by Donald Thompson, San Quentin State Prison, CA
The sound that I wish I could forget is the sound of my sister’s voice when I called to talk to my mom. On January 26th, 1997, Super Bowl Sunday. I called my mom from the county jail where I had been since 1995, to tell her I missed her and loved her.
However, my sister answered the phone. She was unusually quiet, and so I asked, “What’s wrong?”
I heard her sniffling and she began crying.
“Tell me what’s wrong!”
She was finally able to bring herself to say, “Momma just died half an hour ago.”
For a long time I thought that if I had only called thirty minutes earlier, maybe my Mom would still be alive. I blamed myself for many years for her passing because I believe that even though she didn’t raise me, being my mom she still loved me and wanted better for me despite the choices I had made and the direction my life was going in.
At first, I was hurt. I cried, sat down on the floor, hung up then went to my cell. The moment I closed the door, it dawned on me that my mom was really gone. She wouldn’t be coming back again, like she had done over my lifetime, in and out. This time was the last time of abandonment, and I got angry and stayed angry for years.
Today, I really miss my mom and I love her because I now know that she was abandoned by her whole family at a young age and the abuse she suffered.
I wish I could hear the voice of my mom just one more time. The sound of her words when she would tell me, “I love you.”
And, I want to tell her from a healing heart, “Mom, I love you too.”