Founder Loved Ones of Prisoners (LOOP)
“I pray that I don’t die while my son is in prison”
“I have seen the lad’s mum a few times. She has aged 100 years. It haunts me.”
“The aftermath is difficult to articulate, even now all these years later – Three families have been left heartbroken. I think of them as I write this.”
Loved Ones of Prisoners (LOOP Scotland) is a peer support group and place to speak to others who share the unique grief experienced when a loved one goes to prison.
The LOOP network knows that it can be difficult speaking to family and friends for several reasons – people can feel very alone. LOOP is a place where those affected can speak to their peers, in confidence, about the complex issues they face. The Group has a safe and understanding environment where people will be made very welcome. You do not have to be alone.
Whether you’re looking for relevant information, need a place to share your personal experiences, or simply want to be with people who understand your journey, LOOP Scotland is here for you. You can reach us via our website Facebook or X.com (formerly Twitter).
Everyone’s experience is unique, below is a commentary on the experience of just one person impacted by a son’s incarceration.
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What is a Victim? – According to the Oxford Dictionary a victim is, “A person harmed, injured or killed as a result of crime, accident, or other event or action”.
My son and I lived in a small village. We had both grown up there. It’s the kind of village where everyone knows everyone.
My son was 22 and engaged to his partner, with a baby on the way. He still lived at home however they were busy making plans for their future, their future as a family.
Sadly, that future was not to be, because in 2011, my son killed a man. He had friends over, celebrating that he was about to become a father. People who were not invited turned up and when my son asked them to leave things got out of hand.
I was at work when it happened. I found out something was wrong via social media. Unable to get a hold of my son, I called the Police, who would only tell me that ‘an altercation’ had taken place in my home and as a result of that, a man had died. They wouldn’t tell me any more than that and for a while, I didn’t know if my son was dead or alive.
The aftermath is difficult to articulate, even now all these years later. My small community was saddened. Three families have been left heartbroken. I think of them as I write this.
By the following day, my son had been charged with murder. His first offence. It would be almost two weeks before I got to see him. But at least I could see my son. I was all too aware that the other mum would never see her son again.
In the immediate hours and days after his arrest, I lost my home. It became a crime scene, rather than my home.
Worse, I knew the deceased’s family very well. How could I face his mum in the local shop? What would it do to her, to see me? I knew I could never return to my village.
I was homeless for six months, sleeping on my sister’s sitting room floor. It wasn’t safe for me to return home even if I had wanted to; the windows being smashed twice.
The Local Authority, who I worked for, refused to help me, stating they couldn’t show favouritism toward an employee. If I hadn’t worked there, they would have offered me what is termed an ‘assisted move’.
I was off work for six months. My employer was pushing me to go back but I wasn’t ready. I was then forced into returning however, as I was to be interviewed for my own job, under a ‘reorganization programme’. I remember sitting in the interview not caring if I got my job or not. It seemed so insignificant to what I was going through.
I did manage to secure my post but soon went off sick again. I found it difficult to feel empathy for my clients. Their issues seemed so small compared to my own.
As time went on, I became so ill that I lost my career. I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia and couldn’t even get out of bed some days. My health is still poor, but I have learned to cope.
I had to claim disability benefits for the first time in my life. I had to endure the DWP’s medical assessments to prove how ill I was. I couldn’t tell them what had caused my poor physical and mental health.
I had to use my savings when I went on to nil income at work and by the time I furnished my new home, I literally had nothing left. I haven’t been able to return to work so I’m still on benefits, with nothing in the bank. You can’t save when you are on benefits.
My grandson is almost 12 years old. He was 6 weeks old when his dad was sentenced to life in prison. He hasn’t had any contact with him since he was 2 years old, when his mum stopped him from going back ‘to a prison’. As a mum myself I couldn’t blame her, but my heart ached for my son.
I didn’t see my grandson for a year. Even now, I only see him once a fortnight. He doesn’t know much about his dad. He used to ask me questions, but Mum was upset with his questioning and kept us apart. I had to eventually seek a Court Order. He doesn’t ask about Dad anymore.
He has another grandma and a great grandma, both of whom he spends lots of time with, including sleepovers and holidays. I am not allowed to have my grandson overnight or take him on holiday. He doesn’t understand why, and I can’t tell him. All his questions and feelings; swept under the rug.
I have tried to advise Mum that telling him nothing isn’t in his best interests, but she is his mum, so I just bite my tongue.
I help financially toward my grandson. I feel responsible because my son isn’t here. I can’t afford it, but I will continue to do what I can.
I am often afraid when I go out now. I constantly look over my shoulder for fear of bumping into someone from my ‘old life’. I have seen the lad’s mum a few times. She has aged 100 years. It haunts me.
I no longer walk with my head held high. My head is down, so nobody sees me. My head is down because I have lost my pride. My head is down because I have lost my self-confidence.
I struggle to join in family celebrations. I’m all too aware that my son can’t be there. I know my son is their family too, but they don’t feel the pain that I feel. Nobody feels the pain that I feel.
I can’t join in with conversations with my friends about our children and their achievements. I have so much to say, so much to feel proud of. My son is doing well and using his time positively…but there are only so many times I can say that.
My son will be 37 when he gets out. I will be 57. My time will be over, my opportunities lost. All the plans that I had got lost along the way; my sabbatical to New Zealand, progressing in my career, my hopes for more grandchildren, all lost.
I pray that I don’t die while my son is in prison. I hate the thought of him attending my funeral handcuffed and on his own.
According to the Oxford Dictionary a victim is someone who is “Harmed, injured or killed as a result of crime, accident or other event or action”.
My name is………I am a family member, and I am a victim.
