By Cat Lambert, Colorado

When my son was born, I knew very little about how kids typically behave. I was only 19 and he was my first child.  His sister was not born for another 9 years.

During his formative years he was smart, quiet and obedient. He was in classes for gifted kids and showed talent in design and engineering at a very young age.  He crafted elaborate building plans for spaceships, which at the time were very futuristic.  I had no idea that he also suffered from a serious mental illness.  I learned later that many people who suffer with brain disorder have exceptionally high IQ’s.

This Mother’s Day, I am happy that there is hope for those who suffer from brain diseases.  We finally found a cocktail of medications that control my son’s disorder and allow him to function as the kind, thoughtful human being he is. Sadly, the drugs he needed became available to him only after he had endured years of depression, hallucinations and many suicide attempts. Most tragically, he was also arrested and charged at age 17 for his alleged participation in a horrible crime that culminated in the loss of life and with him being sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole. He is now 39.

When the ominous verdict was read and he was found guilty, I knew that I had more work to do.  It would be important work and would help many others that were suffering.  I immediately became an advocate for eliminating the practice of sentencing children to life without parole. I also began teaching for the National Alliance on Mental Illness. I reached out and taught programs for families and advocates alike about the dilemma of having someone you love suffer from a brain disorder.  Some were families in conflict, chaos, denial and finally acceptance.  Some were employees in social service agencies, the medical field, the educational system and the legal system who dealt with this dilemma in their work.  All had been affected by knowing someone who suffered from a brain disorder.  I also discovered something about myself: if I wasn’t doing something to help educate folks and move our issues forward, I would be dying. It was just too painful to experience the extreme apathy and hopelessness that goes along with losing a child to mental illness and the prison system and do nothing.  It was the way I coped with my grief.

My son was about 8 when his disposition started to change. He exhibited strange behaviors, such as wearing an overcoat in 100-degree weather and surrounding his head with stuffed animals at night. Physicians and counselors said he was a model student so I should not worry.

Then at 14, he told me he felt he felt like he had more than one personality. He began suffering from depression and had to be hospitalized. I learned from the psychiatrist that he was hearing a voice and believed the only way to silence it was to kill himself.  We struggled with his suicidal ideation and need for stabilization.  He was an in-patient and an out-patient in treatment facilities for people who suffered from brain disorders for the next few years.

When I first admitted him into the hospital, it was nearly enough to break me. I originally believed I could deal with it on my own. I thought he just needed the love of his family.  On second opinion, we transported him to the treatment facility.

Then the unthinkable happened.  After he was arrested I was adamant that he get the proper mental health treatment and the best legal representation that I could secure.  Our fight kept him out of the adult system for the next 2 years.  During that time, a juvenile judge placed him in a state treatment facility for mentally ill adults.  When he was released and subsequently relapsed, the same judge ordered him into a private system that was paid for by my insurance.  When the insurance was exhausted he was transferred back into the juvenile jail facility.  We received the enormous and enduring blessing of medications being dialed in before he was transferred to the adult system to stand trial.

Another boon for me was that his name was not made public until he was transferred to the adult court system.  During that 2 year reprieve, very few people know what had happened in my family. I was a public figure in the town where we lived and would have been totally ostracized and my earning ability leveled. The few people who did know, even the best of my friends, had a difficult time being with me because they didn’t know how to support me.  It was just too tragic.   I felt all alone, but I had to keep dragging myself to do the next best thing and make the money needed for my son’s defense. Mothers are capable of great things.  Love and commitment are a powerful resource.

Naturally, I also had to deal with my own major depression as I grappled with my son’s mental illness, the facts of what happened and the need to negotiate through the legal system. At the beginning of the ordeal, I could turn to my son’s father – who is not my current husband – for support. But five months after our son was arrested, he committed suicide. It seemed to be a family trait; his father had died from suicide, as well. I remember laying on my bed in the fetal position. I felt totally alone.  I remember my husband begging me to get up.  It must have been so frightening for him.

During those years after my son was arrested, everyone in the family was struggling. My husband and I worked hard to develop some sense of normalcy for our other three children. We made visiting my son a family outing. When he was still in local facilities, we went to see him every Sunday after church. Even when I was the only person allowed inside, the entire family held vigil outside.  He could see us though the grated bars in his window nine stories up.  He would have a towel so we could see where he was and know that he saw us.  In reality, it was only after our family moved to Colorado in 1996 that we developed any real sense of normalcy. I agreed to the move under the condition that I would regularly and routinely fly back to Alabama to visit him because I could not and would not abandon him.

It has been 23 years since my son was arrested for the first and only time.  I visit him every month or so. I fly to Alabama, spend the night with a friend and visit him the next day. I’ve been a hair dresser for 35 years, so I see long-term clients in my city of origin while I am there to earn the money to pay for the visit. That is what I did last week. I can confirm that family support and involvement helps the healing of everyone involved.  In whatever way we can, we need to support our loved ones; letters, phone calls, and visits.

My son was never in trouble before his arrest and has not been in trouble during his incarceration.  He has a 23 year record clear of any infraction.  He is an important member of the society at the prison where he is serving JLWOP. He helped create and lead the honor dorm, helps in prisoner mitigation issues, and has worked with the chaplain for 16 years. He is in remission from schizophrenia.  I am proud of the man he has become.  And I am thankful.

Even though I will miss him, as I always do, on this Mother’s Day, the well-being he has created for himself and the man he has chosen to become brings me comfort, solace, and a renewed energy to continue my vigil on his behalf and on behalf of all the sons and daughters serving JLWOP.  The card I received from him this year reads, “For all you do and all you are – I love you and thank God for making you may mother.  You are my light and my hope.  I would never have become the man I am without your support and encouragement and love.  You are my heart and I love you so very, very much.  Happy Mother’s Day.”

I repled, “My son, you are the beacon who shines light into my soul and my purpose.  What you have endured is beyond my ability.  I could never have become the woman I am without your example.  You once asked me if your path had been to be a monk praying in an austere monastery, would I have worried about you.  I replied that I would not.  You said your life is much like that of a monk and I was right not to worry.  You are doing the work for so many by being the man you have chosen to be, albeit in a prison “monastery.”  You give me the courage to continue and to have faith that all is well, no matter what.  Bless you, my child.”