Introduction

By Dr. Stanley Andrisse

"Ambien petit mwen, Se sa Bondye te mennen ou isit la pou fè."

(Well, my son. This is what God brought you here to do.)

Have you ever given deep thought to what truly drives someone's life purpose? Not the kind of purpose dictated by ambition or accolades, but the one born from struggle, love, and unyielding faith.

I didn't fully understand mine until I laid next to my mother, Yorvoll Joseph Andrisse, during one of her final days on this Earth. I was weary-physically, mentally, and emotionally-after dedicating myself to the exhausting but rewarding work of creating opportunities for the hopeless and the incarcerated. I remember breaking down into tears, questioning the toll it was taking on me, questioning why I kept going. That's when she, despite her failing body and fleeting energy, looked into my eyes with a clarity that was nothing short of divine. She simply said:

"Ambien petit mwen, Se sa Bondye te mennen ou isit la pou fè," which translates into, "Well, my son. This is what God brought you here to do." Those words changed everything.

My mother's wisdom often came wrapped in the simplest of phrases, but they carried the weight of generations. She was a woman who, though soft-spoken in demeanor, had a strength born of hardship and a love that seemed infinite. She had known what it meant to fight-first as a Haitian immigrant navigating the challenges of a foreign land, then as a mother raising five children, and later as the matriarch of a sprawling family rooted in her values.

But her strength wasn't just for survival. It was a strength that gave. She gave her time, her care, and her essence to all who walked through our doors. Our house was not merely a home; it was a sanctuary where culture, community, and compassion lived in every plate of "diri, poul, ak pwa," which translates to rice, chicken, and beans, a celebrated bean and rice dish that gets its complex flavor profile from epis, Haiti's verdant, peppery green seasoning akin to sofrito.

We called each other "Best," not just because I was her youngest child but because we shared a bond that transcended titles. We were confidants, partners in the spirit of life, and, most importantly, believers in the good that could be done in the world.

Her legacy was built on the pillars of love, sacrifice, and purpose. She believed in doing what was right, even when it wasn't easy. It's why she and my father left the familiarity of Haiti with three young children in tow, chasing dreams of opportunity and betterment in the United States. It's why she worked tirelessly to ensure that all five of her children would go on to graduate from college. And it's why, even in her final days, she reminded me that the work I do with Prison to Professionals (P2P) isn't just a job-it's my calling.

But her guidance was never without warmth, humor, or humanity. One moment, she was a sage speaking divine truths; the next, she was frantically planning a meal of "diri, poul, ak pwa" for the "men" who would come to take her on her final journey. These were the men she said were her husband, my father, and other "soldiers," waiting to bring her home. My mother, ever the nurturer, wanted to make sure they were fed.

And so, I dedicate this book to her. To the woman whose life was a testament to resilience, faith, and unconditional love. To my mother, who saw something in me that I didn't always see in myself.

This book, Breaking Chains, Building Futures: Pathways to Redemption, Education, and Excellence, is about purpose-mine, hers, and that of the 13 incredible individuals whose voices fill these pages. It's about redemption, second chances, and the undeniable power of believing that, as stated in my first book's subtitle, which are the words of my father, it is never too late to do good. It is my honor to share these stories, grounded in authenticity and lived experience, in memory of the woman who taught me to always seek the good in others and to fight for a world where every person has the opportunity to fulfill their God-given purpose.

Rest in Paradise, Mom. Your words will forever guide me: "Ambien petit mwen, Se sa Bondye te mennen ou isit la pou fè." I share with you the full version of my mother's eulogy that I delivered at her funeral.

Yorvoll Andrisse's Eulogy

By Stanley Andrisse

Good morning [et Bonjour]. I'm Stanley Andrisse, the youngest of Yorvoll Andrisse's five children. Thank you for attending this ceremony honoring the beautiful life of my mother. Yorvoll Joseph Andrisse was not simply my mother. She was my best friend. She was the rock of our family.

Mon héritage haïtien et la patrie haïtienne de ma famille. A fait de moi qui je suis.

Eritaj ayisyen mwen an ak peyi ayisyen fanmi an. Li fè mwen moun mwen ye.

That was in French and Kreyol. Which translates to, "My Haitian heritage and culture. My family's Haitian homeland and my Haitian cultural upbringings have made me who I am."

In essence, what I just said was . we grew up on "diri, poul, ak pwa" . "rice, chicken, and beans." "Diri, poul, ak pwa" was what was for dinner five out of the seven days of the week. To the non-Haitians in the audience that may sound boring. But there are 101 different ways to make "diri, poul, ak pwa." There's "sòs pwa blan," "sòs pwa wouj," "sòs pwa nwa," "poul ak epis," "poul ak piman."

It was anything but boring. On the contrary, several of my siblings have asked my mom to teach their significant others to make "diri, poul, ak pwa." Growing up, our house was the neighborhood gathering place for eating delicious food that was different. My siblings' and [my] friends would readily be at the dinner table, and my mom would serve them as her own children. Some of them, possibly sucking up to get more "griot et banan peze," called her "Best," as I did.

My mom and I called each other "Best" because when I was very little, I repeatedly told her that she would be my best friend forever. Even when I went off and got married, she would still be my best friend. And to her last breath, we continued to call each other Best, and she remains my best friend.

This day is a profoundly sad one. In this time of grief, I encourage us to reflect on the many wonderful experiences that we shared with my mom. As you interact with each other today and in the days to come, share your most meaningful memories of Yorvoll with someone.

It's important that we acknowledge and fully experience the emotions of this day, on which we have gathered together to say goodbye to my mom. It is imperative to sit in the human experience of grief.

To my mom, family always came first. Being a mom to five children, a grandmother to 14 grandchildren, and a wife to my father were a few of things my mom cherished most in life. In August 2010, my dad, William Andrisse, passed away just days after celebrating 43 years of marriage with my mom. This year would have marked 55 years of marriage.

My mother and father's coming to the United States is deserving of its very own book. As such, devoting a few words cannot begin to do it justice. My mother and father met as teenagers and were married by age 22 in August 1967. My dad was one of the youngest of 10 siblings. My mom had one biological brother and several half siblings. My mom's mom, Odette, died when my mother was a toddler. My daughter's middle name is Odette after her great grandmother. Through my daughter, my mom got an additional four years with Odette. By their mid-twenties while still in Haiti, my parents had my two oldest sisters, Sherer and Yorvoll, and soon-after, my oldest brother, Vladimir. In 1980, with three kids-a six-, nine-, and ten-year-old-my parents left Haiti and came to the United States, where I and my closest brother, William, were born. Due to challenges associated with being foreigners, my family bounced around from Miami to New York to Detroit to eventually landing here in St. Louis.

For 42 years, my mom grew roots here in St. Louis. Mom to five college graduates. Grandmother to over a dozen grandkids, several of which are college graduates, most recently Alanna Marie Andrisse just this past Friday. Friend to many in the local and national Haitian community. A lover of life and all things family. Her youngest grandchild, my son, Ti William, is named after her husband, my father. She was able to spend a year with Baby William before joining her Husband William. From the hands of God, the greatest author of all time, my mom has a picture with Baby William, just weeks ago, where he is wearing a cute little hat that says "My first Thanksgiving." This past Thanksgiving was my mom's last Thanksgiving and the last holiday with our family.

My mom was a strong woman. When my dad passed, 12 years ago, we were unsure how she would handle his loss. But moving deeper into her role as matriarch of this family, she guided us with love and grace. My mom was a joyful and fun-loving spirit. We have many videos of her dancing with kids and grandkids to the...