On my travels home today I took a detour to a rural community housing one of the State's prisons. It almost seems odd that they would build a prison in the middle of nowhere, but I guess no one wants a prison in their back yard. Yet the distance does make it difficult for those who are housed far away from loved ones. Visits are rare and the inmates find themselves starved for the sight and sound of family.
His grin was only as his could be, uniquely his with indescribable elements that are difficult not to return. It was wide at the sight of his brothers. We have never been close, yet we are family, and blood means something. Despite having many moments where neither knew quite what to talk about, the two hour limit passed quickly. At the guard's call for the visit's end, suddenly there is so much more to be said that hasn't been spoken. Yet it isn't words that he longs to convey, but emotion, and it is emotion that he longs to hold onto as bars and then space slip between him and the love of family. He doesn't realize it, but I understand exactly how he feels, despite the differences in our own personal prisons. I should be better than I am at writing, but I let months and months pass between letters. Would I fare as well as he has if I were in his shoes? I think not. I'm contemplating visiting on Christmas day, which is also his birthday. Previous to today I was thinking of spending the day with the children at the hospital. Last Christmas was one of the most depressing days of my life (such thoughts that day...) that I thought I might find a way to distract myself this year. Turns out that Christmas lies on a Sunday, my official volunteer day, but now I question who is in more need. The unfortunate children who are spending their Christmas at the hospital, or my brother who will be wroth with depression for the absence of a wife who does not love him and the children he never sees? It isn't a day to spend for my pleasure, but maybe I can ease the pain of another.
