Five Years of Silence. Never Five Years of Giving Up.
It's been nearly five years since I last posted an update here. And while this website may have gone quiet, the fight for my brother's freedom never stopped.
For much of that time, we had an attorney actively pursuing Nathan's case through the courts. After years of researching laws, writing letters, contacting officials, and chasing every possible avenue for relief, I finally had someone with the legal expertise to take the reins.
I stepped back because I trusted her to do her job, and I didn't want to interfere with the legal process.
And if I'm being completely transparent, I was tired, exhausted and running on fumes.
More than two decades of fighting for someone's freedom takes a toll. There are only so many times you can allow yourself to believe that this might finally be it, only to have that hope taken away again.
But this time, we had reason to believe things could be different.
Our legal fight took us all the way to the Supreme Court. Nathan's case fell within the circumstances addressed in Wells v. Yates, a ruling we hoped might finally provide a path toward relief.
But in December 2023, just before Christmas, we received devastating news. The court determined that the ruling could not be applied retroactively to Nathan's case.
His motion was denied.
His 120-year sentence remained intact.
And once again, the future we'd allowed ourselves to imagine disappeared.
What Do You Do When the Door Closes Again?
We were devastated. Both of us.
I wish I could say we immediately dusted ourselves off and started fighting again, but that's not what happened.
We had to grieve.
We had to find a way to keep going when the very thing we'd spent years working toward had been taken off the table.
And for Nathan, that meant finding the strength to continue building a future he had no guarantee he'd ever get to experience.
So we changed direction.
We knew executive clemency might be our next opportunity, but we couldn't simply fill out an application and hope for the best. We had work to do.
Over the next two years, Nathan worked toward earning two associate degrees, building on his education, personal growth, and rehabilitation. Every accomplishment became another piece of the story we would eventually present in his clemency application.
But the work wasn't just academic.
I spent countless hours on the phone with my brother, helping him navigate the emotional weight of another devastating legal defeat. Trying to keep his head above water. Reminding him that his life still had purpose, even when the system had given him every reason to question it.
There were days when hope felt less like a feeling and more like something we had to deliberately choose.
And while Nathan was working on himself, I began doing the same.
For the first time in a long time, I started making space for my own health, my own future, and my career.
Not because Nathan mattered any less, but because I was beginning to understand that I couldn't spend my entire life fighting for his freedom while losing myself in the process.
Building Something Bigger Than Ourselves
Somewhere in the middle of all that hurt, Nathan and I began developing an idea we'd talked about for years.
A vision for creating meaningful opportunities for people returning to society after incarceration.
We wanted to help people who had served their time, worked to change their lives, and deserved a genuine chance to build something better.
It's still a vision we're working toward, and one that has become deeply personal to both of us.
Somewhere along the way, that mission began shaping my own life.
That idea eventually helped lead me to my career at Inkless Tattoo Removal, where part of my work involves helping men and women who are rebuilding their lives after incarceration.
For some, removing a tattoo isn't simply about changing their appearance. It's about distancing themselves from a past they're trying to leave behind. It's about walking into a job interview without being immediately judged by something permanently etched into their skin.
It's about having the opportunity to be seen for who they are today rather than who they once were.
And every time I work with someone taking those steps toward a new beginning, I think about Nathan.
Because one day, I hope he'll be sitting in my treatment chair.
One day, I hope I'll have the opportunity to remove the prison tattoos he carries, not because we can erase what happened, but because he deserves the chance to move forward from it.
It's a moment I've imagined more times than I can count.
And one I haven't given up on.
The Fight Continues
Behind the silence of this website were years of legal work, education, rehabilitation, emotional recovery, and preparation.
There were transcripts to gather, records to organize, accomplishments to document, and a lifetime of circumstances to explain.
We weren't simply asking for Nathan to come home.
We were working to demonstrate why he deserves the opportunity.
And after years of preparation, Nathan's application for executive clemency was submitted to the State of Colorado.
As of October 2026, his application remains pending with Governor Jared Polis's office.
With the Governor's term approaching its end in January 2027, we are now doing everything we can to make sure Nathan's story is heard.
The letters have started again. The phone calls. The emails. The meetings. The outreach to advocates, elected officials, and anyone willing to listen.
But this time, we're not starting from where we left off five years ago.
We're bringing everything those five years taught us.
And we're asking you to be part of what happens next.
How You Can Help Nathan Now
With Governor Polis's term coming to an end in January 2027, time is becoming increasingly important.
Over the past several weeks, I've launched another letter-writing campaign, reaching out to elected officials, advocacy organizations, community leaders, and anyone who might be willing to listen.
Letters have gone out through both traditional mail and email. Friends, family members, and supporters have joined us in asking that Nathan's application receive thoughtful consideration.
But we still need more voices.
You don't need to know Nathan personally. You don't need to understand every detail of his case or have a background in criminal justice.
You simply need to believe that a person should have the opportunity to demonstrate who they've become after more than two decades of incarceration.
An Opportunity to Help Nathan Rebuild His Life
We're also asking business owners and employers to consider supporting Nathan's clemency application through letters offering potential employment upon his release.
One of the greatest challenges people face after incarceration is finding meaningful employment. For Nathan, having employers willing to give him an opportunity would mean more than a paycheck. It would mean stability, independence, and the chance to contribute to a community he's been separated from for more than two decades.
If you own a business or are in a position to offer Nathan employment, please consider writing directly to Governor Jared Polis expressing your willingness to employ him should clemency be granted.
These letters can help demonstrate that Nathan would have real opportunities and community support waiting for him upon release.
Letters offering employment can be sent directly to Governor Polis using the mailing information provided on our TAKE ACTION page.
A second chance becomes even more meaningful when someone is willing to open the door.
Nathan was 19 years old when he received a 120-year sentence. He is now 45. No one was physically injured during his crimes. And after nearly 25 years in prison, we're asking for the opportunity for his rehabilitation, growth, and humanity to be considered.
If Nathan's story has moved you, please consider writing a letter to Governor Jared Polis in support of his application for executive clemency.
We've created a simple letter-writing guide, along with instructions on where to send your letter.
Visit our TAKE ACTION page to learn how you can help.
Every letter matters. Every voice matters.
And after all these years, I still believe there's a chance my brother will come home.
Thank you for continuing to believe with us.
Allysa Jordan