There’s an annual conference of death penalty abolitionists organized by the National Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty (www.ncadp.org). For years there were two elderly women who attended faithfully. I’m embarrassed to say that I don’t remember their names. But I can see their faces quite clearly in my mind’s eye. Both were from South Carolina. One white, one Hispanic. “Death row mothers” we call them. They came to the conference seeking community, chasing hope. They seemed to gravitate to me, as if I had some secret formula for rescuing a family member from the death penalty. I could see my own mother’s sadness reflected in their eyes. I always kept them in my prayers. But I haven’t seen them in a few years since their sons were executed.
 
I have closer friendships with mothers of murder victims – with Marguerite Marsh (mother of Catherine) who is like a second mother to me; with Janice Grieshaber (mother of Jenna) a member of NYADP’s Board of Directors and a tireless champion of nonviolence; and with Wanda Rieger (mother of Melanie) who, along with her husband Sam, founded the Melanie Ilene Rieger Conference Against Violence in Connecticut. My heart aches when I think about their losses.
 
Men adore their mothers. Violence is predominantly a male issue. Why is there such a disconnect between men’s aggressive impulses and our understanding of the consequences?
 
My mother will be 93 years old this coming Thursday. I doubt very much that I will live to be 93, but I do hope to outlive my mom. Losing one son is already too much for her to bear.
~David Kaczynski