Suicide is not painless

 Suicide is not painless

I am the father of 3 wonderful sons and one is no more. He was the youngest son. He was full of happiness; at least that is what he showed the world. Unfortunately there was an internal torment and desperation that nobody saw which tore at his soul. When he could no longer bear it he chose to take his own life. He is missed by everyone who had the privilege of knowing him.

As parents, when we hear stories of children and young adults taking their own lives there is a quick sharp pain that occurs in our heart. It passes as we thank God it was not our child. Sometimes we dismiss it by saying the poor kid must have had an awful childhood or horrible parents. When it is your child you begin to re-think your previous stereo-types of a troubled child as well as horrible parents.

My youngest son was born 7/24/1986 at St. Joseph Hospital in Denver Colorado. He was 8 weeks premature and breach. When his mother’s water broke at about midnight I called my brother for help. Then I grabbed the two older boys and loaded the three of them in the car and raced for the hospital. My brother arrived shortly after we did and took the older boys home. They were sleepy, confused and glad to see their Uncle.

The nurses and doctors were flocking around his mom.  I was determined to stay with her. When they decided an emergency C-section was necessary one nurse hurriedly got me gowned up for the operating room, she escorted me into the OR and showed me where to stand. His mom was on the table and was covered with sterile drapes. I stood by her head. I had watched this before. Our second son was delivered by C-Section and I was there to watch. This time there was a seriousness I had not felt before. When they got ready to give her the general anesthesia a doctor called out to mark the time. She went out fast and the doctor did some very fast feeling of her tummy for the baby’s location. The cutting began in a quick determined fashion. His mom was voluptuous so several layers of fat had to be cut through before they could use the spreaders. Then they removed the other parts, the colon and small intestines among other things. When they got to Wesley he was all the way down with his right foot sticking out. When the doctor tried to grab him he was stuck. He was covered in slime and with their gloves they couldn’t get a grip on him. He was so little down in that cavity. His color was gray. The clock was running. The tension was high. The voices of the masked ones had an urgency that spoke louder than their words. In law there is a phrase when you want someone to perform quickly, time is of the essence. At this moment that phrase had new meaning to me.

After what seemed like an eternity one doctor reached in and put her thumb in his mouth and grabbed his head with her fingers. She pulled him loose and out of the cavity. The activity moved from the table to a back table where several people began working on that gray little body. Soon there was a cry and the tension lessened. After they worked on him a little more they let me see him and count fingers and toes before they rushed him off to the N-ICU. They wanted me to stay with his mom as they reassembled all of her parts in the right places and sewed her back together layer by layer.

When I got to the N-ICU they said he was little and time would tell if he would make it. His lungs were not fully developed. They had him on a warming table. He was on his back with his knees bent up. I stretched out my fingers and held them over him. He was as big as my full hand span from thumb to little finger. Later I would take that picture to show him, if he made it.

During the next 3 weeks it was touch and go a few times. I spent almost every day at his side. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. After 8 weeks he came home on oxygen and all kinds of monitors. His mom was a nurse so she was able to take good care of him. It was scary for me, I was always afraid he would stop breathing or his heart would stop. After a few more months as he continued to grow, the danger, as well as the oxygen and monitors were gone.

He tore my heart coming into this world, but I had no idea how big a hole he would create in my heart leaving this world.

I got the news of his death on a Monday afternoon when I called my wife to check in. Nobody wanted to be the one to tell me the bad news. My oldest son had called my wife with the news and asked her to tell me. My immediate response was “why?”. There was no note or letter, a goodbye was not said.

One of the worst parts of life are those things which are unknown. Some of us spend our lives asking why things are the way they are. Finding an answer, even part of an answer, can bring joy to an inquisitive mind. In a case like this the source is gone so no answer will ever be found. That is easy to say and extremely difficult to accept. For some people it is impossible.

It is very important not to drive yourself crazy with thoughts of why. You will find a million possibilities, almost all of them things you did or didn’t do. One of them could be the reason. Others could be a contributing factor, however, the point is, you will never know for sure. Focusing on these things will never bring a child back. No matter how much time you spend on this matter it won’t change the outcome. Unfortunately it may change you, and not in a positive way.

After the shock sunk in and a why was not to be found, I turned my focus to God. I had been a real Christian for about 9 years. I am trying, with the help of the Holy Spirit, to make God the center of my life. This requires consulting God’s word to resolve my concerns or problems that come into my life. I am sure a more mature Christian would consult God first in everything, but I am not there yet. It seems like I take on the big issues and go to God with the small ones. Most of my life I have tried to fix things. I worked as an auto mechanic while an undergrad. My degree is in Special Education. I tried to fix the learning problems of young minds. I taught for the Special School district of St. Louis County, MO while getting my Masters in Special Education. After that I taught at Brehm Preparatory School in Carbondale IL while I started my Ph.D. in Vocational Education for the handicapped. That didn’t work out so I got my Juris Doctor at University of Denver. Later, while in prison, I finished my Ph.D. in Comparative Religion. Finally I earned my Doctor of Theology. All of these doctorates were intended to help fix my problems.

Before I gave my life to Christ I would use many worldly tools to try and fix my problems. My moral compass gradually turned 180©. At first the movement was so slight it was not noticeable, but over time it gradually became apparent to others there was a huge problem. I couldn’t see the problem until God opened my eyes. With my eyes opened I saw a horrible mess. I was the horrible person who created that mess and have suffered the punishment resulting from trying to fix problems using my own knowledge and power.

When I decided to consult the bible for help regarding my son’s death I wasn’t sure where to begin, so I backed up and began with prayer. It came to me that looking at the stories of biblical fathers who lost their children would be a good place to begin. The bible has several stories of fathers who have  lost their children. Each story portrays a fathers thoughts of the loss. Contemplating those stories has helped me a great deal. I can focus on a Godly way to come to terms with his death. 

I hope and pray my story will help other parents who are suffering the death of a child. The cause of the death is not important. There is not a good way or a better way to lose a child. The focus is not on the loss but the way God wants you to deal with the loss. That is important.

Todd

 Written 9/23/16 by Todd Linville, typed and posted by his wife, Diana Linville

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My addictions

During the first couple of years of prison I realized I had many other problems besides time. However, the prison system did not recognize my problem as addictions, or anything else that was deserving of help. I was addicted to money and food as well as a few other things.

They say the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil and this is a true saying. It caused me great heartaches and totally destroyed my life. I made so many bad choices and decisions based on the love of money. Thinking back, I realize how much damage it did to myself and other people.

The wrong thinking caused me to hurt so many people. The worst part was I hurt those I had a duty to care for. I hurt my clients, my children, my siblings, my parent’s and a whole host of others that I considered friends. I am very ashamed of my behavior and would do anything to take it back or fix it.

The interesting thing about addictions is as humans we are made to be addicts. Our minds and hearts direct us to experiences that give us joy. The problem is as humans we don’t always find things that give us true long term joy. We fall for things that give us short term joy, but then turn toxic. The usual causes are drugs, alcohol, and smoking. Unfortunately these are not the only addictions. In fact, anything that gives you pleasure can turn into an addiction, even after it has ceased being a pleasure, it has begun to destroy you. Some of these addictions include, money, food, sex, and what many people mistakenly call love.

Making money, running businesses and marketing all was such a rush for me. It was so exciting about all of it that it consumed most of my waking moments. Because this gave me such a wonderful feeling of joy and happiness I ignored almost every other aspect of my life. When a sting of events (caused by my own wrong thinking) brought additional requirements on my life I started thinking crazy thoughts. Now I realize how awful they were, but then they seemed possible, even ok to do. They were a means to an end and I could fix them later. A true sign of addiction, needing more and more to get the same feeling of joy and happiness. My addictions were so bad, but I kept on until I was completely destroyed.

 

heads we get married...

Here is a short story my husband wrote last year.
Diana Linville for W. Todd Linville

“Heads, we get married; tails, we break up,” Bill laughed holding one of the old double eagle coins.

              “What do you mean break up?” Sarah replied thrusting out her lower lip. “I thought we were going to get married no matter what happened with the treasure hunt.”

              “I’m just kidding Sarah. Just look at all of these double eagles.” He shouted, stirring both hands through the large box of coins.

              “How many do you think there are?

              “I don’t know, we’ll have to count them, but not here,” he said looking around the musty cellar. “Let’s just take this box and get out of here,” he said as he jerks the handles of the old wooden box, but the leather handles break off and he falls backwards slamming hard on the cobblestone cellar floor still holding both handles.

              “That was funny!” Sarah laughed. “You look like you’re in a Laurel and Hardy movie.”

              “I feel like we’re in the Count of Monte Cristo. How are we going to get this box out of here? It must weigh a ton”, he said standing up and dusting off the backside of his jeans.

              “It’s been here forever and no one has found it, let’s put the stones back over the box until we can figure out how to get it out”

              “Ok but I am going to fill my pockets and you fill your backpack,” Bill tells Sarah.        

              “I’m not going to take that many, let’s take ten.  I wonder how much are ten worth?”

              “I don’t know, maybe a few thousand dollars.”

              “It should be enough for a wedding”, she grins counting out ten and putting them into her backpack.

              “Ok, ten for now. Maybe I should take an extra five just in case”, he said putting five in his right pocket and slipping three more in his left.

              “That’s fine, what should we do with the map?” She says looking at the folded paper in her hand.  “Let’s put it in the box, we won’t forget how to get here, at least I won’t.”

              “I won’t either” He said taking the map from her hand and putting it on top of the coins.

Bill grabbed the heavy oak lid and carefully closed it so the old leather hinges stayed intact.  They replaced the heavy stones over the box just the way they found them.

              “Did you really think we would find this old civil war treasure?” Bill asked putting down the last rock on the box.

              “No, you hear stories and see movies about civil war treasure, but I never believed they were true.”

              “I know. The search was the exciting part. Looking for something no one else could find then actually finding it.”

              “I like the thrill of the search as well. I love looking for something most people think is impossible to find,” she said walking over to Bill and throwing her arms around his neck. “Like the perfect man,” she whispered looking into his blue eyes.

              “I know what you mean,” he whispered back. “You were the first treasure I found. Rich chocolate eyes and a treasure trove of curves,” he grinned.

              “You’re a goof! Let’s get out of here.”

              “What do you want to do now?” He asked with his arms still around her.

              “I want to get married.”

              “Ok, when?”

              “Today, let’s stop by the church we passed on the way out here. We can get a license tomorrow.”

              “You’re crazy, let’s go back to the motel and figure out how to get those coins out of there. You know we didn’t see how deep that box went.”

              “I know. There are enough coins we could spend the rest of our lives traveling and searching for the next lost treasure.”

              “That sounds good” she smiles.

              “You know you’ll always be my treasure.”

              “Really? She asks pushing against his chest to get free. Then taking one of the double eagles from his left pocket,

              “Heads, we get married; tails we break up.”

 

 

             

Meeting with the Parole board...

My first time before the parole board is approaching. I'm beginning  to think about what I should  tell them and about all I  have learned over the past 12 years. One of the most important concepts I've  discovered is forgiveness.

All my life, up until about 7 years ago, my understanding of forgiveness was based on the elementary school yard. Someone does something to you physically or emotionally, they say, " I'm sorry",  you say, "I forgive you", and you move on. However, you keep an eye on that person and  remember how that person has done you wrong.

In society today there is no forgiveness. Not even elementary school yard forgiveness. If you do something wrong to another person they demand justice. They demand punishment. The punishment may be to your person, such as prison, or financial, such as fines or restitution, or it may be all three.

The process of a prison term may last years. Fines and restitution may last years after the prison sentence has served. For the victim this keeps the offence close to the front of their mind. It is always there; the anger, the hurt, the fear, the disappointment. There is never any healing. There is no forgiveness.

I now understand forgiveness is not for the perpetrator, it is for the victim. Forgiveness prohibits seeking justice of any sort. Forgiveness turns the matter of seeking justice over to the one true God. Forgiveness means letting go of the matter and forgetting it.

Once forgiveness is given then healing can begin. The mind can rewire, the heart can heal and begin to trust and love. It is like lancing a boil and squeezing out the poison. Only then can the boil begin to heal, the skin grow new and fresh, ready to take on the world.

Today is September 11th, 15 years after the attack. Sadly, today no one is ready to forgive and forget.

My medical emergency- true story- May 2013 __________ Correctional Facility, _________ Co

 My husband sent me this story shortly after I moved to here. (apparently can't post where, they get cranky). He had been at that facility for about 5 weeks when I moved there. He did not mention how bad this particular episode of gout had been but when I read his version of what happened I cried. How can this treatment be legal? I hope as you read this, especially if you are an officer in a correctional facility, please be more compassionate than the officers at ________.

Diana Linville

written June 2013

GOUT!

The word alone causes grown men to cringe with pain. Those who are fortunate enough to avoid this condition have no understanding how painful swollen joints feel. Gout has been a part of my life off and on for almost twenty years. Over the course of this time I have learned to discern the warning signs of a flare-up. There is a strange tightness as the joint begins to fill with a yellowish opaque fluid rich in uric acid. Gout usually attacks the knee, ankle, and big toe, but not all at the same time.

The last gout attack came on quickly. Normally a dose of 750mg of naproxen would arrest the swelling and then 500 mg every twelve hours would resolve the attack. Unfortunately I didn’t have any naproxen. Two weeks before I used my last pill I began to order more pills but they were out of stock. Now a month later they are still out of stock.

The first morning of the attack I woke up in extreme pain. The gout was flaring up in my knee, ankle and big toe. They were all swollen to about twice their normal size. I tried to get down from the top bunk but my leg would not bend on its own. Grabbing the leg I forced the knee to bend and on a pain scale of 1 to 10 that move created a solid 10. Using upper body strength and one good leg I was able to get down the ladder onto the cold floor. The cold felt good.

Hobbling the meter across from the bunk to the circular metal stool attached to the desk proved to be difficult and painful. Taking a deep breath and thinking pleasant thoughts always seem to help situations. My mind filled with wonderful images of my beautiful curvy wife and my great love for her. After sitting at the desk for a while the pain subsided to an 8. The only foot wear that would fit over the painful swollen joints was a pair of black plastic shower shoes. After struggling to get them on I stood up. My leg was like a fence post, stiff and unbending. Stepping out into the hallway I placed my hands on either side to brace myself. Inch by inch I hobbled down to the end and slowly limped across the dayroom to the guard station. After explaining my situation to an uncaring guard I declared the situation a medical emergency. In prison if you can’t get out of harm’s way and can’t think clearly due to overwhelming pain you are a target waiting to be victimized. The guard called medical, no answer. He made a few more calls and discovered they were all in a meeting. I would have to wait until they were done; it should be about an hour, it was clear the guard had never had gout. There was a green plastic chair about five feet from the guard station door and I dragged myself to it and plopped down. My hip was now hurting from the unusual angle I had used to hobble along. I put my head back on the cold concrete wall, closed my eyes and filled my thoughts of my loving wife. Upon opening my eyes and looking at the clock at the guard station an hour had somehow passed. Using my arms and one good leg I stood up and limped slowly to the guard door. The guard looked up at me and without saying a word he pickup up the phone and dialed while I propped myself in the doorway. When medical answered he told them my condition and said “he is declaring a medical emergency”. He listened and then relayed a message that said there were not accepting my emergency. I asked the guard how I could be denied. The rules clearly state I can declare an emergency if I wanted to pay $5. He relays another message and asked me if I have turned in a kite. A kite is a request for services. If you have a headache or sore muscle or sore throat you can request help by turning in a kite. A day or two after you turn in the kite they post a notice in the dayroom acknowledging receipt. Then another day or two later they will post the day and time of your appointment. A kite is not for an emergency. And this was clearly an emergency.

I told the guard I hadn’t. He listened to the person on the phone and told me to fill out a kite. The box to turn in the kite is about 150 yards from the unit. There is no way for me to walk that distance. The guard started to explain that to her but she hung up on him. The guard turned to me and went on a verbal defensive. I held out my arms in a universal stop gesture and told him to slow down. I explained my anger was not directed at him. I appreciated all he had done but I had a problem and I needed help finding a solution. He smiled and called the lieutenant. When the lieutenant arrived the guard apprised him of the situation. The Lieutenant told me he could not make the nurse see me. I told him I was declaring an emergency. He restated the position of not accepting my emergency. He told me I needed to turn in a kite. He handed me a kite and told me he would turn it in for me since I couldn’t make it to the box. I filled out the kite and then I made my way awkwardly back down the long hallway to my room. I dropped down on the desk stool because there was no way for me to get back up on the top bunk.

By making a pile of books and papers I created a place I could lay my head on my desk. I either passed out or went to sleep. When I opened my eyes there was a call to chow over the intercom. In order to get to chow you must walk a partial circle about 150 yards to the chow hall. After eating you must continue on around the circle and return to your unit; a total distance of 1/3 of a mile. There was no way I could walk that far as I had extreme difficulty getting to the end of the hall. Even if it would have been possible to walk that far it still would have been impossible to go. The chow hall requires wearing boots or athletic shoes and my feet were too swollen to get either one on. I did manage to get down the hall to the restroom. Upon returning to the cell the pain scale was now at a good 9, I sat down at the desk and went back to sleep.

I spent the night at the desk getting up only to use the restroom. At 2:30 pm the following afternoon they called me to go to medical. My feet are size 11.5 and my boots are a size 12. They don’t sell half sizes in the larger boots. The swelling of my feet was now down enough to squeeze into the boot. It was very tight and if it were possible it made my foot hurt worse.

It took 30 minutes to get to medical, normally a walk that would take 5 minutes if you walked slowly. After a short wait the nurse came out to get me and we slowly walked back to her office. She asked a lot of questions that were answered in my file, but I humored her. She asked me what I took for gout. Since DOC has been giving me the medication for the past 8 years it seemed a silly question, but I told her naproxen. She told me I could have 500mg twice a day at Medline. She would not give me any to keep in my cell because they wanted us to buy our own off the canteen list. I explained how I have tried for weeks but she didn’t care. I reminded her to get to Medline required walking 1/3 of a mile twice a day. She told me if I really wanted the medicine I would get there. It was clear she had never had gout and unclear why she was a nurse.

I spent the night at my desk and got up the next morning and made my way to the dayroom. Medical had told me to go to Medline before going to breakfast. When they called chow I slowly made my way around to Medline. When I finally arrived the guard asked my unit number. I told her and she said she hadn’t called that unit and I would have to return to my unit. I explained what was going on and I told her I was going to Medline before chow. She told me there was a separate call for Medline and I would have to return to the unit. She was unsympathetic regarding the pain in my leg. I arrived back to my unit having completed 1/3 mile. When I got back to my unit I asked the guard when they would call Medline. He explained that Medline had been called and was now closed. The next Medline would be 7pm. After explaining my dilemma he said he would call medical but it would be in an hour, they were all in a meeting.

I returned to my cell, put my head down on my desk and passed out. At 7 pm I successfully navigated the labyrinth and received 500mg of naproxen. Twice each day I would be required to walk 1/3 mile. Pain overruled hunger as by the time I arrived at Medline the time frame for my unit to go to chow was closed, but turns out that’s a good thing because naproxen should be taken on an empty stomach to get the greatest benefit. It took three days before I could actually walk and another week before I actually felt ok.

Most US citizens believe inhumane treatment only happens to prisoners in third world countries. They believe the only way you are mistreated in the United States prisons is if you deserve it. That is just not true. Our prisons are horrible places. The uneducated guards take advantage of the power they weld to be as abusive as possible. There are a few guards who are compassionate, but not many. Most of the guards work in a prison because they aren’t employable in the real world. It doesn’t take long to figure out why. Withholding medical treatment is inhumane. It is cruel and unusual punishment. Someone once said you can tell the problems of a society, not by the behavior of those they incarcerate, but the behaviors of those who guard the incarcerated.

Todd

 

 

 

My celly (the term of art used to describe the person you share your cell with) left this morning. He was my celly for 3 weeks. When he was assigned to my cell the Move Sargent (the term of art to describe the Sargent in charge of cell assignments) told me it would only be for a week or less. In prison they try not to assign you a celly of a different race. For many inmates living with a different race is a huge problem. It has never been a problem for me. I have had all ages and races as a celly.

This celly was an interesting man. He was 50 years old and when he came to prison the first time he was 21. He did not play well with others and so that trip to prison he spent most of his 6 years in a solitary lock down cell.

After his second trip to prison he decided to stop doing felonies and only do misdemeanors. Misdemeanors get you county jail time and you’re in and out faster.

He told me when he was 18 he got a job and stayed employed until he first went to prison. That was the only time in his life he had a job. The rest of the time he was a ticket scalper and made up the difference he wanted with petty theft. His second trip to prison was a home burglary.

The mother of his daughter stayed with him for a few years before she couldn’t take it anymore. During this time he was the housekeeper and  babysitter for his daughter and step-son. The woman would work all day and he would stay around the house. After she got home he would go out and scalp tickets at a concert or sporting event then come home. This arraignment worked will until he started doing drugs.

When he was high on drugs he couldn’t take care of the kids and the housework. She told him to stop the drugs or move out. He moved out. He had very little contact with his daughter and step-son after that.

He found other women to live with who were fine with supporting him if he did the housework. He made all the money he needed scalping tickets and selling drugs. He didn’t like to sell drugs. It was too much responsibility keeping track of the money and how much he was using. He would usually use all he had in his possession so he had to hustle hard scalping tickets to pay for what he was supposed to sell.

He filed his taxes every year. His sister let him use two of her kids as her own so he could get huge tax returns. Every year he would have a false W-2 form and get a $5000 or $6000 refund. He would split the money with his sister.

His daughter and step-son are now in prison. Both are convicted of violent crimes. The children’s mother also went to prison. The day she was released on parole she overdosed on Heroin and died.

I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. He gave me a blank look before telling me that in the projects all you every wanted to do is commit crime. Nobody ever asked him what kind of work he wanted to do. There were no dreams of the future. I asked him what his dad did for a living. He never knew the identity of his dad. His step-dad was a thief. He was shot and killed robbing a Safeway. There were other men in his life that influenced him. Some lived with his mom they all stole and hustled. There were men from big brother who took him places. He told me they all tried to sexually molest him, but he was too smart for them. He extorted them for $20 and promised not to tell.

Just one of many of the same stories heard over and over in prison.

Till next time,

Todd

One of the most difficult parts of being in prison is finding someone to engage in conversation. On the street there was always someone to engage in a lively discussion of politics. Today we are in the middle of the government shut down and the debt ceiling needs to be raised to avoid default on federal obligations. It should be easy to find people who can present ideas on what needs to be done. Here nobody knows and more importantly nobody cares. They care only about their immediate needs and wants. They live in the moment. They live for something that pleases them.

We just started getting FOX news a couple of months ago. I think it is interesting that the current government is being run by liberal democrats but the only news station they give us has a conservative republican slant. Surely they thought this through, but then maybe I’m giving them too much credit, it could also be that it is even more sinister than I imagine. The current Colorado government equates evil criminals as conservative republications. As if that is not bad enough they dropped our Turner movie channel and gave us cartoon network. Today when I walked out into the day room there were 20 men; men in their 30’s and 40’s, all sitting around the TV watching cartoons. What a sad statement.

There are 100 men in my unit and there are only 2 who get the newspaper. Both of them get it for the TV guide. They give the coupons to the officers.

About 1/3 of the inmate population does not have a high school diploma or a GED. The current level needed to pass the GED is an 8^th grade achievement. Many of the men function at 5^th grade or below. Very few speak English well. Very few non-English speaking inmates speak Spanish well. This all means they cannot effectively communicate. Often when I hear a confrontation between a CO (correctional officer) and an inmate it is due to the fact that the inmate cannot effectively communicate their needs. They are used to being aggressive and acting out because they don’t have a vocabulary to express themselves. They also don’t have the grammar skills to speak effectively even if they had the words.

The GED is offered in both English and Spanish. Those that are here from Mexico are often offered the chance to take the GED in Spanish. Unfortunately they are as illiterate in Spanish as they are in English. The lack of speaking English well is not just by those from Mexico. Many USA citizens of all ethnic backgrounds don’t speak English well at all. I can’t tell you how often I have heard them speak of faux dollars, faux cards, faux soups and many other things. It was only later that I learned they were not saying faux, but a destruction of the word “four”.

Most of the men are busy trying to learn how to be better criminals. They recite their crimes to others and look for critiques on how they can improve. They also look for new opportunities to get rich without working. As much time and effort as they spend on this they could get a legitimate degree and have a decent career.

So there is no one to talk to about current events, the Holy Spirit or how to get out of prison and lead a Godly life. It would be nice to have a REAL Christian to talk to. Not a Jail house Christian.

Till next time

Todd