Part V: Duct Tape! Duct Tape! My Kingdom for Some Duct Tape!

Susan McCorkindale
4 min readSep 23


Photo by Jackson Simmer on Unsplash

During the 13 days my son was in jail, I kept wondering why the attorney wasn’t doing more to get him out. I kept calling and asking. Asking if he or his associate had visited my son. Had they told the prosecutor of my son’s autism? Had they explained that, while he looks like a real, live, 31 year-old man, his mind is that of a 13 year-old? Did they explain that to the prosecutor? And if so, why was this person so bound and determined to delay a bond hearing for as long as possible?

My gut said they’d explained nothing. My gut also said that, while this man was a good attorney, he was not the right attorney.

I had to find the right attorney and I had to find him or her fast. The longer my son stayed in that cell, the more his mental health would deteriorate. To say nothing of my own.

I was pretty much losing it.

When I wasn’t sick to my stomach at the thought of my autistic kid sitting in a jail cell surrounded by God knows who, I was angry. Angry that zero was being done to get him out of that jail cell. Angry at him for getting himself put in a jail cell.

And really, really angry at him for screwing up my life.

I was still in Florida at this point, waiting to find out the date of the bond hearing and planning to fly to Virginia a few days prior. Could I have flown up earlier, like almost as soon as the door slammed on my kid’s cell? Yes. But I didn’t want to.

What I wanted was for all of this to go away.

I don’t know how to even begin to explain what getting my son through his life has cost mine.

There’s so much to unpack when it comes to my kid. It’s as if all the wires in his brain are there, but they make the wrong connections. I could give you two dozen examples, but writing about them makes me cry, so I’ll give you this one:

My son never. stops. talking. As I’ve said previously he sleeps a lot. But not nearly enough. He can talk for an hour, sometimes more, at a clip, never noticing that I’m falling asleep or that I’ve started to cry from frustration and exhaustion.