There was NO robbery or attempted robbery reported to police on Magnolia Street the night of March 9th. Jacob was never charged with an underlying felony, although the felony murder rule requires a felony to have been in progress. Nor were any of his co-defendants. Four of the surviving victims gave the same police statements and testified under oath the exact story that Jacob and his associates gave. The victim’s vehicle almost struck three boys that were walking past the driveway down the sidewalk. It was then that the vehicle was approached by a pride hurt Brandon West. He and his brother, Antwon, were the only two to fire shots. Brandon, though he instigated this crime of passion, was never charged.
While Jacob has IMMENSE remorse, and takes full responsibility for his role in the tragic and premature death of Mr. Scriven, he should never have been charged with second degree murder.
Had he not been so fearful of testifying against his co-defendants Jacob would be free today.
We need your help in his release. Please, call and request Governor Kathy Hochul release Jacob Rouse (06A6364) on a sentence commutation via Clemency as soon as possible.
A common expression for incarcerated men is that you only do two days in prison. The day you go in, and the day you go home. The in-between is a space where you do whatever it takes to get through the time that holds you. Some men drink and drug their way through the disparity of prison. Caught in the grip of a disease that has plagued them from the streets. Others join gangs for a false sense of community and connectedness. For nearly seventeen years, I have programmed. I work jobs in the prison that will give me the most time out of the cell and in the best position to continue constant communication with my family. But that very thing that has allowed me to stay afloat in a place that is ever consuming men has programmed me. I have become institutionalized, my life set on a clock. I am a robot. I go to sleep when the lights go out, wake up when the bells ring and follow every rule put before me. I have maintained a perfect institutional record because I have been transformed into a lifeless slave by the structure of prison. I first created a routine in the county jail that became my current captor. Many people wrote me in the county jail when I first got incarcerated. They all hoped to encourage and comfort me during the worst moment of my life. I was just 19 and scared to death. I was sentenced to more time than I had on earth for a murder I did not commit. I struggled to find a way to navigate through the next twenty-two years in prison. An older Christian woman who had never been to prison gave me the best advice for navigating inside. She told me to build a routine and follow it every day. So, I did. I worked out, ate, and did everything the same. The same time, the same way, every day. Fast forward fifteen years, and we arrive smack dab in the middle of a global pandemic. The past two years have forced me to change my modus operandi. At any given time, the NYS Department of Corrections will shut prisons down for fear of a Covid uptick. There have been times when prisoners were completely locked in for days and fed in their cells. The meals were poorly prepared bag lunches that included salami and cheese or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. At other times during lockdown, we were given one hour to go to a gym and use the shower and phone, with no social distancing and no masks. Those are the conditions we find ourselves once again. I am currently confined in the honor block. Our block is walked to a gym in the reception area every evening. There we have an hour and a half to exercise, shower and use the phone. We come out for chow with hundreds of men in the mess hall. We are not forced to wear masks. Most staff members don’t wear masks. Where’s the caution for Covid? With each meal lasting about fifteen minutes, we are in our cells about twenty-one hours a day. After so much time in a cage, the walls start moving in around you. I have noticed a change in my demeanor, more aggressive and hostile toward staff and prisoners. I am often losing my cool. Despite the lockdown, visits have remained open with devastating changes to the rules. We are no longer allowed to hug, kiss, or even touch our families. We also are made to sit six feet apart and wear masks. The man I am, the robot stuck in autopilot, has made me dull. My wife says I’m boring because I won’t kiss her anyway. I want nothing more than to hold my wife in my arms, landing one of those romance movies kisses on her sweet lips. But the law-abiding prisoner is too afraid to break the rules. I feel like a chump. Kissing my wife could come at a great cost. I would gain my first ticket in nearly 17 years, destroying my perfect institutional record. I could be kicked out of honor block. Worst of all, I could lose any visitation with my wife and children. My wife is someone I want to be proud of me. I want her to feel excited, with and around me. Not bored! These conditions we face are trying to say the least. We struggled to maintain our marriage before Covid, but now it’s near impossible. Yet we rise every day striving to do our best in showing each other love and respect. May God help us and bring an end to the things that divide us.
Perspective. It hit like a ton of bricks. Our recent months have been spent more in war than in love, circumstances have consumed us, and we have watered the seeds of bitterness and resentment; by the grace of God, we have been able to reconcile over and over. I have been in this beast system with Jacob for eight years, nearly half of his time incarcerated. A little perspective. Jacob has spent nearly half of HIS LIFE incarcerated. Bricks. I always say that a prison marriage ages like a dog age in human years. As such large personalities, Jacob and I should be celebrating the big 50. After a couple more years of imprisonment, we would catch his beautiful grands celebrating 70 this July. I never imagined we would still be here today. I never imagined the difficulty would progress as dangerously as it has. Jacob also progressed. From boy to man in this beast system. He is currently on his 28th day of lockdown. We’re hoping that it is his last. Today he will hear if there will be another two-week extension. We always hope for the best and prepare for the worst. The preparation is never enough. Lockdown means being encaged for about 22 hours, only released for chow or rec. Rec is divided between exercise, a group shower, and a phone call home. You can still receive visits while on lockdown, but even those are so locked down they don’t feel like “visits” at all. Jacob is not allowed to touch his family or be touched by them. There has been a no kissing policy for the last two years. He can not look at the face of his wife, children, mother, or brother sitting six feet across from him, covered with a mask. A facial covering in a maximum-security prison visiting room! Remember, we have already tested negative on a state-issued Covid test. We have not been able to take a family photo in two years. Our princess just celebrated her fourth birthday. She will not have a single picture of herself with her daddy from ages two to four. Minimally. We have been unable to participate in FRP for two years, the most beneficial program the state offers prisoners and their families, with only a fraction approved to participate. Yet, my husband goes to chow with about two HUNDRED men at a time, with no social distancing and no masks. Masks are “required” throughout the facility yet only enforced upon visitors. Only about twenty percent of the population obey the signs spread across the prison’s gates. Rec consists of about fifty other men. Several of them get some cardio in with a few games of basketball. All men use one group shower and the same few phones as several blocks before them. Testing among the prisoners continues by “random selection,” taking a few days to a week to hear if you are positive. You only learn your fate when you are suddenly gathered up and taken to a new “isolation cell.” Isolated it is as all meals are delivered. You see no staff, not even a nurse. Healthy men struggle immensely against the loneliness and isolation forced upon them with a facade of “paramount concern.” Suicide is up so high I hear a recording to report a concern at the beginning of every phone call. The response to the threat of Covid has been a physical “protection,” totally disregarding the mental, emotional, and spiritual person of man. Mental health is the new pandemic in prisons. Jacob describes this season as “the most difficult of [his] entire bid,” a bid that has been far from easy. It is hard to maintain hope in a grotesque and barbaric system that increasingly makes it more difficult for families and their incarcerated loved ones. It is hard to maintain hope when the programs implemented to bring hope only talk about it. Clemency has been our hope for the last four years. Every inquiry is responded to with a generic “We’re still reviewing your application.” A guaranteed success story for the state of New York continues to sit in a crowded, filthy prison, totally segregated from anything productive as protection from the dangers of a virus. This system continues to tighten its strangle on prisoners and their families. We ask that the state; truly demonstrate paramount concern for all people inside prisons. Bryon Russ, an NYS prisoner also waiting YEARS for a decision on clemency, says it best, “Prisons are not understaffed; they are overpopulated.” True “paramount concern” for ALL people inside NYS prisons is to immediately reduce the population by sending home men and women on clemency. Clemency does not give my husband freedom but allows him to be in prison safely at home with his wife and children. We need your help. As we post our application here, we are asking for your voice to come alongside ours and request that Honorable Governor Kathy Hochul commute the sentence of Jacob Rouse as soon as possible. Clemency is often the last hope for many. Jacob had the privilege of participating in ‘Breaking the Cycle’ while in Attica. This documentary demonstrates the dangerous difference between the treatment of incarcerated individuals in America and Norway. There is an obvious success, and it is not America. Jacob is a success story without a doubt. It is so clear, and we think you will agree. If you do, we humbly ask that you share the documentary, our blog, like or share our Facebook page, or call and email Governor Hochul today. It is time to let people go. People are redeemable. Jacob Rouse IS Redeemed.
I am grateful to have a Father who loves me so much to prepare me for a trial. Reading yesterday’s blog, you all got to read about the mental thorns I had. I was able to implement the good fight of faith.
Without the enemy casting doubt, and my mind producing fear, I wouldn’t have a good fight of faith to grow me.
Overcoming the fear and doubt in the morning assisted the fight of faith that came in the afternoon when my port wouldn’t work.
My nurse tried everything she could. “Let’s lay you flat. Turn your head to the right. Put your left arm over your head. Cough for me. Take a deep breath in.”
Time to call in another nurse. Manipulating the port under my skin with her fingers, this veteran nurse changed the angle of the port.
The new angle didn’t work.
Enter the medicine. This is meant to unclog coagulated blood in the port. It is left to work over the course of one hour.
In all honesty, hearing, “If this doesn’t work, you will need to get dye and an x-ray to check the placement of the port. Being that it’s this late in the afternoon, it won’t get done today.” I began to walk to the path of fear.
“My goodness. If I can’t get an x-ray until tomorrow, will I be able to get my treatment on time?” My regiment works best in fifteen day increments. They give a grace of one day before or after the fifteen day mark. Would I have to take this cycle again? Meaning not one, but two more doses. I didn’t know, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to ask.
God sent my husband (via a phone call) to minister to me. He reminded me to sing. Remembering all I had fought against and overcome earlier, I once again began to sing “of the goodness of God” alongside my best friend.
The singing wasn’t enough for my love, he wanted to hear me laugh, so he began to mix up the lyrics. I harassed him for botching such a beautiful song, and I got to hear him laugh.
Just after we hung up, my nurse came to check if there was any progress with the port. None. “It’s still early” she said.
About fifteen minutes later the draw back was pink in color. She declared it workable, and went to flush it and draw back on it again. This time she declared it “beautiful.”
We were ready to go!
After a successful infusion, I was able to get out of there in time to see the last twenty minutes of the boys game. I missed the two touch down passes my youngest had as quarterback, but I was quite stoked to learn I have a qb on my hands!
This morning I feel strong. Manageable nausea and slight fatigue, but NOTHING like last round! Hallelujah.
The Army of warriors praying on my behalf are availing much. Thank you!!!
I need to write. I need to get it all out. I’m not sure what exactly.
I want to dance around the living room while singing “Last chemo ever, yeah, it’s my last chemo ever.” May not be billboard material, but a top hit in this house for sure.
My mind won’t let me dance.
“You remember your faith? You believed with your whole heart and mind that Jesus alone could heal you. Without chemo! Honey, you been doing chemo. You don’t know He won’t have you walk it again. You don’t know you won’t need more after today.”
“Lay down. Don’t dance yet.”
It doesn’t stop there.
“Chemo is cumulative. You’ve been told that. Remember how hard it hit you last time? That was bad! It’s probably gonna be like that again, but worse. Your hair is barely hanging in there. The tingly pain you have right this moment is your hair trying to fall out. Hurts huh? Two weeks of pain. It can’t handle another round. You’ve lost most of it already. Don’t forget about that chemo belly that has you looking six months pregnant half the time. Remember that pain? The gurgling? The publicly unmentionable bathroom episodes? Lord have mercy. There’s still moments of nausea two weeks later. Girl, it ain’t going to be pretty.”
“Don’t forget, you’ll likely be missing your boys first flag football game too.”
This is where I employ the good fight of faith. This is where I get to choose! I can bring my thoughts captive. I can begin to speak to the fear and doubt.
I get to help write my story.
Remember those interactive stories where you decide which direction the story goes?Those were my favorite! I would go back and do it every possible way to know the different versions.
My life is one of those interactive stories. God is my coauthor.
Though circumstances out of my control will come, I get to choose if I will lay down, dwelling in doubt and fear, or if I will rise up and roar like the lioness I was created to be.
I’m certainly not trying to check out every different scenario in this interactive!
I choose to rise up, change my thoughts, and declare truths I believe in.
I CAN do all things through Christ who strengthens me.
His plans for me are good.
I will face trials and tribulations, but I can be of good cheer, because He has overcome the world!
By His stripes, I AM HEALED!
I called to Him for help and He healed me.
He WILL fill me with joy in His presence.
I may be hard pressed, but I am not crushed! I may be perplexed, but I am not in despair! I may be persecuted, but I am not forsaken! I may be struck down, but I am not destroyed!
We (God and I) SHALL rebuild the old ruins!We SHALL raise up the former desolations.We SHALL repair the ruined cities, the desolations of many generations!
We (my children and I) SHALL declare the works of the Lord and glorify His holy name.
So, though I don’t know the future course of treatment, I will dance anyway. Though I don’t know if I’ll keep the hair I have, I will dance anyway. Though I may be sick for two more weeks, I will dance anyway. Though I will miss a first game, I will dance anyway.
And, yes, even if this isn’t the last of the chemo, I WILL DANCE ANYWAY!
Finding balance in this particular journey, of living life like today is your last and using wisdom as you have almost no immune system, is mentally and emotionally challenging. Reason and fear are the main characters.
Add on the fact that you’re a single parent to three precious babies, one who could potentially be left orphaned, another with a life threatening condition, and that balance becomes more lost.
Thank God for prayer. Thank God for wisdom. Thank God for immune boosting foods, supplements, herbs, and exercise. Thank God for healing in nature. Thank God for friends who help provide what you need in such a time as this.
The gratitude I have can not be expressed in mere human words.
Everyday, I do all I can to protect my health. I understand NO ONE can do it for me.
My health is not just physical. It is mental. Is is emotional. And most importantly, it is Spiritual. I have to tend to each of these areas daily for optimal health.
So I put in the work. I give of my time what is important to me.
So yesterday, I planned a mommy/daughter date with my princess. Thanks to a complete stranger, I was blessed with a generous gift certificate to my favorite local restaurant. With a beautiful day and outside seating, it was a total win. Balance.
Sophia was extremely excited to be going out on a date with her mommy. We picked out dresses, put on some jewelry, did our hair, and put on some light makeup. (When I told Daddy that part his response gave me the best medicine. He said, “You did what?!” 🤣)
We each grabbed our purse, Sophia’s favorite thing to shop for, and headed out the door.
Recording these memories is so important to me for Sophia, but Daddy misses it all unless it’s recorded. So of course we had to get pictures.
My sweet princess immediately began to look for a prime spot for photo taking. “I’m going on the hill” she said. And as I began to snap, she began to pose. No instructions given.
How big is she?!
Balance. I lost it again.
My heart grew three sizes as I realized this most beautiful girl, so intelligent and full of personality, is mine. Mine and my best friend’s.
My best friend. Missing it. Needlessly.
Heart wrenching.
Understanding that it’s not in my control, I walk forward. I will do my best to record these moments for him. For her. For all of us.
And I will keep praying that soon he will be here.
I will keep living. Keep healing. Keep rising. Keeping faith alive.
We had a most beautiful night.
Lots of talking. Learning. Laughter. Lots of good medicine.
Ps. That gorgeous necklace I’m wearing came in a box donated by Leah’s Baskets Inc. The unexpected package was found on my porch yesterday as I was talking on the phone with my husband and second mom. All of us curious, I immediately began to open it, and just as immediate, the tears began to run down my face.
Who am I?!
Once again, I saw just how much God loves and sees me. Just how much thoughtfulness, empathy, consideration, generosity, kindness, and love still exist in this world.
These people don’t know me, yet everything seemed so personalized. Dragonflies. Feathers. Journals. Sunflowers. All favorites. All so amazing.
I see You, Abba, and I love You too!
I see you Mary, Pat, and all those who donated, and I thank you too.
To Leah and her family, your legacy and love clearly live on. Congratulations and thank you! ❤️
Blessings and love friends. Thanks for being here!
I may not know clearly what that is, but I have faith that says, “God will show me.”
With so much to choose from in life, I feel it’s easy to get consumed by trying to plan and figure everything out. So much pressure is put on what “should” be done. What or who gets to prioritize this for my life?
So while there are weeds that need to be pulled before the borough comes through for collecting, and while the laundry and dishes wait on the floors and in the sink, I choose what I want to give my time to.
I walked out of the house, away from the weeds, laundry, and dishes, and grabbed my bike out of the cluttered garage. Off I went.
The ground wet, the air chilled, the clouds and fog thick, I raced to the heart of God to watch the sun rise above the mountain.
Sitting at the water’s edge I could hear the sound of traffic in the background. Intentionally, I tuned my ears to the birds morning praises.
Contemplative and philosophical, I try to answer questions and reason within myself to some patterns I continue to carry.
Why do I pursue things I don’t enjoy? Who says I have to do them? Why do I pursue people who don’t pursue me? Does it really matter what title they hold in my life? Why do I set timelines and limits over my life? Why wait?
One would think losing a mother at the age of 14, her only 33, would wake one to the reality of how unpredictable and short life is. Maybe that’s part of the purpose of this cancer journey. Maybe that’s why God hasn’t opened Jacob’s prison doors yet. To shake me awake once more.
To fully rise.
No waiting. No conditions.
Anyone with me? Leave a comment below and let’s hold each other accountable.
Let’s trust God for today. Let’s trust God for what He has put in our heart, no matter how much we may stick out. No fear! No conformity. Our life. Our freedom.
Cheers to our one life. Love it well.
No that’s not a typo. You read that right. Love it well. Love it well to live it well.
Peace and blessings, friends. Thanks for being here.
This week has been trying. Round three felt something like Mayweather and Ali coming at me at once. The side effects were different, and six days later, I still don’t feel myself.
I always go in strong. Ready for battle. Faith and humor as my sidekicks.
No amount of faith and no amount of humor can stop the slow fade of myself.
I stayed awake longer this treatment than I had before. As I commented proudly, my amazing nurse promised, “It’ll get ya.” It did. I phased out slightly more than half way through. I fought so hard to keep myself from fading.
There I was, a shell of myself. That’s what my kids have had every day since. A shell of their mama.
With understanding, we all wait patiently for my return.
Today, I am certain that we all will see more of me as I get my Meyer’s cocktail with glutathione. Thank You Jesus! It’s an undeniable change. Energy. Wellness. Samantha.
Though this journey has been hard, there’s been so many God sightings.
I still have much of my hair. By the second bag of Adriamycin, infamously known as “Red Devil” or “Devil’s blood”, typically is a total hair loss. But, I like to think that that the cleansing blood of Jesus runs through me, leaving my hair quite intact.
I have not lost my tastebuds. Food is my favorite. Thankful. Thankful. Thankful. In fact, I have gained three pounds! Good news for a cancer patient.
I have seen the beautiful side of humanity in days we’re left wondering if there really is any. The support of family and friends is always awesome.
It is the complete strangers God has brought knocking on our door that has refreshed and humbled us even more.
I have people I’ve never met messaging daily for prayer requests. It is a sweet and loving reminder that this fight hasn’t cast me to the corner to fight alone. The battle truly isn’t even mine anyway. So while Mayweather and Ali strike, I know there’s an army behind me. I know that God is hearing. I see He is moving. In me. Around me. And I pray through me.
Jacob has had his own battles.
Elmira prison just came off a week long lockdown.
Locked in a cage barely bigger than himself, only to be released one hour to use the phone, email kiosk, and shower, the mentally healthy Jacob began to struggle with depression. One shower in a week. No rec. No communication with family. Brown bagged lunches served for every meal.
Jacob focused on gratitude.
He prayed for the men and women kept in the box and special housing units, who live that out for months, and sometimes even years at a time.
We made it a point to laugh as much as possible in our second thirty-minute phone call in six days. Reminding ourselves once again not to take our precious time and love for granted.
While we look forward to the future, all of these trials behind us, we’re doing our best to keep our eyes on the God sightings. We’re doing our best to see AND fill our purpose in the here and now.
That’s a great prayer request. We want to be clear about the work God has for us TODAY. We continue to pray for Jacob’s release and my FULL healing, with NO return or malignancy. My neutrophils are quite low. This leaves me at dangerous risk of infection, so we’re also praying against that.
With only one treatment left in the original schedule, I’ll be having a PET in the next couple weeks to determine the future course of treatment. We’re obviously praying that I am in remission and no further treatment is necessary.
God’s will be done. His praise shall continuously be on our lips.
Thanks for being here with us. Thanks for praying! God bless you all.
It’s only 6 minutes away from being Day 16. Day 15 was mostly slept away.
I just woke up on the couch. The hall light is on and I can hear my boys playing on their game consoles. I wonder where my princess is. Usually she lays everywhere I lay. Tonight I kept pushing her away because the nausea was so intense I couldn’t bear anything but space. My heart broke each time. I apologized profusely. I found her laying on her Minnie couch bed on the floor a few feet away.
The boys served my every need. Water, Orange juice, which I never drink, even when it’s in the house. Tonight my body craved it and received it with satisfaction. My friend who brought me dinner, groceries, her entire medicine cabinet, a friend for Sophia, a whole lot of love, and deep Godly conversation, also brought us Orange Juice. Having just bought one on my chemo prep day, I thought it was a good thing we had two because I will be drinking LOTS of it. God knows.
Yes, I believe that. I believe He knows all. So I have been getting super angry with Him. Because I believe He knows all, I confess my heart. I am not any different than Eve; I can’t hide from Him. So I cry, and I tell Him exactly how I feel and what I think.
I’m not crying just for me, because while my path has been LONG and pretty stinking treacherous, it could be worse. I acknowledge that. Honesty. Vulnerability. Truth.
“Worship in Spirit and in Truth.”
My Spirit was grieved and I cried. My truth was poured out with emotion and total transparency. I was in worship. He was listening. I was working at surrender.
Surrendering the bitterness, anger, unforgiveness, selfishness, doubt; probably even some hatred. Hatred for the system. Hatred for the world. Hatred for the division. Hatred for the greed. Hatred for the blindness. Hatred that there are so many voices shouting, with very few people to listen with an open mind. Hatred that politics trumps human lives.
I pray for my husband. I can’t fathom how this man would ever be charged for this crime and sentenced as a 19-year-old child, to 22 years to life in prison; especially when the child who initiated the shooting was never charged. While my husband has maintained a perfectly clean institutional record, the non charged child is on his THIRD different prison sentence. He refuses to write a new and honest personal statement because he “doesn’t want to be charged.” So he is letting my husband continue to be punished for his crime. With eyes only on himself, he is missing the anguish this is causing a mother, siblings, grandparents, a wife, and most importantly children.
So we lean on God and the system to do what is right. But the system is also greedy and selfish. It doesn’t care about the people, it cares about the billion dollar industry. With a cost of over $70,000 per prisoner, tax payers get mad that my husband is being fed three meals a day. Which is laughable, as GROWN MEN are eating grade school kid sized lunches, only far more grotesque. That it’s labeled as food is itself criminal.
My husband’s last cell was leaking water out of the toilet consistently. He was having to collect the water in a dish. This toilet was only a couple feet from his bed. They’re definitely not providing sanitary conditions, that’s for sure. He was finally moved out of there because his gate was continuously stuck. If there would have been a fire, he would’ve had to wait on a guard to find the right key on his belt loop of dozens of keys, and manually release the gate. I wonder if there would be one to do that in the case of a facility fire?
Jacob wasn’t named in the most recent clemency approvals. According to a letter I received in response to our pleas, the Clemency Board is reviewing them in the order they were received. They stated further that it will carefully be considered as to give it the time and attention it deserves. They must not have reached those submitted in July of 2017, updated in 2020, with the backing of phenomenal CUNY students and lawyer/CUNY professors. With hundreds of pages of accomplishments, support, records, and certificates, as well as support from superintendents it needs FOUR YEARS of review. It all speaks for itself. I can’t comprehend how or why he is still in prison.
I went to God and confessed, yes, selfishly I WANT HIM HOME!!! But, forget about me. For the sake of Jacob!!!
How and why???
When I told him about the clemency announcement, he was hurt, but still he said, “God has brought me this far, he’s not going to let go of me now.”
That was the very thing, (other than his obvious beautiful physical body), I learned about him and absolutely fell in love with. His faith. His optimism. His longevity. His humbleness. Knowing JACOB ROUSE, the man not the news story, I am at a loss of words for why he is still there. If not for me, for him! He deserves it!
Our communities, more specifically the youth of our communities, deserve it. They need him! I learned during mission Sunday at our church that a youth pastor in the state of Pennsylvania mostly receives reports of suicidal thoughts. Our youth are struggling immensely!! Jacob’s testimony, wisdom, gift of encouragement, wisely used humor in the depths of sincere darkness, kindness, ability to transform the room and those in it with his genuine compassion, mercy, and love, could greatly impact these troubled youths. He’s done it already Inside of prison. There are so many letters that tell of the profound ways Jacob has moved and changed lives. His reach upon release would be far greater!!
But maybe that’s not what this world wants. Not with our recidivism rate (Check this out if you haven’t yet… https://youtu.be/GgclCm5IAEE). Not with our harsh sentencing laws. Not with the school to prison pipeline. Not with our current lack of second chance efforts. Clearly, clemency is not taken seriously when people have had applications in for years, and with more than 2500 applications, only FIVE are granted.
This morning my body is strong and feels healthy. It is my mind and heart that are suffering. For me, writing is release. It is dealing with the pain.
I am struggling this morning to understand the exceeding amount of suffering in this world. Mental health. Disease. Division. Death. Children. Adults. Families. Marriages.
I know I serve a God that is all knowing and all powerful. Why then is there so much suffering?
I just woke next to my beautiful and healthy three year old daughter. I hurt because I wish her father were on the other side of me. I realize my boys are not in the next room over, and I hurt some more. I roll to my side to hold tightly to the only other person in the house, and I am reminded that I have cancer because the port squishes tightly under my skin and I have to readjust. I begin to pray, as I did all through the night from very broken sleep, for my sister who is laying in a hospital bed in Florida seizing multiple times. Her husband watching, helpless and afraid.
It is hard to hold back tears. I choose not to. I do not need to deceive myself. I am hurting and hurt brings tears. Suppressing and numbing is how I have dealt with pain for decades, as the world has taught me crying shows weakness, or that it’s being a victim. Christanese has taught me that if you have the joy of the Lord, you don’t need to cry. Definitely we shouldn’t talk about it.
But I’m human. I’m made in the image of a God who cried. He wept. He hurt.
He also taught me that we live in a fallen world where tribulations are a guarantee. The pain and suffering can not be avoided even as a dearly beloved child of the most high God.
But, I can rest assured that it’s all temporary. Every bit of pain. Every bit of this world.
I pray that everyone reading this journal entry will find peace today in knowing that your circumstances; your ill health, your broken heart, your dwindling finances, ALL OF IT, is temporary. I pray that you lean into God and not the world to find comfort and rest, because His peace surpasses ALL understanding. I don’t need to try and understand it anymore. I just need to process the pain and keep walking forward with my eyes fixed on the grand prize that I KNOW I have already won. He has won it for me.
He’s won it for you too! You just have to choose to accept it. Totally free. No strings attached.
Peace, healing, and so much love to each of you here with us still today.
On a side note, this blog is internationally viewed, and some of you may not know that the Governor of New York, who has the power to release Jacob today and who also has pursued Jacob’s clemency application with great depth, has resigned and will be leaving office in less than two weeks now. It’s probable that you do know, but what you don’t is, that we have started a phone call campaign in support of Jacob’s release on clemency. Praying and believing that before Governor Cuomo leaves office he will grant clemency as to not have to start from ground zero with his replacement.
Could you kindly spare less than two minutes of your day by making a phone call and asking Governor Cuomo to “Please show mercy by granting Jacob Rouse (06A6364) clemency before you leave office.”?
Thank you for sharing your precious time with us. We are sincerely and eternally grateful.
God bless you all.
And here is to my beautiful SWMBFFL (Sister Who’s My Best Friend For Life) and her amazing husband. Could you please pray for them? I pray that the Doctors would have wisdom and a treatment plan that would help before any more damage is done to her physical body, that the seizures would stop and the root of them be discovered. That they both would be comforted with the peace that can only come from the Prince of Peace Himself. Thank you again!!
Today is the first day that I have woken up without that awful feeling that there’s nothing going in that won’t be coming right back up. Even my empty stomach was agitated enough to purge out something.
I am hoping the worst of the first treatment days are behind me. I wasn’t prepared for them. I was told by my oncologist that I would likely start feeling lousy a week in and then recover just in time to receive the next round. I was also warned that the chemo drugs I would receive were classified as “high risk” for nausea. Depending on the level of risk, steroids are prescribed along with anti-nausea’s to reduce symptoms. High risk patients are prescribed three days of steroids immediately following treatment day.
The stubborn, plant loving, all natural girl inside of me agreed that those prescriptions would not get filled. As of this writing, they have not. Instead, I have used ginger tea, ginger lozenges, and Rick Simpson Oil. It has worked very well, but the oil puts me straight to sleep, creating a pattern of nausea, oil and tea, sleep, eat, repeat. For three days straight.
This is probably exactly what my body needed. This beautiful pattern of basic essentials. Rest and nourishment.
The most difficult part about that is feeling like a missing mother.
My children were of course understanding and encouraging. Patient and kind. Helpful. Responsible. It is bittersweet. Bitter that so much responsibility is currently forced upon them at such young ages. Sweet that they are filling the roles so graciously. I am truly blessed.
Jacob has been strong and weak all at the same time. I see his weakness in the calling and emailing every single chance he gets (pre treatment we would only talk twice a day). I’m in no way complaining. It’s his only way of being here. He loves his wife. A cancer journey would make any loving husband weak, let alone a husband that couldn’t be there as the helpmate he is called, and desires, to be. His strength is shown in making a very heavy situation as light as possible by telling jokes, acting silly, or being as romantic as possible. Anything to make me laugh, because laughter really is good medicine.
I remain faith filled. God has already shown me He can do anything. As if Deegan weren’t miracle enough, I keep thinking back on that first day of treatment as I sat going over everything with my oncologist. Reviewing my pre tests, he said, “Your echocardiogram came back better than the last. Actually, so did your pulminary function test. In your previous echo, you had abnormalities. They’re gone. I don’t know how to explain that.”
I do. His name is Jesus. He is the author and finisher of my faith. He is the Chief Cornerstone. He is the Chief Physician. In Him I put my trust. Just as my God healed my heart AND lungs in time for me to receive treatment, He will make this family whole. He will heal every cell in my body. He will be glorified.
I can look in the mirror and already see the shrinking of the tumor in my neck. The dry cough, from the pressing of the cancer on the right lung, is gone.
My family is closer than ever. We, though separated by miles, are closer than many families living under the same roof.
All because of the living God within us.
It is by His grace. His mercy. His power. His strength.
Our surrender.
Have Your way. On earth as it is in heaven.
Thanks for continuing in this journey with us.
Prayers continue for Jacob’s expedited release, FULL healing to every cell in my body, and continued grace, peace, patience, and understanding for all three of our beautiful and precious children.
For every person blessing us with calls, cards, well wishes, finances, meals, support, prayers, etc…we pray for you too! THANK YOU!!!! It means more than we will EVER be able to share. It really does take commUNITY! Thank you!! We love you all.
The Diary of the Prison Wife has been something Jacob and I have talked about for months. I wasn’t really sure what to share, and then when cancer treatments started, it seemed to be the perfect timing. I hope to be a light, an encouragement, and even a faith lift for anyone walking a similar journey.
Even more, one day Jacob and I will return to this page on a cold morning, tea in hands, sitting beside each other on the couch, reminiscing about the temporary afflictions and giving praise to all God has carried us through.
Some of these very real struggles are endured unnecessarily as a man ready, willing, and able to come home and fully assist, continues to wait on a very slow political process to reach completion. It began for us four years ago.
This is not a place we write as victims, but as human beings that overcome by the grace of God. While we seek not empathy, we do covet your prayers! While the world falls apart and tribulation continues, God is our constant, Redeemer, and Strength. A very present help in our times of trouble.
Day 1 (of chemotherapy treatments) began about 4 am. Waking for third time, I gave up on sleep and decided to embrace the day. I did my best to prepare for something I could never have been prepared for.
I won some and I lost some.
Win: essential oils! “Peace and Calming” was my best friend when my heart rate slightly elevated after the last chemo infusion. I’m sure it was a total body shock. Used to herbs, vitamins, teas, and organic fruit smoothies, I was rapidly given a total of NINE pharmaceuticals. Five pre meds, four chemo drugs. I was asked to hang out an hour after the last round of chemo infusion, though I had already been there for nearly five hours. My heart rate showed after the hour that though it was still slightly elevated, it was stable. My wishes to go out in the sunshine at the comfort of my own sanctuary were honored with the agreement if it continued or worsened I would call back. As soon as I stepped in the warmth of the sun, and freshness of the air, it slowed.
Loss: sandals not sneakers! Wear sandals, so when God sends you a surprise massage therapist and you remove your shoes for a foot massage, you’re not too drunk from the Benadryl to put them back on to use the bathroom for the tenth time in a few short hours. While hydration is key, it’s somewhat forced by the weird dry mouth that I can only assume comes from one of the four chemo drugs. The relaxation the massage brought, was definitely worth the hard work of putting my shoes on. Thank you, Mary Anne!
Win: support person! While it’s like having a part time job and a huge sacrifice, the cancer patient is bombarded with information at the same time they are bombarded with harsh drugs. This is especially true for the very first treatment. I was so thankful to be able to look to my friend for backup and clarification. Please, if it’s in your power, and you have a family member or friend, give of your precious time to support them in some of the most trying days of their life. Thank you, Laura! I love you. We love you!
Loss: meal prep! I was told by my oncologist that most Lymphoma patients will “be hit” about a week after treatment. I was never informed what pre meds I would be given (even though I asked) until they were pulled out to give to me. The Benadryl hit me HARD! I remember laying there enjoying the massage, eyes closed, hearing my friend and therapist converse about homeschooling and the Lord. Two things I LOVE! I lay in the chair responding, but only on the inside. I couldn’t open my eyes or my mouth. I also heard the nurses say, “Good thing we didn’t give her the IV Benadryl, she’d be drooling all over herself.” They had a nervous suspicion of an allergic reaction to the first and “harshest” chemo drug when the back roof of my mouth, and throat began to itch. Thankfully it was a fluke. This Benadryl experience lasted until this morning, making doing much yesterday near impossible. I was blessed and thankful that the boys made their own food and left with Laura for youth group. Had I tried to take them, I would’ve been pulled over and ticketed with a DUI for Benadryl. I was blessed and thankful to be able to walk to the backyard and gather some fresh raw veggies to cut up for Sophia and I to have for dinner. Will definitely have a meal plan in place for next treatment day.
Things that I couldn’t prepare for,
Loss: Family support person. A no call/no show. As if the day wasn’t going to be trying enough, I started off with a broken heart. I immediately called in one of my best friends, who I knew was only a phone call and a few miles away. I picked up my prep bag and walked myself to the hospital, sobbing. I couldn’t even pray, so I called another support person who I knew would pray right then and there. My Spirit calmed inside me, and I went forward focused on the mission ahead!
Win: my nurse! She was extremely attentive, caring, comforting, and kind. She will be with me throughout the course of my treatment. This to me, is HUGE! She explained each step and answered all my questions. She respected and honored my wishes, while meeting the standards and protocol set by her employer. Thank you, Amy.
The greatest win of the day was when I was able to really have some quiet in my room. It was about half way through treatment. I began to internally pray, and the power of the Holy Spirit overflowed in me, even filling me with a song. He spoke comfort, reminding me that even if Laura couldn’t be with me, I still wouldn’t have been alone. His Presence was with me. Never leaving me nor forsaking me. I wept again, but this time from joy. The overwhelming love that I felt in that moment was intense. After this beautiful moment with God, right there in the chemo chair, I turned off the “educational” chemotherapy video I was supposed to watch and played the song God had put in my heart called ‘God with Us’ by MercyMe. (The video was telling of all the complications and side effects from chemo. I didn’t want to hear a word of it, because that’s not my story!)
The added pain of rejection and loneliness first thing in the morning could have been avoided if Jacob were home. He would be by my side every single step of the way. He would have had matching outfits for us, big signs and obnoxious party favors, all while watching over everything with his loving protection. I know because he’s done just that in the past on our Family Reunion Program “vacations.”
As I soaked in a hot bath, attempting to reduce the nausea caused by hyperemesis, Jacob would sit right there next me on the cold, hard floor. When I could only get sleep on the couch, Jacob would put on his sweatshirt and winter hat, and curl up on the floor next to the couch, allowing me to get all the rest. When I had pain in my neck, shoulders, and back from work, he searched the yard for rocks big enough to heat up in water to give me a hot stone massage. He would sacrifice everything he had to make sure I was okay. Always.
April 1st we were notified that the Governor’s office was looking more closely at our application. Clemency is a power that the Governor could use at anytime, though he typically waits until Christmas and New Year. Jacob Rouse is the exact candidate Clemency was designed for. With a severe need for his assistance at home, we are writing and praying for an expedited review and grant of approval.
Until then, we continue to walk in the hope of the Lord. We continue to ask that He grow us in the waiting. We ask His purpose for us in this season to be revealed. We ask Him to let us be a source of encouragement as we choose to declare the works of the Lord and walk in raw vulnerability, “so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the same comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.” (2 Corinthians 1:4)
The first scripture that was spoken between us was in the first hour of meeting, “We are MORE THAN CONQUERORS through Him who loved (and loves) us. Romans 8:37
Thanks for being here. God bless you.
Prayer requests: Jacob’s release to home. That if the Benadryl in my treatment can’t be omitted, that there would be a compromise on a lower dose. That the chemo is being used successfully in my body to destroy the cancer cells completely. THANK YOU!
On the anniversaries of the passing of legendary leaders, like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., I often reflect on their life and contribution to the world. I wonder how they would view the world today that they worked so hard to change for the better. I also reflect on how sad it was that they were taken away so soon.
Thoughts of those responsible for their death race through my mind and I begin to grow angry at these individuals. I have not forgiven the men responsible for the deaths of my heroes, even though these men lived and died before I ever existed.
Today marks the fifteenth anniversary of the tragic shooting of another hero, Mr. Herschel Scriven. From what I learned of Mr. Scriven, he was a remarkable man who gave back to his community through sacrificing his time in mentoring the youth and serving the Lord in his church. I gather that he changed many lives, even my own.
Tragically his life was snuffed out way too soon. I am partly responsible for his untimely passing. I drove the murderer responsible that fateful night. I became one of those men I vilified for senselessly slaying my heroes.
Today, instead of condemning myself, I have learned to forgive. I choose to remember who the man was, and how he changed so many lives for the better, especially my own. I am inspired by Herschel’s life and work. He has helped to transform my life and shown me what a man of integrity and honor looks like.
My heart aches for the Scriven family and all those who knew Herschel. Nothing I do could ever make amends for what I’ve done. Nevertheless, I will work the rest of my life trying to carry on the work Herschel set out to do.
I pray that you all have a measure of peace, and that God comforts your hearts as you reflect on the life and loss of your beloved. I am truly sorry for what I’ve done. I pray that one day soon I am able to show you the depths of my remorse and sorrow. May God bless and keep you in all things.
Before we begin this activism for Jacob in a whole new way, we want to acknowledge the horrendous loss that the Scriven family and the Rochester community lost when this senseless crime was committed against Mr. Herschel Scriven. His tragic loss is remembered and mourned daily.
We also would like to address the pain and remembrance of that dreadful night as we fight for our own justice. We sincerely and deeply apologize for the hurt those painful memories dredge up. We continue to pray for everyone’s healing and peace.
As we fight for a second chance, we want to point out that we are not innocent of a crime. We are guilty. That is obvious.
What we want our readers to know, is that Jacob is NOT GUILTY for the crime of murder.
March 9, 2006, fifteen years ago, respectfully, the lives of nine children would cross paths in life altering ways. All stories corroborate one another.
In one car, five children enjoyed life and family. They also loved God and served Him through service to His church. Their evening was spent enjoying dinner together and sharing excitement about the show they would be heading to later.
In a second car were the other four children. These children were lost and uncertain of themselves, thinking they were far more grown than they were, and delusional about what being a man was. They were determined to fulfill the role, so they set out to rob someone. That was tough, right? Tough is manly. That’s what the street will tell you, and that is where these children were from.
They drove around looking for just the right opportunity, hoping to get back those that had stolen from one of them. When the individuals in mind couldn’t be found, they continued to canvas the area for someone much weaker than themselves. They passed by single individuals who “didn’t look vulnerable enough.”
Determined to commit a “juke”, the boys passed a man walking alone, and decided he was the one.
Jacob, my husband, was the driver of this load of foolish children. He parked along the street, letting the other three out to pursue THAT individual. The two rear passengers, Antwon Owens and Brandon West, brothers, brought their own guns. In the trunk of the car, Jacob had an unloaded bb gun he’d had in there for months. The passenger seat child grabbed that gun.
Thinking they were stealth, the boys began following the man down the sidewalk. He was able to make it out of sight before these boys could act on their insane idea of manhood.
They lost him.
THIS right here, was the moment that any thoughts of robbery were thwarted and a new pursuit began.
Jacob’s three associates began to walk back to his waiting vehicle when Mr. Scriven began to back out of the driveway of one of his passengers. With the darkness of night and excitement about the show they were about to see, Mr. Scriven nearly hit West.
All nine children witnessed the near accident.
Acting on his own accord, West began walking to the driver window to confront Mr. Scriven about nearly running him over. The pistol that he was carrying was visible to the friends in the vehicle.
Terrified, they began to encourage Mr. Scriven to not stop, but get away as quickly as possible.
This was strike two in West’s book. If he had forgotten he was carrying a weapon, he didn’t anymore. He raised his gun, pointing it at the vehicle, he began firing.
Owens came to his brother’s aide, firing one round from the sawed off shotgun he carried. The shot went through the windshield and struck the driver. The vehicle went into drive and began to move forward, seeming as though they may get away to those outside of the vehicle.
Inside the vehicle was a different reality. A friend was hunched over the wheel, bleeding.
The car jumped the curb and came to rest in a neighbors yard.
Realizing what they had done, the gun yielding murderers ran back to my husband’s vehicle, demanding he get out of there.
Under the influence of alcohol and fear, Jacob chose to obey the demands and drove quickly and intentionally away from the crime scene.
Mr. Scriven, in critical care, fought for his life for the next five long and terrifying days. On March14, 2006 Mr. Scriven went home to be with His Lord and Savior.
Peace be with all who love and miss him.
As we begin publishing police and court documents, our goal is to show that the stories, though lived and experienced through individual perspectives and memories, tell the same story.
There was no victim that ever came forward to express they were the target of a robbery or an attempted robbery that night. Not even from Mr. Scriven’s vehicle.
All four passengers in his vehicle reported to police that West was almost struck, and THAT is when he began to approach their vehicle. NOT in attempt to to rob them, but to address the incident that had just occurred.
What ensued was a personal vendetta that West created in his pride and anger. He was only 15-years-old, and held no rationality. His actions forever changed the life of several others. He was never charged.
Statements taken from the defendants would be the only way police would ever learn of talks of robbery, which they would manipulate and use to their advantage. Those statements were taken with total neglect and denial for the presence of a requested attorney.
Today our fight is for a second chance. April will be FIFTEEN YEARS of incarceration. Those years have been spent in remorse, and personal growth and rehabilitation. Jacob has maintained a perfect institutional record, meaning no tickets or infractions against him. In 2006, Jacob, who had no previous record, would be held accountable for the actions of his associate and not his own. He left the scene of a crime, WITH the murderers!! Horrific. We know. Not innocent, but not a murderer. He never was, he never will be.
He has been held responsible by himself, as well as New York State, and we now request all the help we can get to free him from this hell that multiple generations are now suffering.
For the last four years Jacob and I have been working diligently on our clemency petition. I should state, Jacob has been working diligently on his clemency petition for the last 15 years. Last year we were blessed and privileged to be granted extra assistance from law students, attorneys, and journalism students in our honorable fight for clemency.
Clemency is a power of mercy the Governor holds to pardon individuals of their crime completely, or to release eligible individuals before their sentence is complete. The latter is called a sentence commutation. This is what we have been fighting for.
There are approximately 54,700 New York State prisoners. Last year Mr. Cuomo released SEVEN prisoners on sentence commutations.
A drop in the bucket.
Last year 2,518 clemency applications were brought to the desk of the Executive Clemency Board. Ours was one of them. It was our second petition submitted in three years. As our country faced a global pandemic, in which the Governor of New York held daily press conferences, men and women continued to languish inside filthy and over crowded prisons, where distancing was impossible and PPE was considered contraband. Visitations were suspended from March through August.
When visits reopened in August families were forced to endure harsh visiting guidelines, maintaining six foot distance, no kissing, and mask wearing throughout the visit. This was especially difficult on our sweet Sophia who had no understanding of why she couldn’t kiss her Daddy. Visits were split to every other day according to the first initial of the last name of the prisoner.
With much fewer tables for visiting, many times visits would be cut off after only a couple hours to make room for others. Weekends brought in buses from across the state, making very little room for us locals who could visit easier throughout the week. That allowed only 2 or 3 days of visits depending on the week. Usually meaning about 4 to 8 hours per week of visiting a loved one.
In October Elmira Correctional Facility began to have a surge in positive Covid tests, over 600 (about 1/3 of the population), including my husband. Visits were again shut down at this facility The rest of the facilities remained open and added that NO contact could be had at all. No hugs. No hand holding. NOTHING.
Further torment for families suffering this barbaric system.
The end of December brought another close to all visits statewide, leaving families to spend an arm and a leg on communication, bringing punishment upon punishment, as no one else in this country pays for telephone communications or emails.
The gross negligence the state has maintained of the prison population and their families throughout this incredibly stressful season has squashed faith, broken familial ties, and even left prisoners with no positive programs to participate in. For what do they have left to hope in? For what benefit do they have to walk a righteous path when those who have walked circumspectly for decades are left to face deadly conditions with no consideration from the state?
We have created a cruel and unjust system that deceives those not directly impacted with false ideologies of reform and rehabilitation. The system is a punishment system, with VERY little grace, mercy, or forgiveness.
The system is so corrupt that Jacob, who would now be free on a plea deal, has not received clemency even with 15 years of perfect behavioral incarceration and tons of state employed support.
Our family has been patient and kind as we consider the loss of life this case revolves around. We have shown remorse and respect to the family of the victim. Our will is to continue to show remorse and respect to that family, while declaring the truth and injustice of ours.
Justice is not a lifetime of burying others in pain because we are in pain. That is revenge.
We have decided to step out of this revenge and punishment to show the truth of this case via police statements and witness testimony.
We do not declare total innocence from a crime, but we do to the crime of murder.
Our family has endured enough pain for a lifetime. We have served our share of justice for the role Jacob had in the death of Mr. Herschel Scriven.
Justice, and not revenge, must be served. We will not sit quietly while we wait for the state to do the right thing, because as this pandemic has made, and continues to make perfectly clear, it is incapable of treating families of incarceration with the slightest amount of dignity and humanitarianism.
The news came to me on Christmas Eve while talking to a friend about dreams of a future with my wife and children. They included enjoying the holidays together. The hope of those visions occurring for us all was thwarted by the news that friend would soon deliver.
“Hey. You didn’t get clemency.”
He had heard the unfortunate news that Governor Cuomo had only granted seven people sentence commutation, better known as clemency, and I was not one of them.
I was taken aback at first and questioned the authenticity of what he said. After verifying it quite thoroughly I felt a numbness arise in me. It was the same feeling you get when you hear of a loved one passing. It was the feeling you get when all of your hope is deflated.
The hope of being home for the new year, or our daughter’s third birthday, and even caring for my wife who is battling Hodgkin’s Lymphoma were eliminated by the devastating news.
My wife, who has placed her life on hold for me for nearly seven years, sacrificing her own hopes and dreams, is all I thought about. How could I continue to make her suffer the daunting and challenging life that is being a prisoner’s wife?
I felt filthy, as if I had done some great indiscretion. Guilt consumed me, and ate away at any attempt of my heart righting itself with thoughts of love, overriding rationality. I felt that I had let my wife and children down by getting their hopes up in a system that is notorious for being unfair and partial.
I did not want her to continue to have to suffer, so I contemplated asking her to leave. I wanted her to abandon me and this awful life while she still could. I began to think that was the noble thing to do. I told myself that she deserved a life that brought her joy, and someone to share that life with.
I would no longer be her jailer.
She could be a free woman. In many ways, I saw it as me granting her clemency.
What is nobility? Or rather, who are we to deem what is the noble path to take when it regards another human life? Asking my wife to leave and salvage her life only seemed good on my end because of the hurt I felt. I was not thinking about how she would feel if I asked her to leave. I felt selfish. Asking her to leave was the easy way out of the pain I felt. It would cause her more pain telling her to quit and throw in the towel after all she had risked and sacrificed for me. I couldn’t do it.
I tried to work through the stress of the news, but it was so traumatic. I fell asleep that night in despair, the night of Christmas Eve, when despair from being away from my family is already consuming.
All hope was lost.
On Christmas morning I tried to put on a strong face. I tried to show joy on this most festive of days. I was desperate to speak to my wife on one of the only four phones for over fifty men to use in the block. I patiently waited for my moment, and as soon as I heard my wife’s voice my strong joyous visage crumbled. I became a mess. I could also hear the despair and sorrow in her voice. It was crippling. I could not encourage her. I too had hoped against hope and was let down. Again. I too was empty.
We both were absolutely crushed by the news.
We spent most of our call wallowing in the awful news that we were not recipients of clemency. I briefly spoke to our children about all the nice gifts they received, and how happy they were, but my mind was on the terrible news.
To me, this meant I was not worthy of mercy, nor of justice. It meant that I was unfit for clemency, and that those few who were chosen were more deserving than I. I felt forgotten. Overlooked. But more so, I felt like a failure.
Not to my own esteem, but to my wife and children who are far more deserving of my freedom. They are the ones who will truly suffer as a result.
Am I angry? Yes! However, I am far more hurting for my wife and children. Many don’t comprehend the hardships they face with having a husband and father in prison. It is a lonely existence. Our relationship is held together by infrequent phone calls, visits, and letters.
We are unable to connect and build strong family bonds in the ways most families are afforded.
Unfortunately, when the Covid pandemic hit those few life lines we cherished were further hindered. I have not seen my wife and children in months. Our visits, where we would be able to at least comfort and reassure one another of the love we share, have been eliminated.
We are struggling to maintain.
The devastating news we received on Christmas Eve hurt like hell, but it did not break us, nor did it make us stronger.
It was a blow that could not have hit at a worse time.
However, I know there is a God out there who is just and shows mercy. Although our hope of obtaining clemency is lost, we will create hope where there is none.
For God is merciful and just and it is in Him that we put our trust.
We fight on!
Clemency is a power the Governor can use at any time, for as many people as he chooses. Please let him know that he has forgotten Jacob Rouse and should grant him clemency today! Especially considering Elmira prison remains closed due to a pandemic and his family has been unable to visit for months. In fact, Elmira has been shut down far longer than any other prison in New York State.
I am the wheat, growing freely in the field. I am not your grain. I will not be gleaned by you. I will not be stored away, then stripped of my seed. They will not be beaten upon, tossed around, and grinded into flower.
I am the wheat, who’s seeds are free. Free to be blown by the gust of mighty winds to yonder. I will not be mixed with water, then molded into your dough. I refuse to be kneaded, beaten upon, and shaped into what you deem is righteous.
My flower will give life. My seed will grow in new fields, where they are respected and cherished. They will not be your dough, to be thrown in the ovens of change. Baked into a finished work of your desire. I will not be admired by you, then consumed, digested, then become your waste.
You will no longer receive your nutrients from me.
He sat on the bench waiting to be escorted to the outside hospital. He told the officer that brought him up, that he banged his head on the locker in his cell as he prepared a meal for himself.
Knowing his history of conflict, his story wasn’t too believable. Since a teen, he had been a menace in his community.
At fifteen, after almost being hit by a car pulling out of a driveway, he opened up fire on the vehicle. By a chance of pure luck, none of his rounds struck anyone. However, his brothers one round from a sawed off shotgun hit the driver in the skull. That young man died a few days later in the hospital.
The three other teens with him that night went to prison for a combined 75 years to life. He went home free.
One would assume that narrowly escaping a life sentence, would scare anyone straight and away from the life of crime. That wasn’t the case for him. In the past fourteen years alone, he has been sent to prison on three separate occasions. He was doing life on installment.
He now sat in the prison infirmary with a deep gash over his left eye. The wound was so deep he needed stitches. Because of the Covid-19 pandemic, new protocols were in play for prisoners being transported to and from the facility. Prisoners were now required to wear face masks and latex gloves.
As he sat on the bench, his hands and legs shackled together, he asked me to help tie his mask tighter as it was slipping down his face. At every sight of him my stomach churns. I remember that night and the horror that unfolded on Magnolia Street fourteen-years ago, because I was there.
I was one of the three sentenced to life for murder.
That night I had been hanging out with him, his brother, and another associate of mine. I saw the car almost hit him, and each one of his shots fire out of his pistol like a canon at the vehicle. I witnessed this behind the wheel of my car, nearly a block away. That night, we were in that neighborhood looking for the people responsible for robbing him of drugs and money.
For the past decade and a half, I have resented him for his actions, while taking accountability for my own. Our actions that night led to the death of an innocent man, Mr. Herschel Scriven. A pillar of his community.
At the time I saw him sitting on the bench, I had been eating a small bowl of pasta I made for dinner. My usual insatiable appetite began to flee as I stood before him. He looked small and helpless. Part of me pitied him, and part of me was furious. I blamed him a lot for why things happened that way, that night.
He opened up with some light pleasantries, and I entertained him, mostly hoping to keep distance and peace between us.
Nevertheless, he asked me a very penetrating question that left me stuck trying to answer it. “How has it been doing this bid?”
When I finally began to ponder the question I thought to myself, “How the hell do you think it has been doing THIS time for YOU? The audacity of this punk!”
I was angry.
I then realized that he just didn’t get it. And frankly, how could he?
He had been to prison three different times since that night, and was currently in for another violent crime.
I stumbled through a cliché response, trying to just move on.
Shortly thereafter he was escorted out to go on his trip. I remained behind the wall doing his time.
There was so much I wanted to say, so many things I wanted to show him. The true gravity of the situation. Like how hard it’s been raising three kids, with my wife, behind this wall. Trying to be a present husband to my wife who is battling cancer. Would he even be capable of comprehending this? I mean, he is a father himself. So I don’t know. I may never know.
This has been the third prison I’ve been in with him. The third time our paths have crossed. Reading this you may feel that I blame him for being in prison. It’s because I partially do. Yet, I still acknowledge MY ROLE in the TRAGIC events on that dark street fourteen-years ago.
A kiss. A hug. A foot rub. Holding hands. Our legs wrapped around one another’s. Always having to touch. This is my love language. Physical touch. I can’t get enough.
My love language is becoming foreign as days continue to pass by.
Today marks thirty.
Thirty days since I was last able to kiss my husbands lips. Thirty days since I was able to feel his strong arms squeeze tightly around me, revealing his intense love and gratitude. Thirty days since I was able to hold him as he held our daughter. Thirty days since our last “Sophie sandwich.”
I’m learning to speak a new language. A language Jacob was forced to develop over fourteen years of incarceration. Words of affirmation.
This feels even more foreign for me, as I am a “deed and truth” type of lover. “A-C-T, I-O-N, action boys action! That, with a little bit of dipping and clapping, was a cheer I shouted at the football field in high school.
Now, I shout it at my husband. A husband confined by prison walls. A husband greatly limited in his freedom of expression. Yet he tries. And he keeps on trying, even as I am cheering, and not in the way I vowed.
Shackled to the system, he is suspended from seeing his wife and children, “For his safety.”
So the best he has to offer are his words, received through the limited actions of calling me every chance he gets, writing letters, and most recently, sending emails. Nearly 6 years ago, this was exactly how we fell in love.
No visits. Just words.
But in prison, nothing comes for free.
Yes, everyone in America pays for postage on a letter. But only prisoners, the poorest people in America, pay for phone calls and emails.
And because my husband is a prisoner, I am a prisoner too.
So I pay for the phone calls. I pay to email him. I also have the option to pay to send him photos or video grams. He is not allowed that option. So I haven’t seen his handsome face in thirty days. The next time I am finally able to see it, I’m not letting it go. Not until they separate us, again.
I try to send videos of Sophia often, so he isn’t totally shocked and broken by her growth on our next visit. Date unknown.
Each of those thirty second videos cost four stamps. Stamps range from thirty cents to twenty-three cents, depending on how much you are able to spend on a package. Of course with good marketing, the more you spend, the more you “save.”
If you picked up on that, you’re right, thirty seconds of video costs anywhere from $1.20 to $0.92 to send.
As long as I pay my phone bill, I can send a thirty second video to all the people in my contact list for free. They will receive it almost immediately.
The videos I pay to send to my most cherished person, are most often received days after being sent.
Like the one we sent the evening before his birthday. The kids and I sang happy birthday to him, and blew out the candles on a cake made for him. A cake he would never have a bite of. He received the video a few days after his birthday.
I’m able to send emails a bit more frequently than videos, as each email only cost one stamp.
ONLY? Where I live, emails are free. Except for the prisoner. They pay for everything.
My prisoner makes $0.25 an hour working in the infirmary. While mostly he cleans and serves the men in this area, he often is required to clean the blood of another man left behind on cell floors. For TWENTY-FIVE CENTS PER HOUR.
One hour of work is not enough to pay for a single stamp to email his family.
He makes less than $16 every two weeks. It would take him an entire month of work to be able to afford the least expensive stamps. Which would then leave him with only a few dollars for any toiletries or food he needed.
Sending one email per day for a week, will cost him about eight hours of work.
The rest of our communication costs fall to me. The essentially single mother raising three kids on her own. One with a life threatening metabolic condition. As if that’s not financially straining enough, we are also currently and temporarily bearing the cost of fighting cancer outside of medical coverage.
As prisoners, in order to maintain our marriage, we must pay for otherwise free services to society.
Each thirty minute phone call costs $1.43.
When visiting regularly, we limited ourselves to one hour per day in phone conversation, as that was all we could afford. Now that visits have been restricted, one hour a day with your spouse is like a blink of an eye. Please, don’t get it twisted, we are GRATEFUL for ANY AND ALL time we have together.
But, the fact remains, families of incarceration face every day burdens that most people don’t know exist. As we cling to the threads of relationship we’re able to weave together with determination, we are exploited by a for profit system of punishment. Broke, in more ways than one.
Today was the first time in my life that I was unable to spend my birthday with a single member of my family.
This may sound selfish, and some may feel that because of where I am it is fitting. No matter what your opinion on the matter we all come from some sort of community that includes people who love and care for each of us. Birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays are just as significant to the ones we love as they may be to us.
They are moments in which we set apart time from our busy schedule to devote to those we hold in great esteem, to honor them and show them our love.
These moments most certainly should be spontaneous and happen more often than a few times per year, but for people like me, it is all we have.
I was fortunate to be the last person in this facility to be allowed to visit with his family on the Family Reunion Program. It’s a place where you are allowed just under two days to be with your family alone. My wife and children planned a whole day in celebration of my birthday. They prepared me a nice brunch and a hometown dish for dinner. Our sons acted as waiters, bringing the dishes to my wife, daughter, and I. They were such gentlemen, and I was so moved by their act of love.
Today, I miss those wonderful boys, along with my precious daughter and amazing wife. I love thinking on times like those. They get me through the dog days of being confined.
Today my community is filled with people who I do not share blood with, nor close bonds, but we came together as if we did and broke bread. For most people behind bars this is a common experience.
Camaraderie grows when there is a shared struggle.
This is present beyond these walls at a time like this, where millions of people are confined but are building connections with total strangers abroad. This struggle is bringing many in our divided nation together. It may be the one good thing that comes from this trial.
I usually stand at the gate until I see the blue van that holds my family disappear. Waving goodbye and blowing kisses to my wife and children as they return to their normal lives.
I am always thankful for the time we shared, but always saddened that our time together has come and gone so quickly.
After the van vanishes behind the large blue gate to the outside world, I return to the unit to do my last minute tasks. I wash a few cups my children drank orange juice from, plates they ate cinnamon buns off of, and wipe down the table where my two year old daughter smashed berries into.
I always try to bury deep the anxiety and sadness I feel from seeing them leave.
Trying to return to prison with that energy on you can send you into a deeper depression. I run through my mind the events that need to be done before the day is through, so as to not think on missing them. I walk from room to room making sure nothing was left out of order, then I see the Barbie dolls my daughter slept with through the night. It’s impossible to compartmentalize the joy you feel from finally building a connection with your own child.
For the past two years I have been fortunate enough to see my daughter on a weekly basis, despite it being for a couple short hours here and there. So many memories of her life have been in the visiting room of this prison. From finding out we were pregnant with her, discovering her gender, to her first steps in the children’s area. Unfortunately, like the rest of the world, our lives have been greatly altered by the Covid-19 pandemic. I am now unable to even hold my daughter because of the cancellation of visits throughout New York State Department of Corrections. Whether or not I am for or against the ban on visits is not the case. It is the toll that events like this have on the bond a father and his young daughter are trying to build in already restrictive circumstances.
Social distancing is a fact of life for those confined and their loved ones.
We can never grow tired of one another’s presence, because those moments are too few and far between, and too near and dear to our hearts.
I long to do the dishes, clean the bathroom, or simply take out the trash for my wife. Anything to lighten her load. These chores we commonly dislike, are opportunities to show our love for those we care for. A well cooked meal, a foot rub, or even making a cup of coffee. These are all chances to show our love.
Every forty-five days I get that opportunity, however, the next time I will be able to do so depends on the ban that further separates us.
If you are in a position to show love, do not hold it back. Do not wait to share it. Discover a way to bless those you care for now. For if we can love today, why wait until tomorrow, which is not promised. If you live for purpose, love for one too.
It’s been an insane couple of weeks. The insanity spread and increased rapidly. It became consuming and distracting as I instinctively went in to warrior mode on my husband’s behalf.
That’s what love does, right? It drives us to action.
But sometimes that action increases the madness. It leads us further away from the solution, into a pit of helplessness and despair.
After writing to multiple news outlets, the Governor, reform organizations, and posting like a mad woman on social media, there was no ground gained. Fumble.
I still want my husband home. He still deserves to be home. He still works hard to make himself a better man, and a highly eligible candidate for sentence commutation. But it’s been three years, and we still wait. Maybe it’s because we have waited, but not still. Ya feel? We’ve acted. Pursued. Pushed. Cried. Fought. Pleaded. Begged. We still wait. We need to wait, still. (Psalm 46:10)
I took a break today to return a phone call from days ago. The woman I called has been a tremendous blessing to our family, in many, many ways. She asked how our car situation was, and I was happy to tell of the goodness of God.
Six months ago the engine in our car died. It was another stressful ordeal. I, of course, began to try and solve the problem myself. I looked ahead to put together the finances and determined I had it all figured out. But the sources I was depending on, the yes that I was given, was revoked and all that I put together fell apart. Devastated, I tried to figure out what to do next. I had no idea.
I surrendered. I FINALLY, after so much unnecessary heartache, gave it over to God. My Provider. Oh, what I could’ve saved myself from if I’d only done this in the beginning. I was able to share that after only two days of full surrender I received an email that changed our whole carless situation. A minivan was gifted to us by someone I’d not yet had the privilege of meeting. It was the exact make and model we had been hoping for. A gift.
When I shared this testimony with her, she reminded me that I should be doing the same thing with my husband. Surrendering his case for freedom to God, who is able.
How many times will I learn the same lesson?!
I often remind God of the Mumford lyrics, “I walk slow.” I do. He knows that.
After the phone call, I sat down to read my Bible.
Psalm 146
Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord, O my soul! While I live I will praise the LORD; I will sing praises to my God while I have my being. Do not put your trust in princes, nor in a son of man, in whom there is no help. His spirit departs, he returns to his earth; In that very day his plans perish. Happy is he who has the God of Jacob for his help, Whose hope is in the LORD his God, who made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them; who keeps truth forever, who executes justice for the oppressed, who gives food to the hungry. The LORD gives freedom to the prisoners. The LORD opens the eyes of the blind; the LORD raises those who are bowed down; the LORD loves the righteous. The LORD watches over the strangers; He relieves the fatherless and widow; but the way of the wicked He turns upside down. The LORD shall reign forever-Your God, O Zion, to all generations. Praise the LORD!
I have put my hope in princes. In man. Man has many times failed me. God never has.
The reign of the wicked will not last forever. But the reign of God shall.
God has gifted us with an attorney, and two amazing law students. God is making the way. He is preparing the road before us. Our road, as evidenced right now, has potholes and areas of darkness, but we know it is only temporary. We only need to daily surrender. Moment by moment, surrender.
We will not stop sharing our story, our talents, our hopes and dreams. We won’t stop being a voice for the voiceless. What we will do is surrender, we will be still and know that He is GOD. We will praise the LORD. He alone is our hope.
Eleven days ago I rushed out the door of our “trailer” visit, trying not to inconvenience the officer there to take us out. We’d told him that we needed to get to our homeschool co-op by ten that morning. Usually, we would take a couple minutes to give multiple rounds of hugs and kisses by the van, as we said goodbye for now. This time around, we pecked a couple times, gave a brief hug, and rushed in the waiting vehicle.
Little did we know, that would be the last time we would see each other indefinitely.
I look back both with regret, and also immense gratitude. I regret that I put anything above our very precious time together. That I didn’t slow down and embrace the gift of the moment. We said our goodbye as if we knew with certainty we would see each other again in a few days. However, I feel completely favored that we were the very last family to go out on those privileged visits. (And our hearts mutually break at the thought of those families whose visits were cancelled, if only temporarily.) I’m so thankful that the last time we were together was spent in privacy. All together.
We were able to celebrate Jacob’s birthday in a special way. He and I pretended to go out to a restaurant for dinner. We sat next to each other at the round table in the small kitchen, as our kids waited on us. They took our order and filled our plates with the Rouse version of the Rochester garbage plate. That’s what Jacob asked for, that’s what Jacob got. We enjoyed the meal, and then moved in to the living area of the unit to dance together.
That wonderful night feels like decades ago. I miss my husband so much it hurts.
We have found it difficult to talk about that time together, or anything else for that matter, as we have been consumed with the global “pandemic.” We have been forced to have difficult conversations. We have prepared to not be able to have any conversations. We have created plans and preparations to endure what might be a long and lonesome journey through this state of lockdown. Each of us consumed with concern for the other.
Jacob is amazing at focusing on hope, gratitude, and being optimistic. He’s got joy. Real joy. Endless amounts of joy. One of the reasons I fell so deeply in love with him. He does everything within his power to pull me up there with him when I’m looking toward the gloomy storm. God provided me with an amazing, loving, selfless, patient, gracious, kind, gentle, humble partner. I feel so honored.
His joy has not faltered through any of this uncertainty we currently face. His joy has remained despite the lack of care his Clemency application has received over the last three years.
Perhaps, God has the greatest birthday gift for him. Perhaps, God will move the heart of the Governor to do justice and love mercy. Perhaps Governor Cuomo will fairly, and with due process demand his Clemency Board to remove all men that are eligible and well supported in Clemency to be sent home. Especially considering the devastation that awaits the New York State prison system.
Perhaps, I will be able to dance with Jacob here, in our home, isolated together, in safety. Locked down in love.
People struggle being locked down for one week. Jacob has been locked down for the last 14 years. Charged as a murderer. A murderer who wasn’t even on the scene. A murderer who didn’t even have a weapon.
I pray he isn’t murdered by the hands of the state, who threatens thousands of lives with their inaction in the face of potential catastrophe.
Our joy remains. Our love remains. Our hope remains. Our God remains.
Please, if you feel led to call, Governor Cuomo can and should release Jacob Rouse and others like him, immediately. You can ask him to do so by calling 1-518-474-8390.
Thank you for being here with us. Keep your joy! God remains.
My husband and I are coming up on our four-year spiritual anniversary. We’ve written about this special memory in previous blogs. It’s a date we love to celebrate even more than our legal wedding anniversary.
In a short recap, Jacob and I determined to make a binding commitment before God to love one another for eternity. We needed no other witness, no piece of paper, and no ceremony to tell us we were married. We sat in the visiting room of Attica Correctional Facility and made vows, with God as our only witness, to enter the holy marriage covenant. It was us and God against the world. Love conquering all.
We couldn’t fathom the ways in which our vows would be tested. Our love was so fresh and impenetrable.
It still is, and always will be, impenetrable. However, our armor has some dings in it after four years. The world has thrown some fiery darts our way. So has the system in which we are currently and temporarily obliged.
It is a system claiming to promote strong familial bonds, while it’s very structure mocks that claim. We have witnessed the beast devour families, all the while threatening ours.
We’re proud and determined as we enter our fourth year of Godly marriage.
It’s incomprehensible that four years have already passed. Time truly does fly. Yet, it doesn’t go fast enough when you look ahead to when walls won’t physically separate you.
It is a battle in itself to not rush God. We trust in His timing and His plans. We trust in our individual purpose, as well as our marital one. We are on the mission field every day, thankful to be used, longing for the day we’re holding hands both spiritually AND physically in the field.
With that being said, my gift to my husband this anniversary is a whole new fight. A fight for his truth. His justice. His freedom.
It has been more than a year since we have sent application to the Governor of New York requesting clemency. It has been more than two years since his name was recommended by a now retired superintendent. Yet we wait in a process so slow the tortoise and the hare have finished the race.
Currently you can read one-sided, sensationalized, false, media stories about who my husband is and why he is incarcerated. It is beyond time that truth prevails.
My gift to Jacob, my gift to our marriage, my gift to our children, is a diligent fight for freedom.
Lord, help us! We trust You in this endeavor, in our marriage, in our family, and in our predestined mission. We love and trust You in all things, in all ways, for always!
Please join us in our quest for truth and justice. Hit the follow button on the right hand side of this page. Thank you, and stay tuned!
The House That Rouse Built 