As deaths continue to impact both Michigan’s women’s and men’s prisons, our family advocates at Citizens for Prison Reform have been busy supporting not only grieving families in the community, but also incarcerated individuals inside the facilities who are themselves experiencing trauma, loss, fear, and grief.
Too often, conversations about prison deaths focus only on investigations, policies, or headlines. What is often overlooked is the emotional impact these deaths have on the people living inside these facilities alongside one another every day.
Many incarcerated people form deep bonds while navigating years of incarceration together. They laugh together, cry together, support one another through hardships, celebrate milestones, mourn losses from home, and survive difficult prison conditions side by side. When someone dies inside, that grief does not disappear simply because the person was incarcerated.
Recently, Jennifer Gougeon-Catarino, one of CPR’s family advocates, received a message from Jennifer Galvan, an incarcerated woman at Women’s Huron Valley Correctional Facility, sharing her perspective on grief and the lack of emotional support available to incarcerated women following recent deaths inside the facility.
With permission, we are sharing part of her words below because we believe they offer important insight into the emotional reality many incarcerated individuals are experiencing right now.
“You asked what might be helpful to address our grief. Let’s begin with understanding and a bit of grace from administration and correctional staff when we lose someone we’ve lived with, laughed with, cried with, and walked this worst road of prison pavement with instead of dismissal.
Let me share a story.
Last year we Jackson College graduates had our commencement scheduled for June, only to be cancelled because our advisor unexpectedly died. She was a phenomenal young woman who championed our education. We weren’t allowed to have a memorial for her.
Our commencement was then rescheduled for July, only to be cancelled again because an officer passed away in his vehicle in the parking lot moments before our ceremony was to begin.
Specific staff were horrible to us. We were sent back to our housing units only to be taunted by staff that our luncheon was delicious as administration chose to have a memorial for officers working that day and feed them our celebratory meal.
Administration also provided their staff with a visit from two emotional service dogs.
We have walked by our comrades dead on the walkway with no support.
Do you know that nothing, not a JPay of condolence from administration was sent to us after Ms. Howard and Ms. Fackler’s deaths, but the emotional service dog was here for staff Friday night because of the prison’s ‘negative’ exposure.
There is no hotline for us when we are grieving.
If we cry too hard, we might find ourselves naked and cold in an observation cell when what we probably could benefit from is a community gathering to share feelings and memories or how about we get to pet the service dog?”
Jennifer’s words force us to pause and think about something many people have likely never considered before:
How do incarcerated people grieve?
What support exists for people living inside prisons when someone they knew dies?
How are trauma and repeated loss affecting the mental health of people who are already living in stressful and isolating environments?
Following the most recent death at the facility involving Ashley “Zella” Hoath, reports in the media indicated that mental health professionals would be available within the housing unit to support women impacted by the loss and that additional support would continue in the days following the incident.
However, the women we spoke with reported that they either were not aware of any available support, did not receive support, or did not feel meaningful grief support was accessible to them during this time.
Regardless of where someone stands on incarceration, grief, trauma, and emotional pain do not disappear at the prison gate.
If we truly believe in rehabilitation, mental health, and safer prison environments, then these are conversations worth having.
Could facilities create healthier ways for incarcerated individuals to process grief after deaths inside the prison?
Could memorial gatherings, peer support circles, or facilitated grief discussions help people process loss in healthier ways?
Could mental health support be expanded after traumatic incidents or multiple deaths within a facility?
Could therapy dogs, crisis response services, or supportive programming be made available not only to staff, but also to incarcerated individuals experiencing grief and trauma?
In Alabama, one prison reportedly holds memorial services for incarcerated individuals who passed away while in custody, creating space for remembrance and healing. If conversations like that can happen elsewhere, perhaps they are conversations Michigan should also be willing to have.
These are not conversations about excusing crime.
They are conversations about humanity, mental health, rehabilitation, and recognizing that incarcerated people are still human beings capable of grief, connection, loss, and healing.
“There is no hotline for us when we are grieving.”
That sentence alone should make all of us stop and think.
Tiffany Walker
Family Program Director, Family Participation Program
Citizens for Prison Reform