01/19/2026
One time I was booked into the T.C.J., aka Tippecanoe County Jail. My regular visit, lol, was far from regular. Mind you, this was January 2020. A woman I knew very well died right in front of me over the course of a few days. I helplessly watched her begging the guards for help, or rather, I watched the other ladies begging the guards to help her. They refused. A nurse finally came after three days of asking for help. She stood in the metal doorway with her crash cart and said, “Bonnie…. Bonnie…. get up….. or don’t, but if you don’t, I won’t be back to check in on you.” Three ladies started to pick Bonnie up, but the nurse said, “No, ladies, back off. I need to see her sit up on her own.” Bonnie lay struggling to breathe, limp, lethargic, and, we believed, in and out of consciousness. Finally, the nurse walked in toward the back of the cell and stood over her almost lifeless body, saying, “Bonnie, hello…. Bonnie.” Bonnie took every bit of her strength to try to sit up but just couldn’t. She leaned a little upward and fell back. The nurse turned around toward the cell door and said, “She is fine. Stop hitting the buttons, ladies!” The sound of the keys locking the cell door confirmed what we knew was probably now her fate. I yelled across the cell, “Yo, Bonnie, if anything happens to you, I’ll make sure your boys know how much you love them. I’ll make sure the news knows the truth.” She mumbled, “I love you, kid.” Later that night, the women who had been classified and had already gone through the lice check were taken to the back of the jail division. They split the women up into two bigger pods in the back until they 1. bonded out, 2. finished their sentence, or 3. went to court and were sentenced to DOC or county time. Classification called our names one by one, but Bonnie just lay there; she couldn’t move. The guard and nurse did the famous blood pressure check on her and tried to get her to roll over. After that, they had all the girls head out of the cell. They walked us to the back and gave us our assigned rooms. A few hours later, at med call, I saw Bonnie lying on a slab of cement that led to the commander’s office in D-Pod. Bonnie’s lifeless body was frail, purple, and limp, left in the cold. I was outraged. I yelled her name; there was no response. I yelled again; still no response. The guard snapped, “Cut it out!” I yelled one more time, “Bonnie, Bonnie, come on, baby, you got to fight this, please, Bonnie.” But it was too late. I knew she was gone, and so did everyone who passed her lifeless body. The next day, D-Pod was on lockdown for 23 hours. They asked for anyone involved or who may have helped her or hit the button to write on a white card what we saw or witnessed and turn it in. At least 10 women gave statements. Of course, nothing happened to the jail, the staff, or the nurse! Smfh. Bonnie, rest in heaven. This one is for you! The article I’ve posted mentions another inmate who died that day as well. Rest in paradise, both of you.
