THRU THE VENT: Rickina Turpin
“In the penitentiary, much time is spent “locked down” due to lack of staff, solitary confinement, shakedowns, and a host of other factors. Those in lockdown units – confined to their cells all day – often use the ventilation system to communicate. Speaking about everything from family secrets, personal history, to one’s future, through a vent is where we shared what was on our hearts and minds. This is no different. I present to you… THRU THE VENT.”
A story series featuring prison-impacted folks — musicians and non-musicians alike — telling their stories about real life events they’re going through.
Curated & Co-Written by BL Shirelle.
Rickina’s Story.
I only lived on earth for twelve years without knowing my son Rell. At twelve years old, when I should have been experiencing my first real moments, cherishing teenage memories, I was developing a sacred bond with life in my stomach. I had my second son Dot at fourteen. How I got there so early is a long story, but irrelevant to this one. Irrelevant in general because when I had my sons it didn’t even matter to me anymore what I was sacrificing. I’m willing to sacrifice anything for my children, PERIOD. Living in the Badlands of North Philly I began hustling to make ends meet and provide for my boys. In the midst of that a lot of drama ensued. While I was pregnant, a girl cut my face in a fight so severely the marks are still visible on my face at 45 years old. In the ER the doctors urged me to get an abortion so they could "stitch me up properly," but I refused to go under. I was scared to wake up without my baby. Five hundred stitches later and my physical scars are the least visible.
I frequented the county jail a lot for probation violations. It stemmed from me pleading guilty to a charge when I was young. I thought taking probation was the easiest route, but I couldn’t seem to stop smoking weed. My children were in the system from the constant uprooting of their lives. Each time I was released I had to find a new home, a new school for them, new clothes… basically start my life over each release. The only way I could bare being away from them was by self medicating. Looking back it’s absurd that the system separated my family for such a minute issue. At the time it was totally normal to do 23 months for a dirty urine from marijuanna. I went undiagnosed for many years, given medications that only caused my condition to worsen. I remember being released from jail once and my cousin had gotten my children out of social services without me being aware. When I seen my boys unexpectedly it was a moment of bliss that can never be replicated.
I was horrified by listening to my sons tell me stories of the foster care system and the traumas they experienced. They told me everything with a straight face. No dramatics, no crying. I was their best friend, and they didn’t hide things from me. I mean… we were growing up together, learning life at the same time. I remember my son crying probably for the first time since he was a baby when I got arrested and they were sent back into the system. It haunted me a long time. I decided to give them all their time at once and max out. No more probation. Give me jail time. That way I could move on with my life and be there consistently for my children. Since I maxed out I haven't been back in jail for any reason, which says a lot about the structure of probation. I can smoke my weed in peace.
My oldest son Rell stepped up in my absence being the best big brother he could be. When Dot graduated elementary school, Rell was only two years older than him, cheering him on with balloons and a card so he didn't feel out of place or unloved due to me not being present. He raised his little brother to be a great man. Dot had three children, a great career; so funny, talented, handsome… a family man who makes women feel safe when he’s around. Rell sacrificed his childhood, like I did. It feels as if he put all his dreams, love, and attention into his younger brother. Leaving none for himself.
My son Dot passed away April 13, 2016. A victim of gun violence, killed by those closest to him. His murder remains unsolved. Since that day my son Rell hasn’t been the same. His story is not mine to tell, but it is a heartbreaking one of losing yourself in grief.
It's against the natural order for a child to pass before a parent. I swear my broken heart is going to literally kill me one day. Sometimes I can’t make normal everyday decisions. Some days it's hard for me to even get out of bed. Some days I burst out in tears unexpectedly at any moment. People who love me don’t always know how to respond, so they do what’s natural but heartbreaking… they retreat. My world has stopped, while I watch others move on like Dot never existed. I see him in his daughters. I see them act like him without even knowing. His legacy gives me the strength to move forward one breath at a time, one second at a time. As hard as it is for me to get to the next day, I have to, for them. I’m unafraid of any pain because I feel I’ve already experienced the worst of it all. In the loving memory of my son I work extremely hard to stay on this side of the gates. Long Live Dot Forever. Amen.
