Imprisoned Emotions

Last week, I wrote about the process of our monthly prison visits, but not much about the thoughts and feelings that go along with it. I would assume that the experience is a little bit different for every person who visits an incarcerated family member or friend, but I am sure the visits are always emotional. I've seen their faces month after month.

This week marked the end of his second year at his current facility in the state prison system, and it has been 3 years and 5 months since he became an inmate. He is guilty, without a doubt, and there was never talk about him getting out of jail. So unlike family members fighting to free a loved one, or just trying to get through the current sentence, our experience will never have anything to do with preparing for a homecoming. This is as it should be. Still, he is family, and what family doesn't have difficult relatives? So we visit prison, just like we visit any other member of our extended family, difficult or beloved or both.

I remember our first few visits to the county jail. We did not know what to expect, or how often we should try to visit, and the process of coordinating the connections was occasionally frustrating and disappointing. Even when everything came together as planned, visiting jail was/is daunting. By the time we had signed in that first time, emptied our pockets and gone through the metal detectors, we were already a little worn out! That part got easier with time, but the conversations are still sometimes difficult.

In those first visits, he was behind glass, and we talked on a telephone. We had less than an hour, but it still seemed like a long time. The phone connection was static-y, the volume was too low, and there were other visitors on other phones all around us, creating a cacophony of words and emotions at various speeds and volumes. We did our best to connect, we laughed and cried as we talked, and the recorded message that broke over the phone line declaring that the visit would be over in one minute came surprisingly quickly. That last minute was never quite long enough for "I love yous" and other parting words.

Our visits now are a face-to-face roller coaster, minus the glass. After the hugs, we talk and laugh about sports, television, books, news, where Sweetie has been golfing, who showed up at the last family gathering, whether he has a new roommate and how his job is going. He asks about Mom and Dad, and we fill him in. I see pain in his face, but I wonder if he knows...really knows...or can ever really know how devastating this has been for any of us out here. Can he ever fully understand the ripple effect this thing has caused?

Through each conversation, I ultimately long for him to find some hope, some joy, some good thing, despite his own emotional wounds and scars. His longing to be outside the fence, to connect with people who see him as a person, that longing in his eyes is overwhelming. After three years, that is the part that still makes me anxious at the approach and emotionally exhausted at the end of each visit.

We typically have 2-3 hours, and sometimes we run out of things to say. Sometimes it is not long enough. I know that after that final hug, while we are making our way through the buildings and ID checks to our car, he is undergoing a search and returning to his place in the prison population. I know that we were his sunshine that day, and I know that he is already looking forward to our visit next month. On our way home, we talk about the visit and about things we might have said differently, things he said that we might not understand or agree with...and sometimes we just drive in silence.

For me, each visit is like ripping off the emotional scab of that day three years and five months ago. There has been some healing, but the scars of sadness, anger, confusion, frustration, and pain will forever mark me. Still I look for joy where I can find it, and I try to remember that there are no wrong emotions. I feel how I feel, and the only way to get back to joy is to let myself feel all that other stuff when it comes around, too.

Because this is a knitting blog, I will add that knitting helps. There is a saying that goes: "I knit so I do not kill people," so I pick up my yarn and needles after a visit and create a little joy in brightly colored stitches. Knitting brings "me" back to the front of my heart and mind, and it helps me to put all the negative feelings away until next time. I am thankful for the joy knitting brings.

Thanks for stopping by, friends, and thanks for listening. Sometimes life is hard, and I process through words. It is my hope that my process may someday help someone else in a tough spot, imprisoned or otherwise. I hope the rest of your day is good.

Feel what you feel, and Knit in Good Health!