I followed Officer O’Halloren as we snaked through the hallways between cells at the Cook County jail. I was not expecting to get this close to the incarcerated women, and I didn’t know jail would be so dark. And confining.
Up ahead, I saw an inmate throw a bologna sandwich through the bars. I wanted to laugh to ease the tension building through my shoulders. Terror and curiosity swirled within me as I wondered if any of the faces belonged to my new client.
Image credit: http://blog-aauw.org/2009
“Wait here,” O’Halloren said, when we reached the end of a hallway. I saw a closet-sized room with a bench.
I pulled a legal pad and a pen from my briefcase, so I could hold the tools that proved I was prepared to mount a defense for my client.
When she walked through the door to our “conference” room, I realized the absurdity of believing that legal preparation was the same as emotional preparation.
“Ms. K., I am your lawyer.” I rose to shake her hand.
She didn’t say a word as she shuffled over to the bench, her eyes focused on the floor.
How was I going to ask this emaciated stranger about the accident and the charges? My pen poised for recording the facts, I started gently.
“Do you know that the state has charged you with aggravated assault with a deadly weapon?”
She nodded, but still no eye contact.
“How is Andre? Have you seen him?” She asked suddenly, growing agitated about her surviving son. I hadn’t met him, but a social worker told me that their church had taken care of him.
“He is safe. Your minister is bringing him to the hearing this afternoon.”
She turned farther away as tears fell down her swollen face.
“Can we talk about the night of the accident? The more facts I have, the better job I can do for you.” My voice was a mix of compassion and authority, both of which she deserved from me.
“You’re probably judging me,” she said, wiping away her tears.
“It’s not my job to judge you,” I assured this broken bird of a woman.
“I didn’t drink that much. They are lying.” Now she was facing me, almost daring me to defy her. I had a police report that indicated she was well over the legal limit when she was pulled from the wheel of the car.
“Why don’t you tell me what you remember?” I suggested.
“You believe me don’t you? I loved my son. I would never have hurt him.” She finally met my eyes with her desperate stare.
“I believe you,” I said, not as a lawyer, but as a mother.
“Good,” she said quietly.
“Do you think you have a problem with alcohol?” I asked hoping we might use evidence of recovery in mitigation.
“No. I am not going to AA. My public defender wanted me to do alcohol rehab, but those places are full of sickos.”
I backed off the topic of recovery. In the next 30 minutes, I got her to tell me as much as she could remember. When I left, I couldn’t wait to scrub the dust of her anguish and denial off my skin.
I had been to Alanon for over 10 years by the time I met Ms. K., but I wasn’t prepared for how much I wanted her– a stranger and a client– to get sober. I wanted her to walk through the pain of killing her son and whatever other demons she was trying to outrun.
But, I stuffed my desire for her sobriety each time I worked on her case; I focused on her legal issues.
When the judge eventually gave her the ”best possible deal,” I cheered for her, but with only half my heart. The other half was freighted with that persistent desire that she get sober. All those months working for her, I never stopped wanting it.
I probably never will.
I am hooking up with Yeah Write, a place for bloggers who write and writers who blog. I am not sure which one I am, so it’s a good place for me. Come join us.
ugh!! i hate this story!! But you did a great job telling it. UGH! Poor everyone!
Terrible, terrible story. Her surviving son dropped out of school to get a “great job” at Jimmy Johns. Too much heartbreak.
Wow. Heartbreaking. What a terrible thing to have to live with for the rest of your life.
If our desire for people to get sober was enough, there wouldn’t be any alcoholics in the world. Unfortunately, they have to want it too.
My brother came to stay with me for a while a few years back. When he hit rock bottom, I took him to the nearest 30 day in-patient treatment facility, which was 2 hours away. I stopped and bought him booze as I drove, just to keep him from going into DTs. When we got there, they said they couldn’t take him drunk. I said it was the only way I could get him there without him being a danger to himself and others. They left to consult, and I hit my knees, praying that they would take him because I was so sick of the person the alcohol had turned him into.
They took him and 30 days later they released him. I was so proud of him and so hopeful for his future. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be.
Alcoholism is such a thief.
P.S. Do you know if she ever got sober?
I still get texts from her to this day that suggest she is sill pretty sick and actively getting high or drunk. It kills me and makes me feel such rage. Thief is right. Murderer too. And I understand she should have never ever gotten behind the wheel….she could have killed me or my kids or someone I love or other innocent people. That’s horrible. But I believe that alcoholism is a disease and that she needs help that I can’t give her, especially if she doesn’t want it. Ugh. Now, I have stirred my emotional pot.
It was a gift from the universe to have this client, as I have my own history with alcoholism that is the subject of a slightly longer post. Since I didn’t want to shut down the internet today, I thought I would tell a sliver of Mrs. K’s story. Also, it reminds me of another lifetime for me. So weird I was her lawyer. You are a fantastic sister, by the way.
Not all the time I’m not. There are days I ignore his calls because I can’t deal with having the same 5 minute conversation for 30 minutes because he forgets what he has said. It sucks.
Oh lord, it’s exhausting. Boundaries are the only way to deal with that. Sounds like you are great in that area.
My daughter’s father suffered from addiction and was killed by his own alcohol/drug fueled stupidity shortly after we divorced. These souls are tormented and sometimes getting the help they need is too painful for them that they choose the lesser pain, which is often the physical one. Maddie and I are the lucky Ones in our story… We’ve found peace and stability and Maddie Didnt have to grow up fearing him. She can remember him as a four year old could. Anyway, rough story. Love your writing.
Oh, I am sorry to hear about Maddie’s father and that alcholism has touched you so brutally. I am happy to hear she has you and stability and it would suck to have her growing up in fear of him or his addiction. Tragedies. They are all around. So is recovery, but I get snagged up on the sad stuff sometimes. Thanks for reminding me that lucky ones walk among me everywhere. LIke you.
I guess I should say “lucky” in a tragic blessing sort of way. It sucks it happened, but so many are in danger while they are in the middle of it all. I meant no disrespect by using the word “lucky”.
Oh, I totally agree with that! I get that totally. I use that word in the exact same way.
How awful. I need to go read a bunch of funny posts so this one doesn’t haunt me. I’m sorry ugh. Congrats for beating your own demons!
I know. Dark, huh? I keep saying I am going to do a funny-as-hell Yeah Write post, but I can’t find conflict where there is humor. Thanks for reading.
Wow! Such raw emotion here. Fabulous writing. Sad, sad, story.
Thank you. It was a very strange time in my life and a very painful case to work on. I have much respect for defense lawyers in those situations.
ugh ugh UGH!! so hard.
High ick factor, I know. I think I needed to purge it out.
This is real? I was hoping it was fiction. Gah, now I’m sad.
I know. It’s real. I promise to lighten up tomorrow, but it’s real. I changed some facts because of ethical issues, but yeah, it’s real. Totally awful.
This is such a heartbreaking story. I hope that she made it out the other side, but I know in reality the odds were against her.
I keep hoping. I could be wrong…she and Andre might be just fine but I am morbid about it.
An awful story, but told so well. I really liked your use of dialogue and the way it carried the narrative. Such a heartbreaking tale to have to tell. Do you know what ended up happening to her?
Thanks. I get lots of texts from her. She still seems a bit off.
I have so many things I want to write about this story. But all I feel is anger. I’ve lived with an addict and it sucks the life out of you.
Yes indeed. Well put.
Great story telling, as always. I loved this line: “When I left, I couldn’t wait to scrub the dust of her anguish and denial off my skin.”
Such a tragic tale. I can’t imagine living with that kind of guilt and still being unable to stop. Wow.
I think I would probably kill myself. And that’s what alcoholism is.
Thank you so much for the story. I got help from a sober living called New Life House. They helped me get sober and I am eternally grateful for my life. Check out their site if you are looking for help New Life House – A Structured Sober Living.
Good to know about the resources. Thanks for reading.
Wow. Great story, well told. I am also curious about what happened to Ms. K, but part of me really, really doesn’t want to know. So sad, so scary…
The honest answer is I don’t know. Sad indeed.
Ughhh what a tragic situation for everyone.
Wow. Alanon. We need to talk.
I didn’t break my anonymity. I smashed it to smithereens. Oopsie. Would love to talk. Any time.
Well, I just broke mine then, too. Will email.
So emotionally overwhelming. This is raw, honest, and heartfelt writing.
Thank you.
What a beautifully told story. The comments have been intense. It would take me days to recover from a post like this. Hope you are hanging in there my friend.
Same here. I am emotionally scrambled.
Oh my god.
Oh whoa. That’s some heavy stuff. I don’t think I could handle that sort of work. I’m too emotionally fragile.
Same here.
Well told, but depressing. I need pizza now.
Send me one. Make it three.
That made me cry … as a child of a recovering alcoholic I know how scary that all must be … and I fear that what happened will lead her further into a hole leaving her life and her surviving son’s life worse off than ever …
I fear that too. I hope my fears are false but I don’t know.
Oh, Christie… What a terribly difficult thing for you to do in a situation where there is clearly no winner. Except maybe you. I cannot imagine how conflicted you were as you watched her struggle. I am so glad that your recovery has taken a vastly different path than hers.
Good lord, me too! That’s a great point!
Very powerful .piece
Oh, Christie. What a moving, strong, haunting piece. Thank you for sharing this with us. I can’t imagine what any of that must have been like for you – or your client, a mother. God, this is tragic. This line: “….this broken bird of a woman.” was extremely powerful.
Thanks. It was so intense.
I love this piece, and I completely understand. Sometimes, even when we know its necessary, its just so hard to keep a reasonable distance from a client. Some of them just get to us, and afterwards we are never, ever the same.
Exactly. She’s still with me.
I think that’s the difference between what she perceived and feared and what you really offered. She judged herself and expected only judgment from others. She never really understood your compassion for her, and she never really let go of her demon.
My grandmother died of alcoholism, though the death certificate said uterine cancer. (It was detected early. She meant to do something about it, but was too drunk to attend radiation. She showed up for her hysterectomy sloshed and they couldn’t complete the procedure. You get the picture.)
My younger sister died of, among other things, alcoholism. (The loss happened years before her death, when she stopped fighting the demons, stopped making good choices, and never opted to start again.)
Your desire for that woman to become sober, although futile, feels noble. I hope you never do stop hoping for her.
Jester Queen, this is such a generous comment. You’re so right: with addiction, the loss happens before death. I am sorry for your losses. Alcoholism is brutal.
Oh boy! Tough story to be present in and to tell. It is so easy for us to judge. We have no business there. (IMO)
Agreed. So true.
This was hard to read, but so well written. What was it like to write it?
That’s a great question that I am going to ask people from now on. It was hard because I wanted to tell it all– every detail– but from a writing perspective, it didn’t work to tell about her life in Africa before she came here or her graduate work or how she was beat up in jail and she was swollen all over her face the first time I saw her. It felt “wrong” to cut out the details but I did because it was for writing. The ending I changed at least 50 times. I wanted to be honest about myself and speak from my own history, having come from an alcoholic family.
Thanks for asking.
You did a great job!
So sad. So very sad. Continuing to do your job when it isn’t the job you want to do for them must be so difficult. Going through this kind of thing would just tear me up. Though there was no way, from the position you were in with her, to save her in the way you wanted. If it were me, I wouldn’t have been able to stop feeling like I should be doing more, even if there was nothing more that I could have done.
Yes I wanted to do more. Always.
So tragic. When I was in Honduras, the mom of the family I lived with got in an accident because she was driving too fast and her youngest son ended up dying. She hadn’t been drinking, but afterward she was just a shell of herself. Alcoholism is so hard to overcome, but when you add the weight of that kind of guilt…well, I just can’t even imagine. It’s just heartbreaking.
Beautifully told!
THanks and how awful for your Honduran family. I know accidents happen and I don’t know how I would do if it happened to me. Oh, lord, I hope I never have to find out. It’s too awful.
Wow. It sounds like you’ve seen some terrible things.
This was well told and felt like a scene from a movie and you were Julia Roberts.
Nice casting!!!
Oh Christie, this was yet another amazing post from you.
I think it intrigued me the most at first because it’s about something that I know little about. Your words were real and raw and honest. You made the sadness of the situation come through without letting it drown out the other parts of the story.
You are such a skilled writer, and becoming better every week!
Thank you! It’s true I barely ever talk about work. But now the floodgates are open!
Very interesting! I’ll be back.
Welcome!
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