About 20 minutes later, Thomas came into the visiting room with another group of children and chaperons. Thomas separated from the group and walked slowly in his mother's direction. Then he veered off, passing his mother without a word, and made straight for a yellow toy dump truck resting along a back wall.
As the nation's prison population surged more than 400 percent over the last three decades, a number of studies concluded that inmates and their families do better after incarceration if they are able to stay in contact during it. One study found that incarcerated men and women who remained active with their families, in whatever ways possible, were able to picture themselves as people who were not just inmates.
"More than anything, I want to hear my son call me 'mummy' and know who I am," wrote Burnett, responding to a questionnaire several days after Thomas's visit.
Sharon had an easier time of it with Sophie, in no small part because of the affection the older sisters showed their mother. As the family sat around the table, tears replaced by smiles, talking about school classes and grades and the rest of everyday life beyond those walls, Sharon held Sophie in her arms. She'd wrapped a white blanket around her daughter.
The subject of fathers didn't take up much of the conversation. Sharon has always been a single mother, getting little to no help from her daughters' fathers. While Tamara's and Sophie's fathers do play a limited role these days, Serena and Dana have virtually no contact. They aren't the only ones. The father of Maria, from the Lower East Side, is also in prison. And Thomas's father, while providing support for his son, ultimately decided it was better for the boy to be raised by someone other than himself.
Sharon and her daughters focused on enjoying their time together. They played Connect 4, helped Sophie with a Mr. Potato Head and read the cards that the girls had made. Using the $200 in quarters that Osborne had brought to pay for pictures, the family posed for Polaroid shots in front of a Winnie the Pooh bed sheet. If it weren't for the uniform and the correction officers watching to the side, it would have undoubtedly felt like a normal day, at least until the headcount.
With a few words—no shouts or aggressive commands—the COs ordered the women to line up in front of the main desk for a headcount. The children waited in the visiting area. Softly, each woman counted until the guards determined all present. Once ticked off the list, the incarcerated women were allowed to go back to the visiting area.



