Imagine going to sleep, waking up and finding out you killed somebody.
That's exactly what happened to me.
Two years ago, I was drunk and fell asleep at the wheel. I'm not trying to make excuses.
But I never ever would have done such a thing on purpose. And if there were
some way I could go back and change it, I would.
In fact, I've been sober ever since.
Now I'm paying for my crime by being incarcerated two weeks a year for the
next 10 years.
This blog follows my journey afterward, trying to put my life back together in
between spending a week in jail at Christmas and at Father's Day each year.
Tonight, I was released after spending five days in jail. I initially reported for my incarceration on Friday, June 15, and was mistakenly released two days later. I asked the officer in the pod, "Am I being transferred to a different pod?" He said, "No, you're being released." I didn't ask ANY more questions. I just rolled with it. I went back to work the next day, and two days later, the Sheriff's Department showed up at work and basically said, "My bad. You have to come back and do your five days." That part went as well as it could have. I was at work, and my sister called. I answered the phone in the break room, and she said, "The Sheriff's Department is on their way up there." I said, "Are you serious?" My friend, Miss Ann, was there, and she was like an angel. I was basically in shock, and she helped me clock out, get my purse and lunch and go and wait for the Sheriff's Department to come to my work. I thought they were going to arrest me so I went to the foyer of the business and waited. The officer came in the foyer of the business in plain clothes. He didn't have his badge, handcuffs or his gun, and he just talked to me like a human being. That was God. He said I could work the rest of the day and to report to CDC by 6-6:30 p.m. that evening. So, I did as I was told.
I got there, and had to wait in the lobby for 3 1/2 hours before being taken to intake to get my uniform and laundry bag with toiletries. One good thing was that I got to go right back to the P pod, the same pod I was in before, and many of the women I met initially were still there. Like Catherine, who was initially the pod rep when I reported on Friday. I was on my period when I went in and was bleeding so badly that I bled through my pants. She asked the officer on duty to get me another pair. I appreciated that so much. Simple kindnesses like that were extended to me the entire time I was there by the women in the p pod, also known as the recovery or treatment pod. I made so many friends: Catherine, Terrie, Aleta, Tomika, Georgia, Rachel, Portia, Gayle, Robin, Paula, Pauline. I just know I am leaving somebody out. But know this: you all MEAN (present tense) something to me.
I could fill this space with complaints about the food, guards with a bad attitude, not getting my medication as planned for in advance between my probation officer and the medical staff at the jail, not getting to watch movies during the daytime, having to follow rules of a program that I was not a part of, etc. But I won't. I'd rather use this space to talk about the highlights of my stay this go-around.
Portia, thank you for making me laugh so loud when we were on lock-down. I'll always remember: "Rehab for WEEEED?! And talking about trifling, tragic-ass guards.
I'll always remember the night I got to give my testimony in the AA meeting, start to finish. I had chill bumps from head to toe as I shared how God saved me from 12-36 years in prison, how he uses me to talk to teenagers, people in treatment centers and in jails about my experience, and how he's restoring me one day at a time. As a result, five women asked me to be their sponsor. I consider that a blessing and a privilege.
I'll always remember being banned from the next AA meeting simply because I am a "weekender" and not in the program. As a result, I went to my cell and sang my lungs out. My roommate, Portia, told me women were breaking their necks to look around and try to figure out where that singing was coming from. We laughed so hard about that because there was absolutely nothing they could do about it. By the next night, I had the pod rep's permission to attend the meeting.
I'll always remember the church service Trevecca Community Church sponsored on Sunday night. Those that know me well know God gave me a talent to sing, and I sang from my heart that night. I knew all the words to "Jesus Take the Wheel," "Your Great Name" and "What Love Really Means." It was a release to be able to praise God with the talent he gave me.
I'll always remember those last few minutes, watching the clock, waiting for them to call my name. I was supposed to get out at 6:20 p.m. Fifteen minutes later, I was still in lockup. You always get nervous, and start to think, 'well, they're just going to keep me here.' It didn't happen. The guard called my name, and you never saw somebody sprint up the stairs so fast to get her stuff. I was already packed, and just had to grab my covers off the top bunk.
The walk down the hill toward intake was so glorious. You just know that freedom is on the other side. I hurriedly signed papers, threw my laundry into a bin and got my clothes back on. My mom, my nieces, Kasey, Aaliyah and Trista were waiting for me outside. Hugging my dad, and saying "I made it," is something I'll always remember.
Now, I look forward to the next chapter. I am going to lead five of the women I met through the 12 steps. One of them gets out on Saturday. I can't wait to sit down and talk with her on the other side. My program today is about reaching out for other people and reaching up for God. It's also about sharing my experience, strength and hope. Trying to bless someone else the way I have been blessed. I say, 'come on with me. Share this journey.'
I no longer wallow in the mire of misery I created for myself when I killed Eddy McCreery in a drunk-driving accident. I will always feel sad about that, but I can never change it. So, what I do now is try to make a living amends to him and to myself by living better, sober, one day at a time, and trying to help as many people through this experience as I can. Someone told me about six months ago that Eddy was in recovery. I don't know if that's true or not. I do know this. Together, we are saving hundreds of lives through this tragedy that binds us together. He did not die in vain. His death today stands for a message not to drink or take drugs and drive. And somehow I know that we're going to have the opportunity to talk about this in heaven. That makes me smile. Somehow, I know he's up there smiling, too. Thank you, God, for the opportunities. Amen.
