The Anger of a Mother
By Ruby Martin
My name is Ruby. I live in Douglasville, and I’ve been married to my husband Danny for 22 years. Before that, I was married to Roy for 27 years, and together we had five children—three boys and two girls.
In January of 1979, my oldest son was arrested on very serious charges. That moment shattered my world, and nothing has been the same since.
Disbelief, Guilt, and Anger
At first, I simply could not believe it. This had to be a mistake. My son? No, not him. But it wasn’t a mistake—it was real.
Then came guilt. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I asked myself over and over, *Was this my fault? Did I work too much overtime? Was I too distracted by my failing marriage? Did I miss something I should have seen?*
And finally, the anger. At first, not with God—I prayed constantly, asking Him to hold my mind together through the pain. But anger still burned inside me. I was angry with myself. I was angry with my son—how could he do this when I raised him in church, when he knew I loved him? And I was angry with my husband, who drank and gambled instead of setting an example. My marriage ended, though I still cared for my husband until his death just months later.
Love Stronger Than Anger
Even through the anger, love remained. Love for my children, love for my son, love for God. I could not abandon my son. He needed to know that his family was still with him, even if the world had turned away.
God answered my prayer for strength. He carried me through those days one step at a time—sometimes one hour at a time. With the help of Al-Anon, a sponsor, and prayer, I found the strength to go on.
A Son’s Transformation
Over the years, my son grew—not just older, but wiser, stronger, and faithful. He went from an eighth-grade dropout to nearly completing a bachelor’s degree in business education with a 4.0 GPA. He found God. He worked to be the best man he could be, even behind prison walls.
In 2006, after years of preparation, he was moved to a Transition Center and was just days away from release. Then, in a cruel twist, charges from 1979—left untouched for 28 years—pulled him back into prison.
The anger returned. This time at the system. At the courts, the prosecutors, the endless delays. But even in the pain, I saw God’s hand. Through retreats for families of the incarcerated, I found community, healing, and the reminder that I was not forgotten.
My Prayer Today
For years, my prayer was simple: *God, please don’t let my son die in the electric chair.* God answered that prayer.
Today, my prayer has changed: *God, please let my son come home before I am too old, so that we can spend time together as a family once more.*
Until that day, I hold fast to the truth that God hears me, and that His love is greater than my anger.