Chapter 2: BAIL, SENTENCING, & PRISON INTAKE

May 2, 2023 | 2010, 2011, Life Before | 0 comments

From Surviving to Living
From Surviving to Living
(03) BAIL, SENTENCING & PRISON INTAKE
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Released on bail after 3 months in jail, Chad arrived to bring me home, telling me in the car, “We’re being evicted and everything has to be out of the house by the end of the day.” At home nothing was packed or ready for a move. We failed to meet the end of the day deadline and were forced to leave many things behind.

We had nowhere to go, no money and I called my parents for help. “You can sleep in our barn,” my mom said. I didn’t even consider it. Their barn was an old, falling down relic. My Dad offered to temporarily put us up in a motel. Eventually they helped us rent another home.

I spent the next year in fear of the future as I pled guilty and waited for sentencing. I did not hire a lawyer, instead using a public defender. He was not helpful to me and was later disbarred.

Throughout this year my husband’s mental health declined. His employer let him go, and he was unable pass a drug test to obtain a new job. He became suicidal and threatening.

Believing it necessary to request an Order for Protection, I did so and a judge granted it. The Order gave me custody of our children and permitted Chad only supervised visits.

Chad soon began texting me, despite the restraining order, and I ignored him. He became more persistent, texting over and over. He also began calling the kids early in the morning to have an unsupervised visit; he thought I would be asleep. I didn’t want to deal with it when the kids told me. For a time I did nothing. In years past he’d done similar things, and I had gotten similar restraining orders. He’d even gone to jail before for threatening me. I stayed with him.

Now Chad’s behavior escalated. His texts became demanding, angry, and threatening. I finally contacted the police to report these violations. The police arrested and jailed him. It was awful.

I remember my last morning at home. It was a week later. I hate to remember it, I treasure it. My boys, ages 16, 11, 10, and 8 years old, left for school early in the morning. As if make believe made it so, I pretended a normal day and sent them off to school as usual. So many regrets now.

Readying my 4 year old daughter, Vivi, to spend the day with my mom while I went to court, I tried to ignore the reason why my mom would be watching her, telling myself I’d be back soon. It wasn’t reassuring, not knowing if it was true. As our last few moments drew short, Vivi asked me to read her a book, and I shifted gears.

I’d buzzed around the house all morning in a frantic state of avoidance. I’d spent the past year emotionally numb, but now the court date had arrived and jolted me into a sense of panic. Vivi had no knowledge of my hearing. As she asked to read she simply wished to prolong our time together before going to grandma’s house.

My purse over one arm, shoes on, ready to walk out the door, I paused, drew a breath. Turning, I peered down into her little girl elfin face. ‘This may be our last morning together,’ I thought, ‘Savor it.’ She waited, turning one toe casually on the floor, and I agreed we should read. Vivi’s face lit up in delight and she danced to her room for a book.

I’m so glad now for those moments! We returned to the living room and sitting on the couch together Vivi snuggled against me while I read.

Oh, what a tragedy to have lost those days, destroyed them! The agony and grief still lurk in my shadows. It’s hard for me to revisit these memories, to write about them today. It’s devastating.

That same day a judge sentenced me to 12 years in prison. I had already pleaded guilty at a previous hearing without a sentencing offer in place. The maximum sentence for my charge was 12 years in prison. There is no mandatory sentence and as a result sentencing can vary widely from probation to 12 years. Many people trade a guilty plea for a guaranteed sentence from the state that is shorter than the maximum. In my case, sentencing was left up to the judge.

The hearing didn’t last long. During the proceeding my family testified of how my children needed me at home. They explained that Chad was in jail, and even if he got out, he was incapable of providing for or caring for our children. He had a history of abuse and incompetence.

When they finished, the heavily pregnant prosecutor stood. She began, “If Holly’s husband doesn’t know how to pay bills, it is her fault for not teaching him how to do it.” My mouth fell open in surprise. She continued in the same vein for a bit and then sat. I waited for someone to stand and announce that when we all woke up this morning it was the 21st century, but no one said anything.

Near the end of the hearing the judge asked if I would like to speak. I had no prepared speech. As I had been all year I remained unprepared, fearful, and ultimately unhelpful to myself.

I stood and rambled, or so it seemed to me. The judge’s face appeared unreadable. An internal voice advised me, “Shut up!” I ignored it, desperate to evoke mercy from the judge. The judge’s face darkened to a deep shade of red, and he glared at me as if he agreed with my internal advice. Getting the hint I returned to my seat, embarrassed.

The judge then announced his decision, 12 years in prison. I reeled in shock. My vision darkened. The whole room pitched silent. The only thing I heard was the pulse in my ears. The room tilted and spun. I felt stunned and light-headed, shocked. Sound rushed back into the room and my vision cleared, leaving the room brighter than before. People yammered around me, but I couldn’t make sense of the words. The lawyers asked the judge for things, and more decisions were made about me. I understood none of it.

My mind rejected all that had happened and demanded a do over. I felt panicked, frantic to fix this before it was too late! Before I put paid to the thought a deputy cuffed me and led me from the room. Wait! NO! Wait!

It was a Friday, and an officer processed me into the county jail for the weekend to await transport to prison, the same jail I had spent 3 months in after my initial arrest. My grief raged, horrifyingly raw and fresh. I lacked the ability to even imagine my future.

A guard at the jail, remembering me from my previous stay, tried to perk me up. She sat to chat with me. After a few minutes she asked conversationally, “And you have five children, don’t you?” I burst into tears, my stomach heaving. Alarmed, she jumped to her feet and backed away, apologizing. Looking away I didn’t hear her leave. The weekend passed in a fog, a delirium. A prison transport van brought to the prison two days later.

At the time of my sentencing one served 2/3 of their prison sentence, so I’d serve 8 years of my 12 year sentence. Only one state prison exists for women in Minnesota – no matter her crime this is where a woman goes to serve her time – MCF-Shakopee (Minnesota Correctional Facility in Shakopee). “Shakopee” as we inmates called it, holds more than 500 DOC female offenders of any security level (minimum to super max). I’d been a wife and stay at home mom. My life changed, and it would never be the same. My young children would be much older when the state released me.

Transported from jail to prison early Monday, I wore a bright orange canvas jail uniform. In jail everyone wore such an outfit every day. I wondered what prison uniforms looked like. What does prison look like?

A prison guard escorted me to “Property” to collect the things I would need for my prison stay. She told me to stand against a brick wall and wait. While I did so I silently wondered about everything, but I was too afraid to ask anyone anything. I had no idea what “Property” meant. Turns out Property is a department at the prison that controls incoming and outgoing inmate goods. Property resembled a Post Office window with a gray, roll up shutter pulled down tightly and locked to the counter. The regular happenings of the prison continued on all around me. Standing against the wall in the middle of a long hallway, I saw corridors splitting off on my right and left. Men and women in differing uniforms passed down the hall, radios squawking. Lines of women wearing ordinary jeans, khakis, t-shirts, or blue button down shirts marched past, giggling and whispering to each other. I stared at them intrigued. ‘Who are they? What are they doing? They can’t be other inmates, can they? They are dressed in regular clothes!’ They stared back at me too. I puzzled it out and waited.

Women wearing jeans, khakis and t-shirts arrived at Property holding packages, and a line formed against the wall. T he gray shutter unlocked from inside and rattled its way to the top. Property opened, ready for business. It was indeed like I was at the Post Office or UPS.

At the counter I collected a laundry bag filled with my new belongings and staff directed me to the waiting room of the clinic, which everyone called “Medical.” The waiting room was tiny, chairs crammed against three of its walls. An interior door led to the clinic itself. A sign taped to the door read, “Do not knock. We know you are here.” So I sat and waited. After six hours of resigned waiting I began to doubt the veracity of the sign. (I didn’t knock but I wanted to.) Someone opened the door and another step in my intake process ended.

Cleared through medical Monday evening a nurse released me from the intake process and told me to report to my living unit. Where was that??? Sporting the same outfit as my fellow inmates I slipped out of the medical waiting room. Inmates converged on me, wanting to help. They led me to the OCO desk (Office of Central Operations) and the officer gave me directions to my living unit.

Stepping out from the Core Building where “Property” and medical are located, I found myself in a central courtyard. It was picturesque, with picnic tables, benches, shade trees, flowers, and walking paths. The prison had no exterior fencing, no guard towers, no obvious security. To my left and right walking paths curved away, some disappearing between buildings. Trying to remember my directions I headed to the living unit named Broker, hauling my laundry bag with me. It felt surreal.

Gawking like a tourist as I walked, I was shocked to pass fresh faced high school cheerleader-types and women who appeared to be straight from the church bake sale. Expecting the women to look like hardened criminals, instead I saw women from every walk of life. I hurried across the park-like courtyard to my prison cell. What would come next?

Living units were similar to a college dorm or apartment complex building. The front door opened into a sally port with a racks of mailboxes. Each inmate received a key to their own mailbox, which were all labeled with room numbers. Moving through the sally port I opened the next door and stepped into a dayroom with a shared kitchen and living area. Wings branch off in several directions. Inmates’ rooms are down these blue carpeted hallways, which sport wooden doors with plaques beside each bearing room numbers and occupant names. Windows are at the end of the hall.

Inching up to the guard desk, which is a few steps from the front door, I was about to have another strange experience. The guard handed me a key ring with several keys and a sheet of paper. Holding the keys between two fingers, not sure the prison allowed me to have such things here, I eyeballed the form. Peering up at the guard in confusion, she pointed at the keys in my hand. “Those are the keys to your cell,” she explained. “Go to your room with this paper and note any damage to your room, then bring it back here and sign it.”

Gaping at her in amazement I thought, ‘I’m in a prison with no fence and have just been handed keys to my cell. There’s a damage deposit form?? Where AM I? What IS this place?’

Behind me women enjoying their time in the day room burst into laughter. Something else I didn’t associate with prison – laughter. The guard noted my questioning look and the shake of my hand holding the keys. Even lively and cheerful things, when unexpected, can be unsettling. She smiled and pointed to an upper hallway. “Your room is down that hall. Take your time.”

Over the next several weeks I worried for my children’s future, experiencing recurring dreams that I wandered through abandoned houses. It wasn’t always the same house, nor any house I had ever known. In one of these dreams my children’s belongings were left here and there – their shoes, toys, clothing. At first the dream comforted me. The house seemed lived in, active. I was home! The house remained silent, no feet running down the hall, no playful voices. I took a closer look at the shoes on the stairs. Small shoes, shoes from years ago. None they wore today. I realized these items belonged to their past. A silent museum was all I had. This house was abandoned. Someone else had their future.

Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

Discussion Questions:

  1. Holly reflects on her last morning at home before being sentenced to prison. Have you ever experienced a moment in your life that you wished you could relive or change? How do you cope with regrets or difficult memories? Would you like help with this?
  2. Holly expresses surprise at the diverse range of inmates at Shakopee prison, challenging her preconceived notions. Have you ever had an experience that shattered your stereotypes or assumptions about a certain group of people? How did it impact your perspective?
  3. Holly’s recurring dreams of wandering through abandoned houses and realizing her children’s belongings belonged to the past evoke a powerful sense of loss. Can you relate to feelings of loss or disconnection from the past, and how do you navigate such emotions?
  4. The passage touches on the theme of not understanding one’s own actions, as shared by women in prison. Have you ever struggled to comprehend your own actions or those of others? How do you approach self-reflection and understanding in challenging situations? Would you like to understand yourself or others better?
  5. The passage ends with a biblical quote, Jeremiah 29:11, about God’s plans for hope and a future. How do faith and spirituality shape one’s perspective during challenging times? Have you ever found solace or guidance in spiritual beliefs?
  6. Reflect on the overarching theme of hope and a future mentioned in Jeremiah 29:11. How does hope play a role in navigating challenges and uncertainties in life? How have you or others found hope in unexpected places or circumstances? Do you feel hopeful today?

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