Today is Father’s Day, and I know that many prisoners feel sad because they’re separated from family. David, the prisoner with whom I share a cubicle at Taft Prison Camp, told me that these holidays make him long for his wife and children. He is only 29, and visits with his family once or twice each month because of distance and expense. Frequently David sits on his bunk and flips through photo albums to reminisce about the joy he feels when holding his two young children. After 22 years of imprisonment, I no longer identify with those feelings.
I am 45-years-old and I expect that I will remain in prison until I am 48. Relief could bring me home sooner, but either way, I have long ago accepted that the bad decisions of my early 20s had irrevocable consequences, one of which meant that I would never know the joy of being a father. I reaffirmed that acceptance when I married Carole, my wife of six years.
Carole and I discussed these ancillary consequences of my imprisonment during our visit last Friday. Besides the reality that I would never have a child, the length of time I have served and continue to serve in prison also influences my career ambitions. Carole said that when I expressed such acceptances she felt as if our marriage was limiting my life. I had to hold her hand and assure her that our love brings me a liberty and fulfills me. It was not our marriage that blocked me from having children or building a thriving career. Rather, the bad choices I made in my early 20s determined the limitations with which I’m living now. Together, Carole and I will find fulfillment in ways that do not include children that we bring into the world together, and I’m looking forward to those possibilities.
My dad passed away five years ago, and his struggle with Alzheimer’s disease meant that I did not see him after 1994 or 1995, I don’t remember. He suffered tremendously as a consequence of my imprisonment, as does my mother. Thoughts of how those decisions I made as a young man hurt my family are always with me. I wonder whether I’ll move past them when I return to the world. In here I try to push such thoughts aside and focus on the preparations I must make for release, but on days like today, Father’s Day, I’m reminded of all that my life is missing.
I began writing this morning at 3:30. I enjoyed the quiet time and solitude and stayed at the table until 7:00. Then I walked to health services for an allergy pill and to the track to begin my exercise. I ran 10 miles and followed with 200 push ups. My running tally is now at 1,683 miles over the past 191 consecutive days. In the afternoon I interviewed Ray, a prisoner who returned to Taft Camp for a violation of supervised release.
Sunday, 21 June 2009
PDF 
