It was the woman鈥檚 voice Jolyn Hopson heard on the news that Thursday back in July. A wail, a piercing pang of anguish, the kind only a mother could make, perhaps, during the first or last moments of a life.
My son! My son! He鈥檚 gone, because of some lowdown dirty dog!
Ms. Hopson first heard the voice in the morning. She had stayed home from work that day and was organizing her kitchen when a cry on TV made her body suddenly freeze. She took a breath and turned to watch. It was a crime report. The woman had lost her only son, shot to death the day before in their home.聽
Distraught, defiant, the woman was looking directly into the camera, addressing the young men she saw fleeing, before they were arrested by police.
I ran after you and I chased you. You did something to my son, who was innocent, so now you鈥檙e going to have to come after me. And may God get you!
鈥淲ow. I saw her hurt. I saw her anger,鈥� says Hopson, a budget analyst with the US Fish and Wildlife Service who lives in Arlington, Va. 鈥淎nd I was like, me? As a mother? You just naturally put yourself in that situation. How would I react? What would I do?鈥�
The second of her two sons was the same age as the son of the woman on TV.
The woman鈥檚 voice stayed with her throughout the day, says Hopson. Then, about six hours later, a friend she was expecting to visit called. He couldn鈥檛 get to Hopson鈥檚 house, he said: The police had blocked her street.
Hopson went to look outside while still holding the phone to her ear. As she opened the door, she saw her home surrounded by an armed SWAT team. 鈥淧ut your hands up! Put your hands up!鈥� someone shouted.
鈥淚 couldn鈥檛 even understand the commands. I was in a state of shock,鈥� she says. 鈥淚 heard somebody say, 鈥楳a鈥檃m, we don鈥檛 want to shoot you.鈥� 鈥� Their weapons raised, police ordered her to walk slowly toward them. They handcuffed her and placed her in the back of a squad car.
They had a warrant to search the house, they told her. Her son was already in custody, soon to be charged with murder.
Hopson knew almost immediately.
It was the son of the woman she鈥檇 heard on TV.
***
It takes Giselle M枚rch about an hour to drive from her home in Silver Spring, Md., to St. John Alpha and Omega Pentecostal Church in West Baltimore, one of the most violent neighborhoods in the United States.
The old stone church lies just a few blocks from where the sparks that kindled the riots of 2015 first erupted. The death of Freddie Gray, a 25-year-old black man who died of injuries suffered while in the custody of Baltimore police officers, still hangs heavy here.聽
Since then, the city has only experienced more violence: three straight years of 300-plus murders, including last year, which ended with the highest homicide rate in Baltimore history.
Yet, of all the places to seek solace and purpose, Ms. M枚rch felt compelled to make the drive to West Baltimore. She hadn鈥檛 been interested in standard grief counseling or any of that after her son was killed last July, she says. How could anyone understand, really understand, what she was going through? M枚rch, who has worked for the National Postal Mail Handlers Union for 20 years, was looking for the fellowship of mothers like her, she realized.
A friend had told her about an annual Mother鈥檚 Day event in Boston where families who have lost children to violence march to keep their memories alive. So she went online to search for something similar. Marveling at the coincidence, she noticed that a friend had 鈥渓iked鈥� a page on Facebook for an organization called Mothers of Murdered Sons and Daughters United (MOMS) in Baltimore.
The first meeting in the group鈥檚 office near the church was a beautiful experience, she says. The mothers shared an intimate bond, rooted in this singular and nearly indescribable malaise of grief.
鈥淲e have the same emotions,鈥� she says of the mothers she met. 鈥淲e鈥檙e looking for the same things. We鈥檙e looking for justice, and we want our sons and daughters remembered.鈥�
She shared her story and listened to those of other mothers. She wept with them. She talked about ways to preserve her son鈥檚 memory.
But creating a space for these intimate bonds, as she soon discovered, was not the only mission of this community of MOMS. The group is also an active part of a wide-ranging and interconnected network of grass-roots organizations. They work on crime prevention and anti-recidivism issues, they work with social services and other victim advocacy groups, and they work closely with the Baltimore Police Department. They鈥檙e also connected to political advocacy organizations, especially those battling easy access to guns.
But the primary focus of MOMS at these early meetings was something that disturbed M枚rch, even though it had always been at the center of her own 海角大神 faith: the power of forgiveness.
鈥淲ithout forgiveness, there cannot be healing,鈥� says Daphne Alston, president and founder of MOMS. 鈥淚 think it鈥檚 important that we move forward together, because the only way we鈥檙e going to heal, the only way we鈥檙e going to reconcile, [is by bringing] everybody together 鈥� the murderers, the perpetrators, the victims, the community. This is how we鈥檙e going to heal.鈥�
Forgiveness. M枚rch realized how much the concept had always been an abstraction for her, never something so painful and radical. Forgive as you have been forgiven. It鈥檚 a religious catechism. A duty, even. But now, confronted with the call to forgive in a way she could never have imagined, it has become something more wrenching and tumultuous, she says.
Police say two suspects entered her home in Silver Spring last July to see her 20-year-old son, Jaycee. She was there, along with other family members. The authorities say a marijuana sale turned deadly. Shots were fired, striking and killing her son.
Though she cannot discuss the case now, M枚rch told TV reporters that day how she chased the suspects out of the house. She saw one scramble into a car, where another young man was waiting to drive away. Later that evening, as she met with her son鈥檚 friends at a candlelight vigil covered by local news, she mourned. My son! My son!
鈥淚f you鈥檙e a parent, you鈥檙e always in protective mode,鈥� she says of that moment. 鈥淵ou protect your loved ones, and when this happens, you are crushed. This happened on my watch? No! You are supposed to be the protector. And that鈥檚 how I鈥檓 still feeling.鈥澛�
鈥淢y son wasn鈥檛 out in the streets,鈥� she says. 鈥淗e was in the protection of the sanctuary. Your residence is your sanctuary, and when that is violated, when that is violated, where can you feel safe then? Where? If you can鈥檛 feel safe and protected in your own residence, where can you?鈥�
No. She wasn鈥檛 sure she could really find it in her to forgive those who killed her son. Not now. Maybe not ever.
***
Hopson knew she needed help soon.聽
She鈥檇 lost more than 50 pounds after her son was arrested. She鈥檇 taken time off work to stay with her family in South Carolina, not knowing what else to do. She wrote a prayer for strength, and woke up every morning at 6 to recite it and perhaps find a way to heal.
Her family was worried. 鈥淏aby, you鈥檙e in so much pain,鈥� she recalls her aunt telling her. 鈥淚 know,鈥� Hopson replied. 鈥淚 know my boy is incarcerated, but there鈥檚 a woman that lost her child, and I鈥檓 having a hard time dealing with that.鈥�
Her sister had a suggestion. 鈥淵ou know what, Jo? You already have that prayer you wrote down. Why don鈥檛 you write another prayer for their family? Read your prayer, and then read the prayer [for them].鈥� Hopson did, making it part of her morning routine.
After she returned from South Carolina, she traveled to New York to stay with other family members. She still felt a quiet desperation.
Throughout her career, she had been exposed to many different aspects of criminal and social behavior, and certainly had seen people at their best and worst. She had served for 10 years in the military, including as a military police officer, a corrections officer at Fort Leavenworth in Kansas, and a criminal investigator at Fort Myer in Virginia. She later worked as a parole officer in Washington, D.C., before getting a Master of Business Administration through a veterans program that led to the job with the Fish and Wildlife Service.聽
But none of it, nothing, had prepared her for the piercing experience of having her own son in jail, accused of murder.
So she decided to look for groups of mothers who might be going through similar turmoil in their lives. She actually found an organization called Mothers of Incarcerated Sons Society. But she also came across a group called MOMS. She decided to click on one of its videos.
She saw Ms. Alston, the founder, talking about the organization鈥檚 yearly theme of forgiveness. But then some of the mothers spoke on the video, expressing their pain and the rage they were still feeling toward those who murdered their children.
鈥淥h, this is not for me,鈥� Hopson recalls thinking.聽
Then another woman shared some thoughts on the video. It was M枚rch, the woman she鈥檇 been praying for.
***
When the judge presiding over the case walked into the courtroom last December, M枚rch and Hopson were sitting on the traditional opposite sides of the court. Everyone rose.
The judge turned to talk for a few seconds to one of the guards. Then, looking out over the courtroom, Hopson recalls him quipping: 鈥淭here鈥檚 too many people standing in this courtroom.鈥澛�
鈥淲ell, you never told us to sit,鈥� joked back Hopson鈥檚 older son, Eric, not quite under his breath. Guffaws rippled through the courtroom, and Hopson nervously looked around the room.聽
Her eyes met M枚rch鈥檚. The mother of the dead man wasn鈥檛 quite smiling, but Hopson thought she saw a twinkle of mirth.
Hopson cupped her hands over her heart, and mouthed the words, 鈥淚鈥檓 so sorry.鈥� M枚rch looked confused; she couldn鈥檛 understand. Hopson repeated the gesture and mouthed the words again. M枚rch waved to her to come out into the hall, and they found an empty room.
鈥淚 always wanted to tell you this, but I鈥檓 so sorry for your loss. I really am,鈥� Hopson recalls saying, telling M枚rch that she was the mother of one of the accused, the young man Re鈥檘uan, who police say was driving the getaway car. (All three have been charged with murder.) 鈥淎nd I wanted you to know that I鈥檝e been praying for you and your family.鈥�
M枚rch was stunned. Both began to weep. They embraced.
鈥淢y immediate reaction to her was just being in pain,鈥� recalls M枚rch. 鈥淲e鈥檙e mothers, and we鈥檙e mothers in pain. It was just one mother to another mother. We both lost our sons. The only difference is, her son is still alive.鈥� (He has also not been convicted of the crime, for which he will stand trial this summer.)聽
They went back into the courtroom and returned to their seats on opposite sides. But M枚rch says her mind was racing after the experience. Almost immediately she began to feel waves of conflicting emotions.
鈥淎t first, you know, there was a struggle in me about the praying part,鈥� she recalls. 鈥淔irst it was like, well, I thank you for praying for me. But then it was like, well, this is what your son did to my son. What right do you have to pray? And then I went back, well, God wants us to forgive so we can heal.鈥�
She couldn鈥檛 shake her ambivalence about the call to forgive. 鈥淵ou don鈥檛 want to hear the words, 鈥極h, I鈥檓 sorry.鈥� Because the word 鈥榮orry鈥� is just thrown out there to cover stuff,鈥� M枚rch says. 鈥淎re you really sorry? Or are you saying sorry because you鈥檙e caught, and by saying sorry, that might lessen your guilt, or lessen what punishment happens to you?鈥�
But after the court hearing, she decided to wait for Hopson outside. She gave her a handwritten invitation with an address in Baltimore. She was part of a group of mothers that was going to have a 鈥渇orgiveness banquet鈥� on the following evening. Would she attend?
Hopson said she would try, but she knew she probably couldn鈥檛. She was planning to visit her son, who was being held in the county jail, that day.
鈥淢y son is incarcerated, and I鈥檓 his mother, and I鈥檓 going to be there every step of the way,鈥� she says of her thinking at the time.聽
***
Hopson didn鈥檛 make it to the banquet, but M枚rch was there, and what she heard that night was deeply personal in ways she wasn鈥檛 expecting.
The featured speaker was Darryl Green, who described a moment in which a person upended his family鈥檚 life forever, a moment that M枚rch, too, now knows all too well. In 1988, a 14-year-old named Kinyom Marshall stabbed to death Mr. Green鈥檚 younger brother in a dispute over sneakers. Green, who had a master鈥檚 degree in criminal justice and wanted to become an FBI agent at the time, nearly spiraled out of control.聽
鈥淚 was angry for a long time,鈥� says Green. 鈥淚 didn鈥檛 run from trouble, I ran to it.... And I was so angry, angry every minute of the day. I would just pray and say, 鈥楪et this off me somehow, and give me something else.鈥� 鈥�
Over time, he decided not to pursue a career in criminal justice but to work in social services instead. By 2012, Green had already been thinking about 鈥渄eep forgiveness,鈥� a mental state that he believes can require a lifetime to achieve but is essential for healing.聽
Along with his father, he made a conscious decision to forgive Mr. Marshall and then testify in court in support of his release. Marshall was serving a life sentence without parole, but in part because of Green鈥檚 and his father鈥檚 testimonies, the judge resentenced Marshall to a 30-year term, which made him eligible for parole.
鈥淚n the courtroom, [Green] was there, and his family was there, before I even knew that I was coming home,鈥� Marshall says. 鈥淭hey spoke up for me.鈥�
鈥淔or him to say that he forgives me? I mean, this is something big,鈥� says Marshall, who now works as a forklift driver in Baltimore. 鈥淵ou鈥檙e talking about a life. You鈥檙e not talking about something of material value that can be replaced. You鈥檙e not talking about money. You鈥檙e talking about life.鈥�
Green has since started an organization called Deep Forgiveness that promotes
reconciliation and healing, and Marshall often appears at talks with him. Green admits that it is still not easy to work closely with his brother鈥檚 killer at times.
鈥淚鈥檓 only human,鈥� he says. 鈥淣ot every day is a good day. I think about the fact that, hey, my brother will never get to meet his nieces. He鈥檒l never get the chance to get married and be a father. And all those other things you think about that bring you to a not-so-good place.鈥�
Marshall wasn鈥檛 present at the MOMS banquet, but Green recounted their story and talked in his own street-hardened way about a subject that academics call 鈥渞estorative justice鈥�: ground-level efforts by communities to mend the deep ruptures that crime and violence can cause. Restorative justice is less about the power of the state and the criminal justice system than about individuals seeking to restore their lives together.
鈥淗ow many of you feel like you are dying inside?鈥� Green recalls asking the group. 鈥淗ow many of you are carrying this huge weight around?鈥�
鈥淔orgiveness is not about the other person,鈥� says Green, who has sought to address Baltimore鈥檚 crime problems by working mostly with men released from prison or those struggling with homelessness or substance abuse. 鈥淚t鈥檚 about having difficult conversations and just telling our stories and being willing to listen. Sometimes it is a spirit of unforgiveness that will kill you.鈥�
M枚rch listened intently that night. 鈥淲ow, just by how he involved the man who murdered his own brother in his own forgiveness journey? That was amazing,鈥� she says. 鈥淔or me, OK, you killed my brother? You killed my son? To me, I don鈥檛 want nothing to do with you. To me, you don鈥檛 exist.鈥�
Afterward she recalls asking Green how long it took him to reach that point of forgiveness.
鈥淚t doesn鈥檛 happen overnight,鈥� Green recalls responding. 鈥淚t took me about two decades to reach that. You get to a point of being OK, and then I would go backwards. But hurt people hurt people. On your journey to healing, you may not even get to forgiveness, but you don鈥檛 have to put any parameters around how long it鈥檚 supposed to take.鈥澛�
***
Alston, the founder of MOMS, began January鈥檚 monthly meeting at the Pentecostal church by acknowledging that many members were still struggling with last year鈥檚 theme.
鈥淭owards the end of last year our focus was on forgiveness,鈥� said Alston, whose son was killed in 2008, a homicide that still hasn鈥檛 been solved. 鈥淚t鈥檚 not been going well with a lot of people, because there鈥檚 been so much trauma in the city, so much homicide. People are not ready to forgive the person who has killed their child.鈥�
She invited people to speak, noting there was a lot to get through that evening. Groups such as Moms Demand Action and Marylanders to Prevent Gun Violence were updating the mothers on gun control efforts coming up in the state legislature.
Two advocates with the Baltimore Police Department, James Dixon and Falema Graham, were also there. The department hired both of them within the past year as part of a new program to help the families of victims navigate the impersonal and harsh edges of the criminal justice system.
A man named Nathaniel Powell wanted to address the mothers, too. When he was 17, he shot a Baltimore police officer and served 21 years in prison. Now 39 and released just a few months ago, he鈥檚 making a documentary to show young men the consequences of criminal behavior, including the lifelong effects on victims.聽
鈥淚鈥檓 sitting here, fighting back tears listening to y鈥檃ll,鈥� he says later. 鈥淚鈥檓 feeling emotional because I really haven鈥檛 done nothin鈥� to be able to deserve this.鈥�
But as she always does, Alston first asked whether any of the mothers would like to share any thoughts. Alice Oaks stood up.
鈥淚 lost both of my sons to murder, my only two children,鈥� she told the group of around 35 people gathered in the church鈥檚 smaller sanctuary. 鈥淲e spoke about forgiveness 鈥� I lost my first son in 2008. I prayed to God to put forgiveness in my heart for the person who killed my son, and I don鈥檛 want that person to have a strong hold on me. So I forgave him.鈥�
鈥淏ut in March I have to go to court, go through the trauma all over again,鈥� Ms. Oaks said of the fatal shooting of her second son, in 2015. 鈥淎nother double whammy. So I鈥檓 like a fickle person right now. I forgave him, and I still forgive him, and I still ... but this second murder 鈥� I just keep praying to God to keep strengthening me to press forward.鈥�
A woman unfamiliar to the members rose. She introduced herself as Jolyn Hopson. 鈥淢y son has not been murdered. He鈥檚 incarcerated,鈥� she told the group. 鈥淗e鈥檚 incarcerated for an incident with Miss Giselle鈥檚 son.鈥�
The room fell silent. M枚rch was sitting at a table, looking down, a few feet away.
Hopson told the story of her malaise, how she was looking for help, and how she found MOMS. 鈥淚 saw Miss Daphne speak about forgiveness, and how we can鈥檛 point fingers, but in order to solve this we all have to come together.鈥� She looked over. 鈥淪o thank you, Miss Giselle, for the forgiveness.鈥�
鈥淚mmediately after I first saw Miss Giselle, and I saw her pain, and her hurt 鈥� and we鈥檙e in a legal issue, of course 鈥� so when I was in court, and I looked at her, I had to tell her that my heart hurt,鈥� she said to the mothers.聽
Sitting at the table, still looking down, M枚rch began to sob quietly.聽
The room was transfixed. M枚rch stood and she and Hopson, for a second time, embraced. Others in the room began to weep.
鈥淚鈥檓 the mother of a murdered daughter,鈥� one woman said. 鈥淭his is a meeting I鈥檝e never seen before. This isn鈥檛 easy. I call you courage, miss,鈥� she added, looking over at Hopson.聽
鈥淭his is so big for me,鈥� said Alston. 鈥淏ecause every time I say, 鈥業 quit. I鈥檓 not doing this,鈥� God keeps blowing my mind. He answers our prayers, and that means He has an answer for homicide as well. We鈥檙e on our way to making a big change. This is what helps bring all of us together.鈥�
***
For M枚rch, however, the moment was more complex. 鈥淭hat was a learning experience 鈥� that was an awesome experience,鈥� she says later, adding that it was even 鈥渕ind-blowing.鈥� 鈥淏ut I had mixed emotions. I鈥檓 not going to lie.鈥澛�
鈥淚 was kind of shocked that she was there, and part of me was just annoyed that she was there,鈥� she continues. 鈥淚t was like, well, the reason why I鈥檓 here is because of what your son did. I invited you to the forgiveness banquet, but I didn鈥檛 know you were going to come to the community meeting.鈥� It even crossed her mind that Hopson might want to pick up information and use it in the trial. 鈥淭his may be me being selfish, but it鈥檚 a form of, you鈥檙e not really part of the community.鈥�
Hopson says one reason she came was simply to pay M枚rch her respects after missing the banquet. 鈥淚 didn鈥檛 want her to think I just blew her off after the moment we shared in court,鈥� she says.
Hopson called the director of MOMS afterward, expressing her eagerness to contribute, perhaps organizing a memorial basketball tournament, with jerseys emblazoned with the names of murder victims.
In the end, however, most of the MOMS members thought it would be better if she did not return.
鈥淚 didn鈥檛 even realize that wall, that boundary, was up,鈥� Hopson says. 鈥淏ut I see the hurt behind it, the pain. So I would never sit back and judge the situation.鈥�
Still, Hopson feels she was led to MOMS in a way she couldn鈥檛 quite understand. The voice of M枚rch seemed to just burst into her life, she says.
鈥淲as it God鈥檚 will that I be there? I don鈥檛 know,鈥� she says. Oaks, the woman who lost both of her sons to violence, reached out and offered to help Hopson find another group where she could try to heal. And a number of people came up to her afterward, saying they admired her courage.
For M枚rch and others, Hopson鈥檚 presence would have disrupted the intimate bonds they鈥檇 formed through their shared experiences. Besides, the trial of the three men accused of M枚rch鈥檚 son鈥檚 fatal shooting is set to start soon, and they remain on opposite sides in the retributive side of justice.
鈥淚 will say that I respect her, and I鈥檓 hoping that she and I can work together and we can do something for the youth,鈥� M枚rch says. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 mind getting together with her, get tea, sit down and talk 鈥� I don鈥檛 mind. She did not do anything to me. It was her son.鈥�
But the experience has impressed upon her the difficult journey toward both forgiveness and justice. And truth be told, she鈥檚 hoping more for retribution rather than restoration for the death of her son.
鈥淔or me to forgive the one person, yes it鈥檚 hard, it鈥檚 a struggle, but that鈥檚 nothing,鈥� M枚rch says of her encounters with Hopson. 鈥淚 mean, if I forgave all of [those charged with the shooting], then that鈥檚 a big wow. Wow, they鈥檙e all forgiven.鈥澛�
鈥淩ight now I鈥檝e only made a baby step to forgive once,鈥� she says. 鈥淚鈥檝e not made the big steps to forgive the others. You know, I still want justice for my son, and whether I get it here on this earth or I don鈥檛, I will have to live with that, and so will they, as God is the final judge.鈥�
