The sweet smells and tastes of a holiday kitchen include cookies baking in the oven and chocolate batter licked from a spoon. The experience is a hundred times more pleasing when you've had to wait for it nearly 30 years.
For Nikki Diamond, putting the icing on sugary cookie treats shaped like camels is an extraordinary ordinary moment. Diamond 54, was paroled from California Institution for Women in Corona in mid-November, following 28 years in prison for aiding in the murder her abusive boyfriend committed.
Today, though, bright blue eyes sparkle through a face that's weathered years of remorse, disappointment, waiting and hoping. She's savoring each moment with other women on parole who are living together in the Crossroads transitional home in Claremont.
"We've been sharing a lot of firsts together. I appreciate the excitement, gratitude and bonding that takes place here," says Diamond, who knew for the past decade where she would go if she was ever paroled, having been guaranteed a room at Crossroads.
A safe home to live in is key to restarting life for Diamond and other residents of Crossroads, directed since 1975 by Sister of St. Louis Terry Dodge. A second Crossroads home in Pomona means 12 women have a secure place to live for up to six months as they reintegrate themselves into society, take classes to train in new skills and find jobs.
In exchange for free rent, food and mandatory programs to help them stay clean and sober, the women must save 75 percent of everything they earn. When they move out, they'll be able to use that money toward expenses like first and last month's rent on an apartment.
The Claremont home, a few blocks from Claremont School of Theology, is a spacious two-story dwelling with a large kitchen and dining room, perfect for holiday cooking. Last week, a group of women (residents and staff) chatted with each other as they took turns using bags of colorful icing to turn plain cookies bright green with red and yellow dots for ornaments.
At Crossroads, 80 percent of the woman living in the home at least three months will successfully complete their parole. That compares sharply with state statistics showing that 47 percent of men and women released from prison will violate their parole terms and be sent to prison again, and that another 12 percent will commit new crimes and get new sentences.
"When you are surrounded by people who are going to hold you accountable in a loving environment, change can take place," says Sister Dodge.
Determined to stay clean
It's not hard to understand why so many other women get back into trouble. A relapse into alcohol and drugs sent Maritza Sorrentino's life into a tailspin and ultimately into criminal behavior. She spent five and a half years in Valley State Prison for carjacking that involved a kidnapping charge.
Upon her parole she was given the standard $200. She spent $55 on bus fare from Chowchilla to Claremont. The cab to the hotel was $12, and a room cost her $54 because she had no identification. Her first meal at Burger King cost her $5 and Sorrentino was left with $74.
The next day she went to a relative's house hoping to spend a few days there, only to find out it had become a drug house. Sorrentino left and spent two nights sleeping in a park. Then she paid a friend $30 to let her spend the night. As her money dwindled fast, Sorrentino desperately called her parole officer and others to help her find a place to live, but options were scarce. She was down to $3 and not eating.
Then she found out about Crossroads. She phoned and pleaded with Sister Dodge to give her a chance. It was two days before Thanksgiving.
"Sister Terry opened her arms to me even though I was dirty. She gave me a room and told me, 'You don't have to worry, you're in a safe place,'" Sorrentino says through tears. "God put her in my path."
Sorrentino, with her face in her hands, weeps again as she considers what might have happened to her had she not found Crossroads. Sister Dodge knows what happens. Most women on parole have few job skills. They often go back to abusive husbands or dysfunctional family environments. There are fewer services available for women, and the stigma for women in prison is even worse than for men.
"They break that stereotype of mom and apple pie," says Sister Dodge.
But Sorrentino is determined. She attends Alcoholics Anonymous meetings at a local church at 6:30 a.m. seven days a week. At age 41 she hopes she can piece together a new life. She and her estranged husband talk often by phone. Her mother is taking care of two of her children in Puerto Rico. Someone else has custody of her third and youngest child, and Sorrentino will have to go to court to try and get the child back.
"Making amends with your past wreckages is the hardest thing," she says. "I failed as a mom, daughter, wife and ultimately as a woman. But Sister Terry doesn't allow that. She says, 'You can do it. You have to do it.'"
Already Diamond is doing gardening, handyperson and domestic work. She hopes to find work in the drug and alcohol recovery field.
"If people could realize what a great asset we could be to them, I think the stigma might be set aside," she says.
Every evening the women eat dinner together at 6:15. Then they participate in support groups or one-on-one counseling. They learn anger management, critical thinking skills and personal responsibility. Sister Dodge prays with them. They watch movies together in the cozy living room with a brick fireplace. Sorrentino likes to journal. Lora Mae Balajadia knits.
Balajadia, who spent 10 and a half years in prison for burglary, says parole is about shredding the prison mentality --- in her case, lack of trust and a bad temper. "If someone invaded my space, I wouldn't give an inch," she says.
At Crossroads she has struggled to follow house rules and says she knows she needs the discipline, even if she resisted at first. Sister Dodge, she observes, is both loving and firm.
"She never gave up on me and that's what I appreciate so much. Because of that, I'm becoming a much better person," says the mother of four teens and young adults.
A faith-based environment, the women will learn to forgive themselves as they begin again. They hope the community will too.
Neighbors on this tree-lined street are supportive by bringing food and clothing. And the women give to the community by serving lunch on Fridays at the senior center and calling out the Bingo games.
"They are so happy to see us, and they pass no judgment," says Sorrentino.
More homes like Crossroads would ensure that women successfully break the addiction and victimization cycle that landed so many of them in prison. But California budget cuts are squeezing funding for transitional houses.
Sister Dodge says what she's doing is "basic stuff" in providing women a safe place to live, food, clothing, and support.
"I'm not doing anything out of the ordinary. It's so sad that people see this as extraordinary work," she says.
Diamond says for years she kept a pencil sketch of the Crossroads house in her cell, often praying, "Oh, Lord, please let me make it home." That drawing helped her to persevere. "This represented home to me, the place where I could start my freedom walk." For more information about Crossroads, call (909) 397-0103. |