We often remark that there is no such thing as a ‘usual’ VOMP case, that each is unique in its own way. ‘Kari’s’ story is a case in point. What is not unique about Kari, is that she is one of an entire category of people harmed by crime but whose stories usually go untold. Victims of serious crime often feel marginalized, that theirs is “A View From the Shadows”. In fact, an early documentary about the struggle for victims’ rights is named just that. But for some victims, like Kari, (who, while she did not suffer violent harm directly at the hands of another, is nevertheless a victim of crime)[i], the shadows can prove even deeper. Kari, as you may have discerned by now, is the daughter of a federal prisoner, who, for this purpose, we’ll call ‘Tim’. As a prisoner’s child, Kari grew up with sparse information about her father. Well meaning others shielded the bewildered toddler from the truth about where her daddy had gone—he had simply “disappeared” one night at her age 2. Perhaps worse, the fragments of information she was able to gather over the years produced a veritable kaleidoscope of views tumbling through her adolescence and early adulthood, much of the information untrue, warped and spun as it was by a few family members and media pundits with agenda of their own.
‘Tim’, had last seen his daughter as he hugged her on his way out the door of their family home on his way to meet a relative for a beer. The relative, it turned out, had a plan to commit what he believed would be a lucrative and relatively low risk crime. Things did not go as planned, in fact, everything went very badly wrong. ‘Tim’ ended up doing ‘life’ in prison, while the little girl he left that night grew into a woman, along with many others directly impacted, suffering the downstream consequences of her father’s choices and his long term incarceration.
Through the years, there was little communication between Tim and Kari, but a good deal of it among family members and from media. Part of the reason Kari had not sought to correspond with her father was that at least some other family members had so demonized him. Ironically, part of the reason Tim had not sought more contact with Kari is that he had been so demonized by a few family members and by one journalist, in particular, that he felt Kari might be best off parented by her mom and step-dad, without his intrusion or influence in her life. Finally, the time came to ‘close the gap.’ Tim had become one of a growing cohort of Canadian prisoners, the aged, the ill, the infirm. As his health worsened, Tim began to speak to one of the prison chaplains about the daughter he had so loved, and lost…. The chaplain contacted VOMP to see if there was anything we might do to assist the two to talk to one another, to share their stories with one another and perhaps to see them reconciled before all opportunity was past.
Over the next few weeks we met with Kari a number of times, listening to her side of the equation and exploring with her a range of feelings from euphoria about her father’s initiative in reaching out to her, to significant fears: of rejection, or, having secretly hoped to find him and build a relationship with him, of discovering that he was as evil as others had described him to be.
Finally, the decision was made. Kari was determined to meet her father. He was delighted, but cautious in his optimism. As a long-term inmate, Tim had seen too many things go awry when he had dared to hope too much. For many years, his desire to communicate with Kari had been resisted. But things began to shift. The warden, who had originally resisted the idea of allowing this meeting to take place, had experienced VOMP outcomes in another institution. He expressed confidence in VOMP staff, and agreed to allow Tim and Kari to meet, provided that VOMP staff were facilitating the dialogue, and arranging the logistics.
Thirty-six years had passed. Kari was seated in the prison chapel, together with me, as facilitator and with her husband at her side. Tim was wheeled in, seated in his wheelchair, the Chaplain at his side. Years melted away, as Tim shared with Kari that not a day had gone by when she was not in his heart, sharing letters he had begun but never sent, and as Kari asked him the questions that helped her place the scores of puzzle pieces she had hoped to fit into place. She was candid with him that she had suffered significant harms: confusion about his role in the crimes, feeling abandoned, fatherless, without the role model, love and protection she had seen her friends enjoy. She was candid about having come to suspect that the rumours might be true, that he was dangerous, and dangerous even to her. She shared about the complications in her career choices, as she had come to believe that a career in law or law enforcement would be denied her, given her ‘criminal lineage’. Her father listened, heard, acknowledged. While he had long since learned not to emote too freely in a prison, his love for his daughter and pride in all she had accomplished was palpable. She felt it too. After our usual lunchtime break and debrief with each side, we reconvened. I moved from my position at the table between them, to allow them to sit side by side. Kari took Tim’s hand, and her husband, Wes, signalled that he had some things he would like to say. Tim had clearly affirmed Kari’s choice of Wes, saying, “I had heard that you’d been married, and had a fine man.” “I can see for myself that he is committed to you, and I’m glad.” Wes, addressed Tim, and said, “I am a pretty traditional kind of guy, I suppose. I always felt badly that it wasn’t possible for me to come and ask you for Kari’s hand in marriage.” “It’s a little late for that, now, I suppose, but I’d like to know I have your blessing”. Tim reached out and shook Wes’s hand, saying, “Absolutely, if you are her choice and she is yours, I can do nothing but say, ‘you are a class act for doing this, and of course you have my blessing.’”
The day ended on a similar note, with gratitude and a sense of blessing on all sides. Tim got up from his wheelchair, hugged us all, then walked, smiling, back toward his unit. His chaplain had not seen him walk that far for many months. Kari, Wes and I left for the long drive back to the city, reflecting on the power of this simple process and what it had accomplished for them.
A few weeks later, Kari wrote the warden to express her appreciation for all that had transpired:
Dear [Warden _______],
I was hoping to be able to thank-you face to face however you were [out of the institution on the day] I arrived. I just want you to know that your understanding and compassion will never be forgotten. Due to my father’s health and your graciousness in allowing me to visit last minute, you have assisted in a healing process 36 years in the making and one that words can’t accurately describe.
Given your initial reservations about a face to face meeting, your decision to allow me this opportunity means more than I can ever express to you. ‘Closure’ is a word I have been chasing for so many years (unsuccessfully) and now I realize that it doesn’t really exist. I’ve learned that it is a state of mind, a peace of mind which you have allowed me. I have slept so peacefully since meeting my father and putting to bed unanswered questions, unresolved feelings and just letting go. The healing opportunity you give people through allowing mediations through the Victim Offender Mediation Program is a priceless gift – a gift for which I will forever be grateful.
[The Correctional Supervisor, the Chaplain, the Institutional Parole Officer] and the security staff on duty that day played an enormous part in the ease and peace I left with. Their assistance, compassion and professionalism truly went above and beyond. I thank-you, each and every one.
My sincerest regards,
Kari …..
A few months later, Tim’s health began to rapidly fail. He died, as he was sure he would, in prison, scant months from another opportunity for parole. As I wrote this article, I reflected on words I had read just the night before:
I thought of how many people go to their graves unforgiven and unforgiving. I thought of how many people have had siblings or friends or children or lovers disappear from their lives before precious words of clemency or absolution could be passed along….
How do the survivors of terminated relationships ever endure the pain of unfinished business[ii]
As I turned the book over and reached to turn out the light,
I felt a deep welling gratitude for the privilege of seeing these things come
to pass, over and over through the years. The participants do the work
but, as they make clear to us, without the safely engineered bridges we design
and build, they likely could not accomplish what they hope to achieve. In
this case, though both Tim and Kari lamented the years lost to them, the
“precious words of clemency [and] absolution” were voiced before Tim passed on,
freeing both. Neither had to endure any longer “the pain of unfinished
business”.
[i] Recent legislation has expanded the definition of a victim of crime to include “anyone who suffers harm” as the result of the criminal actions of another.
[ii] Gilbert, Elizabeth (2006). Eat, Pray, Love.
