshua Scott
I grew up and was raised around Trauma and Gangsters.
In fact it was so normal it became my everyday behavior to inflict
Trauma and pain on others, including myself, for the benefit of my ego
and organization.
Even though I was young, I quickly picked up on the gang members'
mannerisms, lingo, the way they walked, carried their guns, and
dressed. I wanted to be the modern day “Big Meech”. I grew up around
chiefs of my organization, and hearing stories of various notorious gang
leaders; they were in fact the role models in my life. The Mob, the Opps,
the guns, the drugs, the violence and trauma that surrounded me were
all I could see on a day-to-day basis.
I never really thought about all the things that I could be in life, or all
that life could offer me, because the truth is, "Trauma” had its grips on
me from the start, and I was scared of becoming anything else but a
“Bad Guy". Good guys don’t survive long in the streets of Chicago, or so
I thought. I was certain of this when I would witness good people, men
and women, get shot, stabbed, bullied, jumped, robbed, and even
killed. Bad guys don’t live forever but they sure as hell didn’t die that
easy.
See we all start off as good guys, innocent and pure-hearted. Then
things happen. I saw things, did things, and had things done to me that
changed the Good Guy fabric of my DNA. I lived a life of drug dealing,
countless shootings, and armed robberies on strangers, businesses, and
even backdoor sliming out on my own people. Inflicting trauma on
everyone around me eventually would catch up with me, and it did.
Two Roads V.17 33
In 2014 I was sentenced to 24 years in prison for similar crimes.
It is now 2023 and I must say that it took GOD HIMSELF to remove all of my
evil thoughts, behaviors, actions, and life-style choices. Over 9 years I had to
UNLEARN everything. I completely cut my ties to the mob and old friends on
the outside. I had to develop morals, learn to love and care for humanity in a
selfless way, and only GOD could show me how.
“I did not have plans to come from prison a positive person. I wanted to be a
Demon all my life in order to survive the streets, but GOD has transformed
my mind my spirit and my soul in an Angelic way that I can't explain.”
I no longer desire to bring harm to you or my community for my financial
benefit and ego. I only wish is to add value to you and this world in any way I
can. Trauma had caused me to become a very bad person, but I made it
through the darkness just as we all can. I am not afraid to begin again, Good,
Godly, and Humane. For the sake of our lives, freedom, and families, and for
the sake of the present state and future of humanity . . .
Black Lives Matter, All Lives Matter!
Two Roads V.17 34
During my fifty-two years on this earth, I have suffered
through several traumatic experiences. But there was one
incident in 1988 that will be forever emblazoned in my spirit and
in my memory.
As a new graduate of boot camp, I was shipped out of Great
Lakes Naval Base to meet my squadron on the other side of the
world aboard the U.S.S. Nimitz. The monstrous weapon of
defense was scary enough by its size and capabilities alone,
without having the knowledge of navigating my way to and fro as
a member of its crew.
One night, not long after coming aboard and beginning my
new seafaring career, there was a series of explosions that
ignited above the berthing that I was housed in. It sounded like
“Bombs Over Baghdad” jumping off above me. As a
result, the alert for general
quarters
Steven Hanserd
**U.S. Navy**
Two Roads V.17
35
and all men to man their battle stations was sounded.
Struggling to find my way to my battle station, amongst the chaos
and confusion of the fifty-five-hundred-man crew, I arrived to the flight
deck to witness an inferno of epic proportions taking place. Aircrafts
were exploding and men were exploding and men were running around
on fire and some were even jumping off the side of the ship, which was
ninety feet high above the sea level, as the blaze was fought
throughout the night and into the wee hours of dawn.
I was in a trance, as I was caught in the middle of the event at hand:
realizing I did not have enough experience to be aboard the flight deck
at night. I was ushered below to safety, as I helplessly sat through the
nightmare I was living through.
At first I thought that the Russians were attacking us, as we were
already on high alert in the waters of the red sea, on the brink of Desert
Storm. Only to find out later that an accident caused on our own behalf,
had taken place due to complacency and not following general rules of
thumb, while performing maintenance on war vessels that patrolled
the air above us.
The fire and injuries, along with the trauma of death and desolation
haunted me in my sleep for years to come. Causing me to be forced to
live with PTSD and having to somehow lean to cope with the incident.
Night terrors and voices inside my head were a part of the aftermath
that troubled me into my latter adulthood years.
Only after becoming willing to accept mental health counseling, and
finding the right medications to help with it all, was I willing to ask
GOD to intervene and please take the pain away. I had suffered long
enough from this nightmare I couldn’t shake from within me. And,
I believed a power greater than myself could restore me
back to sanity.
Two Roads V.17
36
I eventually wrote and had published a book titled
“Wounded”. It is a tell-all story about my past, drug
addiction, and criminal history. The writing of this
memoir became very therapeutic for me, and the healing
process began. Today I am free from the night terrors and
voices that haunted me. I am far from being back to
normal, but I can function without fear from within and
the guilt of my troubled past. If you are suffering from
something traumatic from your past, you are not alone
and should seek help from a friend, mental health
counselor, and/or higher power.
Freedom is near and all you need is the faith inside of
you to find it.
I’m so glad, trouble don’t last always . . .
Two Roads V.17 37
Trauma for me came in all
shapes and sizes, but none was
like the trauma I received from
the one person I thought would
never hurt me. My mother was
the epitome of trauma: my days
were spent trying not to anger her
and my nights were filled with
endless anxiety hoping that when
she came in the house she didn't
set her sights on me. The physical
and mental trauma I endured
from her were by far the worst
thing I've been through.
Now don't get me wrong, I
loved my mother, but she could
be brutal and in the same breath
make me think I'd done
something to deserve the abuse.
The most frightening thing was
that no matter what she did, I
couldn't stop loving her.
The fact is, she was and will always
be my mother and there was
nothing that I could do to change
that, no matter how much I tried
to wish her away.
Things were so bad that I had to
run away, but I had nowhere else
to go because I didn't know
anyone in the state of Washington
and I was only seven years old. I
hid inside myself not wanting to
deal with the reality that my own
mother was my protector and my
abuser: there was no refuge from
the pain she inflicted on me every
day. They say that when you've
been abused by someone and you
get the chance to escape but you
choose to stay it's called
Stockholm Syndrome; however,
can that be true if the person
that’s abusing you is your mother?
Carlos McDougal
Two Roads V.17
38
I ask the question simply because I truly want to know the
answer. How can you escape the wolf if you're in the pack? I've
forgiven my mother for the pain and trauma she put me through, but
the scars still remain to this day, so much so that I find myself
exhibiting some of those same attributes she had. Am I a victim?
How can you tell someone how to raise their children? The last time
I checked there wasn't a handbook on how to raise a child, at least
not when I was coming up.
Mother I forgive you for the pain you put
me through, but the scars still feel the
same.
***
The physical ones don't hurt anymore but
the mental ones feel like they just
happened just yesterday.
***
I could only imagine what you had to
endure when you were a kid. I guess your
pain was something that I had to pay for,
like I was the source of the trauma that
turned you into a monster.
***
I never hated you even though sometimes I
wanted to. You and I both know that I
would've died for you if given the chance.
***
I guess that’s why GOD called you home
and took the weight of you off of me and
placed you in HIS hands.
Two Roads V.17 39
Franklin Heindricks
This is a story of trauma
Yeah we talkin' bout my life
The demons I had to fight
To even get a glimpse of the light
See the addiction blurred the lines
Between wrong and right
Everyday was a fight
It wasn't even bout getting high no more
It was bout feeling normal
Too much or too little
Had me like Jekyll and Hyde
Had to find the right dose
Between chill and comatose
And not another overdose
All my faith and hope were lost
Family at a loss for words
At the damage I caused
I didn't realize how great the cost
This life of addiction would cost
It aint 'bout the dollars
Its 'bout the heart and soul
And all the pieces of me I lost
Never thought I'd find my way again
Being loved by the ones I hurt again
Locked up and locked away
They threw away the key
Two Roads V.17 40
Told me I had time to do
So I had two choices
Do the time
Or let the time do me
See I could've fell back
Into that come old act
Or I could fight back
And turn my life around
This my second act
It’s the encore
And I ain't going back
See we all come from trauma
That manifests itself into drama
A raging storm
that tosses our seasick bones
Everywhere but home
So how did I survive
A life of addiction and crime
I didn't give up when they gave me this time
When I fell, I got back up
When I failed, I tried again
So don't waste your time
You never know how much you got left
See the thing about trauma
Is your never rid of it
But you can move past it
With the Grace of GOD
Forgiveness & Love.
Two Roads V.17 41
Antonio Aguirre
As a child growing up in a single parent home stricken with poverty and
abuse, I could not help but wonder: what prompted my father to abandon us
without warning and/or support? I guess the reality of parenthood was too
much for him to bear. "What a coward," I thought. In any case, we never
seen or heard from him again, good riddance!
My father’s actions greatly stressed my mother, causing her to have a
meltdown that would create a ripple effect of pain and distrust which would
haunt us for the rest of our lives. Someone once said; “Hurt People, Hurt
People!” I didn’t get it at first; until mom relayed how much pain and
suffering she was in, and boy . . . did I get it then, COL!
I know people always like to blame their parents for their misfortunes in
life. But in this case, I don’t believe I had much of a choice in the matter.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother to death and I greatly appreciate
**U.S. Army**
Two Roads V.17 42
how much she sacrificed for our
survival; but damn, nothing hurts more
than to get hurt by those you love.
I was only eight years old when she
started leaving me on the church's front
steps in the middle of the night. The
first time lasted about an hour or so,
but then, the next couple of times, the
noises in the dark became terrifyingly
unbearable. On one occasion, I had
been there until the break of dawn. I
thought, wow, how beautiful the skies
looked at that very moment, all the
while chewing on a piece of gum that I
had found on the side walk to help
subdue my hunger.
At age eleven, my mother had found
“True Love” again and got remarried.
"Yeah!" I thought, thinking that my
“nightmare of a life” had finally come to
an end. I wasn’t so lucky though—in
fact, my troubles “Double Bubbled!”
Here I was, hoping for a loving and
righteous male role model to help with
my homework, or to at least show me
how to ride a bike. Nope! Instead, I was
blessed with a “Drunken Master” for a
stepdad. He would always be
intoxicated, shouting out commands.
Like, do this and do that and do it again,
this time better! He basically had me
clean the entire house, the yard and the
cars. Hell, I felt like his own private
butler, janitor and landscaper. Didn’t
they outlaw child labor? I guess he
never got the memo!
So, I finally got pissed and mustered
up the courage to defy him and that’s
when he introduced me to my very first
Kung Fu lesson.
He karate kicked me so hard, I flew
across the living room and right onto the
kitchen floor, where I was holding my
chest, in pain and gasping for air. I cried
out, "Please mom, help!" And I’ll never
forget it, she looked down at me, shaking
her head in disgust saying, "Well, maybe
next time, you’ll do what you’re told,"
and then stepped right over me to
continue preparing his supper. Talk
about adding insult to injury.
Once, I had even taken a very bad
beating for protecting her from his
drunken rage, but when the police
arrived, she actually lied to them about
what had happened and left. I couldn’t
believe it, how could she, after all I went
through? And that's the day my beloved
mother broke my heart. I couldn’t help
but wonder if that’s what she felt like on
the day my father left us, so long ago.
Well, now thinking that I truly have
nothing and no one left in this world, I
began to act out. I had become more
intolerable, rebellious, and menacing,
behaviors which would eventually lead
to homelessness and becoming an
astute “Ward of the State,” being placed
in alternative homes and juvenile
detention centers for my own safety,
knowing that's where “Hurt Kids, Hurt
Kids.” How traumatically ironic, right!
Two Roads V.17 43
Toola O. Taylor
(Western C.C.)
It is no secret. And I have no qualms about admitting it. I
have a history of being an idiot. Over the years, in the most
inopportune moments, I’ve made some really bad choices.
And to this day, I still catch myself entertaining thoughts that
don’t actually represent the person that I and the people who
love and care about me know that I am.
But I am only human: combatting the levity, friction,
trauma, and dysfunction of my youth is an uphill battle and
will probably be a lifelong struggle. I still catch myself, at least
once a day, slipping back into my old ways of thinking and
reasoning. I’d like to imagine that it is simply because of my
environment. I hesitate to offer that up as an excuse, but
rather as an attempt to reveal one—of a few—real, possible
explanations.
Two Roads V.17 44
Eventually, amongst other things, I got sick and tired of being
locked up. But the choices of my youth had helped create a wall from
success and achievement. I experienced setback after setback, which
made me feel as though I was trying to chisel through a brick wall
with a butter knife.
Knowing that my son was coming, and after having previously lost
three babies due to miscarriages, I learned what it is really like to fight
and maintain hope in the midst of uncertainty. Unfortunately, when
he came into the world, I was in jail. When I was finally able to look
into his little eyes, it renewed my spirit and ignited my fire to strive
for the things in life that people whose paths that I’ve crossed, at one
point or another, have hoped against. It sparked my desire to prove
that I can be successful, despite my past.
I am not the person that people who don’t know me—or would
really care to know me—would like me to be. I will prove that I am
not the worst thing that I have done or been accused of. Ultimately, I
will be evidence that any person who really wants it can be redeemed
and rehabilitated if given real opportunities, tools, support, and
motivation.
As a man who has made more than his fair share of mistakes, I am
committed to fighting to do and be better, and am working towards
leaving something behind that my loved ones can be proud of. So I
figured that even if the entire world hates me for the rest of whatever
days that I am graced with upon this earth, then, perhaps, that is all
the redemption I should care to seek. After all, in this day and age,
more than likely it is probably the only redemption that I will ever get.
And I accept that—just like I have accepted full responsibility for the
actions that have led me back to prison. So yes, I guess, for me,
redemption is worth fighting for!
Two Roads V.17 45
Eventually, amongst other things, I got sick and tired of being locked
up. But the choices of my youth had helped create a wall from success
and achievement. I experienced setback after setback, which made me
feel as though I was trying to chisel through a brick wall with a butter
knife.
Knowing that my son was coming, and after having previously lost
three babies due to miscarriages, I learned what it is really like to fight
and maintain hope in the midst of uncertainty. Unfortunately, when he
came into the world, I was in jail. When I was finally able to look into his
little eyes, it renewed my spirit and ignited my fire to strive for the
things in life that people whose paths that I’ve crossed, at one point or
another, have hoped against. It sparked my desire to prove that I can be
successful, despite my past.
I am not the person that people who don’t know me—or would really
care to know me—would like me to be. I will prove that I am not the
worst thing that I have done or been accused of. Ultimately, I will be
evidence that any person who really wants it can be redeemed and
rehabilitated if given real opportunities, tools, support, and motivation.
As a man who has made more than his fair share of mistakes, I am
committed to fighting to do and be better, and am working towards
leaving something behind that my loved ones can be proud of. So I
figured that even if the entire world hates me for the rest of whatever
days that I am graced with upon this earth, then, perhaps, that is all the
redemption I should care to seek. After all, in this day and age, more
than likely it is probably the only redemption that I will ever get. And I
accept that—just like I have accepted full responsibility for the actions
that have led me back to prison. So yes, I guess, for me, redemption is
worth fighting for!
Two Roads V.17 46
I'm talking about trauma-driven behavior. Don't get me wrong, I'm
not a trauma-science denier. I understand the long-lasting and
sometimes permanent consequences of traumatic experiences.
I still call it weakness.
Over the past few months I have developed plantar fasciitis, an
inflammation in the sole of my left foot. That foot does not experience
any greater or different pressures than the right. It carries the same
weight, takes the same number of steps. It is simply more sensitive to
those same stressors. I have a weak foot. And if the nervous systems of
some persons are more sensitive than others' to shared environmental
stressors, they are weak nervous systems.
My foot is weak. My nervous system is not. I have been in my share
of sketchy situations. A few were genuinely terrifying. I can't imagine
that anyone wouldn't consider them to be plausibly traumatic. Their
impact on me is trivial. Less trivial is the store of thousands of
pedestrian events I have been involved in or witnessed—betrayals,
deceits, basic pettiness, outright stupidity (sometimes my own), and
every other variety of generally shitty human behavior. They are why I
am a kneejerk misanthrope. And no, they are not "microtraumas". Just
memories. My reactive nature is not the result of a handful of
exceptional events. It is a conscious and willful playing of the odds.
Two Roads V.17 46
What troubles me most about trauma-informed care, especially in
the context of criminal behavior, is its abrogation of will, of human
agency and personal responsibility. Many in the field make the
distinction between rationalization and justification. It is a flimsy line,
and those with a stake in subverting the concept of personal
responsibility are rarely masters of nuance (but when they are, watch
out—they will lawyer their way out of all accountability). I have watched
prison trauma groups at work. When their participants are not playing
the game of "my trauma is bigger than yours", they are using it to
renounce culpability for their often violent and unconscionable actions.
(Full disclosure: I don't believe in free will myself, not ultimately. The
notion is absurd. We are only nature, nurture, and perhaps a soupcon of
quantum unpredictability. Philosophically, I am sympathetic to the
trauma-informed stance. But absurdity is the price of humanity. I have
bought into the consensus illusion of personal agency. This illusion is
one of the many that make us something other than beasts—though
probably only delusional beasts.)
Owning weakness does not repudiate agency or responsibility. If I am
late to an appointment because my fasciitis is acting up and my gait is
slower than usual, I cannot blame whatever environmental factors
allowed my weak foot to become inflamed. I cannot even fault the
weakness of my foot. What I can blame is the fact that I did not account
for my infirmity by leaving for the appointment a few minutes early. The
failure to own my known weaknesses and compensate for them would
demonstrate another frailty altogether: a weakness of character. Strong
characters with a weak nervous systems are likewise obligated to find
countermeasures for trauma's influence on their behavior.
Two Roads V.17 48
When I do anything that references
criminal justice reform, I precede it with the
statement, "Understand that the majority of people
incarcerated aren't merely perpetrators of crime, they're
victims as well."
Usually, when someone says the word trauma, one
pictures extreme acts of violence, abuse, and neglect.
However, the majority of individuals have been victims of
many forms of abuse, on a sliding scale of severity, that has
caused long-term trauma—a lot of it being generational and
cultural. The most problematic forms of abuse are those that
persons don't identify as abuse because those incidents have
been the norm of certain families and communities. These
patterns of abuse not being recognized as such have an
adverse effect that consequently perpetuates the cycle of
abuse to the next generation.
Like so many of us in here, my trauma is of this kind. I dealt
with physical and emotional abuse, neglect, and abandon-
ment, as well as economic and socialized deficiencies.
Although none were to their extremes, those experiences had
a profound cumulative affect on my well-being that I didn't
understand until years later.
Growing up in a culture of poverty, with a single
mother in her 20s, working two jobs to take care of
three kids, definitely had its disadvantages:
Antony Bell
( Illinois River C.C.)
Two Roads V.17 49
there wasn't much to eat, we shared clothing, and we were left to
our own devices more often than not. My mother had to work, and
there was no money for a caretaker, which combined kept me in a
state of survival. Life and socialization was within the context of
surviving—anything else was a luxury.
Discipline in that culture was strictly retributive, as physical
discipline was the preferred method; we were beaten with belts,
switches, kitchen utensils, hairbrushes, etc., to the point that I was
left with welts and bruises. There was a very thin line between what
was considered discipline, and what was considered abuse.
As a boy, masculinity held a firm connotation. It was defined by
stoic strength, bottling up emotions, because expressing them was
considered weak and feminine. As the oldest male, without a stable
father figure, I was forced to bear the responsibility of a masculine
role before I was ready, and hated myself when I couldn't live up to
expectations—like protecting my family from certain harms. It was
hell trying to be a man when I didn't know how to be one.
The thing about emotions, they demand to be felt; instead of
being seen as weak, I turned to drugs, alcohol
and gangs (specifically gang violence),
which were culturally accepted
forms of expression.
Two Roads V.17 50
By 14 years old, I was on the streets, fending for myself, and found
myself locked up for the first time.
MY STORY ISN'T UNIQUE!
None of these things by themselves were considered extreme,
and most of those actions were considered normal; there wasn't
anything considered abuse. So many of us in prison brag about the
ways we were disciplined (beat), and wear it as a badge of honor;
we take pride in the fact we became self-sufficient at a young age
(skills we had to learn to survive), but we fail to characterize the
toll those cumulative abuses took as forms of trauma.
It took me years to realize that the mistrust, anger, misogyny,
depression and anxiety I felt had come from the various abuses I
had endured during my childhood. I never viewed these things as
trauma-causing abuses because they didn't fit the definition of
what I was taught (molestation, rape, aggravated violence, etc.).
A lot of the trauma we have experienced was passed along
generationally and culturally, mainly because what we experienced
wasn't recognized as abuse. If we don't take the responsibility to
get help, and identify, the trauma of those abuses, we will pass it
onto our kids, if we haven't already, continuing the line of
generational and cultural trauma.
Two Roads V.17
51
Tyrone Delaney
On the surface, you'll never know what a person is carrying, nor
what they've had to endure, be it grief, guilt, shame, hurt, or loss.
I'm sure there are amazing stories that accompany those
endeavors, but we must never capitulate.
I am a father of nine grown children, three of them grown men; I
take extreme pride in them all, of course. And although I am
overwhelmingly proud of my six daughters, there exists between
fathers and sons a connection that cannot be quantified. Seeing
smaller, spitting images of yourself running around is quite
alarming, yet endearing. Parts of you want them to be like you, but
maturity steps in and changes that desire.
Unfortunately, I lost my two older sons to violent deaths, which
have had a very profound effect on my mental psyche and the
trauma that came thereafter. There have been many dark days and
nights, which have left me numb and void at times. Nothing, I mean
nothing, could have prepared me for such a loss, but my resilience
to overcome is much deeper than my desire to give up.
Everything GOD permits us to go through will
ultimately be good for us—no matter how much it hurts,
how unfair it may seem, or how difficult it is. I have found
the paradox that if you love until hurts, there can be no
more hurt, only more love, and that’s how I've been able
to navigate through the pain of losing my two beloved
sons.
**U.S. Army**
Two Roads V.17
52
Last year at the end of October, I got a phone call around 4:30
a.m.; it was my youngest daughter (27) telling me my oldest
daughter (30) had been in a car wreck and lost her life. Well,
needless to say, I was on dope at the time and kept saying to
myself, "it ain't true." Unfortunately it was true.
My daughter had left her abusive husband and travelled to
Alabama where she had met a guy from there and became
pregnant by him. I didn't know this until later on after her death
that she was 7 months pregnant. Well, when it was time to bring
her back home to Pike County, Illinois, I discovered her abusive
husband had also travelled down there to get her. I was informed
by my youngest daughter that she and my oldest daughter's
husband were going to rip that baby out of her and leave it down
there. I told all of them that if they did this, then GOD would
destroy them all, and would disown every last one of you.
Well, I got a phone call from Alabama saying they were going to
have a funeral for the baby. My fiance', mother,neice, my two
sisters and I travelled to Alabama to attend the the baby's funeral. I
met the guy who got my oldest daughter pregnant, along with his
family. What a wonderful family they are. Well after all was said
and done, I went back to Illinois and attended my oldest daughter
funeral. I discovered my oldest daughter's husband, Jake, had
knocked out two of her teeth sometime in the previous months.
This really angered me.
Herbert Stewart Jr.
(Graham C.C.)
Two Roads V.17
53
When I attended the funeral all except may be 3 or 4
in-laws out of probably 30 or 40 spoke to me. My two
grand daughters , ages 12 and 2 were there. My oldest
granddaughter didn't even acknowledge me. This hurt
me something awful. Well, my oldest daughter was
cremated. After the funeral, I walked out to my car
with my fiancé and we left.
Anyway, with Mother's Day approaching, I was
thinking of my oldest daughter and especially her two
daughters – my two granddaughters – and my newest
granddaughter who I just had to bury.
In January of this year, I was incarcerated and am
now serving my sentence in Graham C.C. I'm still
grieving and needed to get this out to someone who
might listen, besides my fiancé. Writing all this down
really helps me to express more without breaking
down and crying. I wanted to share my story with you
and other individuals in custody to discover if anyone
out there is going through the same or similar
situations.
Two Roads V.17
54
Two Roads V.17
55
Two Roads
“We are commit ted to empowering those most impacted
by harmful systems to become servant leaders and
agents of change. Using the connecting, restorative
power of stories, we hope to do our small part in
bringing us all together to ove rcome societal ills such as
violence, pov erty and mass incarceration.”
Staff
Mission Statement
With staff support:
Have staff member electronically send
submission and photo (if possible) to:
Without staff support:
Mail submission, photo with name and title to:
Attn: Ms. Penny Rowan—Two Roads
Kewanee Life Skills Reentry Center
2021 Kentville Road, Kewanee, IL 61443
For this year’s Mothers Day, we would like to center
our conversation on not just biological mothers, but
any and all women who may have had a positive
impact in our life. Believe us, she would love to go
on the IDOC website to read about
how you’ve chosen to honor her.
(idoc home page
→
about
→
news
→
two roads [Name of Issue]
).
Mail submission NOW, no later then:
April 28, 2023
Two Roads V.17
Two Roads V.17 57
With staff support:
Have staff member electronically
send submission and photo
(if possible) to:
penny.rowan@illinois.gov
Without staff support:
Mail submission, photo with name to:
TWO ROADS EDITOR
Attn: Ms. Penny Rowan
Kewanee Life Skills Reentry Center
2021 Kentville Road
Kewanee, IL 61443
We would like to share your unique story to our confined and non-confined
readers concerning how has had on the lives of
you, your family and community. If this has impacted you, we would like to
hear your story. In addition, your family and friends can then share their
stories as they are impacted by these situations as well. Feel free to have
them share their experiences from your incarceration.
Please encourage them to send a submission.
No later than May 19th
TWO ROADS
Tech Guru
Leondus Carter
House Artist
Charles “Chuck” Murray
House Poet
John Williams
Editorial Team
Ronnie Carrasquillo
Tyrone Delaney
Michael “Sean” Lawless
Carlos D. McDougal
Jesse Meyers
Marcus Harris
Founders
Ricky Hamilton
Jennifer Parrack
Jim Estes
MASTHEAD
Two Roads V.17
Publisher
Jim Estes
Editor in Chief
Keith “Aquil” Talley
Associate Editor in Chief
Kenji Haley
Faculty Advisors
Penny Rowan
Matt Warnsing
Amy Cambron
Chief Tangenise Porter
Dr. Aracelli Cabarcas
Margarita Mendoza
Deborah Shannon
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