Autumn is my father’s favorite time of year. The heat is no longer unbearable, the leaves are radiant with color and the vegetables my parents have nurtured since the spring are ready to be picked and savored. This fall our Lord had something a little different in mind for Dad.

On August 23, over 90 men and women were arrested for participating in an Operation Rescue at the Morgentaler abortuary in Toronto. Dad was one of the twelve “terrorists”—to quote Judge Silverman who tried the rescuers—who refused to comply with the condition, which would have granted him release; in good conscience, he could not promise that he wouldn’t again attempt to block the entrance of 85 Harbord Street.

Married

Of the men who felt called and able to remain in prison, I believe Dad was the only one who was married.  This fact caused many friends and acquaintances—uneasy with Operation Rescue—to criticize him for what they saw as insensitivity to my mother. They would murmur, “Did he discuss this with Rita?” or, “How could he leave her alone like this? Or, “Surely there are younger, single candidates for such protests.” These comments were not meant to offend; they likely stemmed from defensiveness or that familiar pang of helplessness that can be so immobilizing.

The truth is, my mother and every one of my brothers and sisters were behind Dad completely. This did not preclude us, however, from experiencing doubt in weaker moments. Dad’s incarceration was particularly stressful to our mother. Suddenly her partner of forty-five years wasn’t beside her at morning Mass, or enjoying her cooking, or discussing the day’s news with her. Even though her eldest granddaughter came over each night to “granny-sit,” Dad’s absence in that big, old house made it a lonely time.

We invited Mom to our homes so that she could see Dad twice a week—the limit of visits to prisoners. These were brief twenty minutes and made all the more difficult because of the glass barrier which prevented physical touch. Nevertheless, they sustained her.

Bad dream

From the morning of his arrest, throughout the initial days that the prisoners of conscience were held in the Don Jail and on into their extended stay at the Mimico Detention Centre, Dad’s incarceration seemed unbelievable. Like a bad dream. The week prior to his arrest our entire family was reunited, which doesn’t happen often. As my husband was loading up our car to leave, I remember watching Dad. He looked preoccupied, pensive. As we exchanged goodbyes, I asked him to be careful on this next Operation Rescue. He said “This is going to be a big one, so keep us in your prayers.”

He was right. Bell Canada made a fortune from our family that week with numerous calls between our homes in Arizona, Washington, Elmira, Erin, London and Belleville. What was it like for us? We know that the Rescue day itself is long and tiring, although spiritually uplifting. Dad’s legs get so weary from standing in the holding cells. We worry about him in this respect.

Conditions

In keeping with the prayerful and silent nature of Rescue, Dad does not argue with the pro-abortionists, nor does he resist arrest. He does shoot piercing glares directly into the eyes of the police who guard the abortuary. Having witnessed their obvious discomfort from his quiet scrutiny, we worry that the police might get back somehow, perhaps in the way they toss him into the paddy wagon.

Several days went by before our mother received a phone call from Dad. Prior to this we heard reports of what conditions the prisoners of conscience were enduring—the strip searches, the presence of druggies and the delays in medical attention, etc., from those who were gradually being released. The experiences in “The Jungle” at the Don Jail and the treatment of the women Rescuers were hair-raising. Once assigned to Mimico, Dad was permitted to phone out during certain hours. In the background we could hear the constant ruction of the inmates swearing at each other and the guards shouting orders. One poor soul in “the hole” nearby was hallucinating and could be heard wailing, endlessly it seemed. We learned that a stabbing in one of the cells necessitated the prisoners of conscience to be transferred to another location, only to be returned in the middle of the night. All of this was worrisome.

Children

There were other feelings associated with this ordeal as well. Like guilt. Here was our aging father making this sacrifice while we able-bodied children were really just observing, encouraging him from the sidelines. We all felt disbelief that this was happening, mixed with shame when we’d forget throughout the busyness of our day that he was sitting in that jail.

Of course there was tremendous frustration. We were angry to realize that our Dad-a respectable, intelligent man- was being punished for defending the very values that this country was built on. We kept thinking that he should be sitting at the head of the kitchen table enjoying a glass of wine, reading his political and religious periodicals, discussing the affairs of the world with anyone who stopped in. He should be busy out in his workshop or at the farm digging up potatoes. He should be at strategy meetings and working to get our parish more actively pro-life.

Nation

There is genuine sadness too, that this is Canada moving into the 1990’s. A country where our politicians, judges doctors, church people and mothers allow—in fact ensure—that unplanned babies will die. This is where good, God fearing citizens are being persecuted for trying to turn that evil tide.

The acceptance of this reality, however did not lead us to despair. Indeed the faith and will power of the prisoners of conscience gave us hope. We were glad for the opportunity Dad’s actions gave our family to spread the word. Once I took my five month-old baby to visit his grandpa at Mimico. I’ll never forget the guard unlocking that huge, metal door which permitted us to talk with that silly glass partition between us. Somehow, seeing Dad in his blue prison garb, looking slightly more thin, pale and haggard as always gave me all the courage I needed to tell perfect strangers where he was and why. I wrote more letters, talked to various priests and two bishops about our needed response to abortion, raised the issue of this crisis to MPs at a wedding I attended and spoke to my hairdresser, grocer and anyone who would listen. My mom and every one of my brothers and sisters felt able to do the same because our loved one was risking far more in his assertion on behalf of the unborn. We could not allow his imprisonment to be in vain.

I did not explain this to everyone who asked, “Just what is Ray being in jail accomplishing?”, but Operation Rescue is a very prayerful tactic. The participants plead for God’s direction and intervention continually. It made sense, therefore, that Dad’s jail stint was one way for him to atone for our family’s sins of omission, for all that we have not done personally to help fight this battle. His repentance was accompanied by a sacrifice that not all of us could or would make.

There is no question in our minds that what our father did was right and good, Each of us felt proud of Dad and all the other brave men and women who were arrested on August 23.

Genvieve Carson is the daughter of Dr. Ray Holmes of Brampton, Ontario.