“My punishment for error is too great to carry…from your face I shall be concealed.” (Genesis 4:13,14)
Since the beginning of time, when Cain killed his brother Abel, the human conscience has been revealed through man’s transgressions—none, however, more profound than the day I was arrested for murder on January 10, 1981. Locked in solitary confinement, I faced the moment of truth; a place where voices of the night cry out for redemption and the branches of the gallows tree wait patiently for the ropes of justice.
I learned at a young age that rules were not meant to be broken. My God-fearing parents instilled in me a strong sense of humility, coupled with a strict adherence to the law. Thus, I grew up with no criminal record until the age of 19 when I succumbed to another law warring inside my mind, leading me captive to the forbidden fruits of a troubled youth.
As the cell door locked behind me, I was submerged beneath the depths of the sea, inundated by the sound of silence. It was a deep, dark place where the sun no longer sustained me with life or breath yet still not deep enough to conceal my face from the Almighty God, the One I would now have to answer to. It was my day of reckoning, the day I refer to as the end of my innocence.
This series of articles explores the journey of those serving life without parole, enduring the pitfalls of perseverance and reconstructing the moral fibers of a seared conscience. It’s a journey of reflection on our path to self-awareness when we face the end of our innocence.
After serving four years overseas in the Navy, Dan Fedorenko came home feeling lost, with no direction in sight. Summoned by the call of his youth and seduced by the lure of money, drugs, and women, Fedorenko found himself speeding down a dead-end road of life. “I felt like I was in the toilet, being flushed down the drain and couldn’t stop it. I had little regard for human life, or for myself,” confessed Fedorenko.
Arrested on October 27, 1985, and sentenced to life without parole at the age of 22, Fedorenko was sent to Folsom prison, where many young LWOPs were sent to face life on life’s terms. Fedorenko said, “Sentenced to die in prison before my life started was beyond my capacity to comprehend. It was a nightmare to me. I felt like my life was over. I was told I was no good and there was no redemption for me.”
Wanting to survive, searching for acceptance and self-worth, he turned to drugs and criminal behavior, knowing he was living on borrowed time. But his breakthrough moment came in 2008 when his family gave him an ultimatum to either choose his friends or his family. “It was exactly what I needed to hear. At that moment, I found the courage to ask for help and my life has changed for the better,” said Fedorenko.
Today, he is acknowledged for his outstanding service in the Youth Offender Program at Valley State Prison, recognized for his knowledge, life skills and experience to communicate effectively with youth offenders. CGA and Victim’s Awareness have given him his most valuable possessions, coping skills and understanding of negative impacts.
He has 3 Associate of Arts degrees, one with honors, and he’s a lifetime member of the Sigma Delta Kappa Honor Society. “When I first received my 2 AA Degrees, it was the happiest day I can remember. I felt like I had moved up the ladder in life. But my greatest achievement is being accepted in the TOPPS Program, the Sacramento State Bachelor’s Program here at Mule Creek. It has opened up a whole new world for me. I know now that I am bigger than these four walls of prison. I have a positive value and self-worth, I can do anything,” said Fedorenko.
The Long Walk Home is a journey back to our true authentic selves, navigating life through the minefields of our actions while gazing into the eyes of our conscience. “I hope to achieve my Master’s Degree in Communications in order to have the skills to give back and to live a life of service. I would like to work in re-entry programs to share my story with the young minds of the future,” said Fedorenko.
Although the future of those serving life without parole remains uncertain, we are driven by the difference we are making today, sharing stories of healing and never forgetting the day we refer to as the end of our innocence.
