He is standing alone behind the tall, padlocked fence, watching you through the tinted window of the bus. You’re sitting on the shuttle-van that will take you away. The officer climbs in and starts the engine. You tighten up and pinch your hand as hard as you can—determined not to cry in front of her. The van slowly draws away, and he gradually drifts backwards, never moving, except for his hands making hearts on his chest. You stop looking back because it hurts too much to see him getting smaller and smaller until you know he’ll finally disappear when the van lurches around the edge of the building.
Imagine 46 hours completely alone with your romantic partner. No children. No pets. No nobody except the two of you. You’ve paid all expenses for both of you to spend 46 hours completely alone in a 2-bedroom apartment.[1] You have everything you need for the two days, even movies and a DVD player. You don’t even have a cell phone.[2] It’s just the two of you.
Alone.
Imagine the conversations you would have, the love-making that would happen, the cooking disasters that would only bring comfort.[3] Imagine going to sleep snuggled together on a mattress like marshmallow quicksand.[4] And your loved one’s face is the first thing you see in the morning. What a good morning that would be!
Then imagine, on the morning of the third day—time’s up! 8:00 comes very fast and the officer is very prompt. You are abruptly separated. Forced to leave. Staying longer is not an option. Even lingering feels wrong. Your bags are loaded onto the van and after one last kiss and embrace, you climb on board. And the officer slams the heavy door shut.
That’s the moment when it’s officially over.
You see him standing behind the locked gate, watching you watching him from the bus that will slowly pull you apart. You don’t look back, because it hurts too much to see him growing smaller behind you. But you know he’ll be standing there until the bus is out of sight.
Then he’ll turn and slowly walk up the short sidewalk into your former love shack, which seems huge and empty to him now—alone with only shadows of what once was. All the little things left for him to do will only be so many twists to his heart. His return to real life is even more drastic than yours. He’ll descend from this brief glimpse of reality to the stagnant daily grind of the dungeon.
Imagine then, if you will, knowing it will be at least four more months before you even see each other again. And this cycle repeats itself over and over. Four months of waiting for two days of bliss, only to be ripped apart after the briefest of time. And this time together is never certain—there are so many things that could prevent it. Lockdowns, pandemics, false accusations,[5] regulation changes, travel delays.[6] This is a gift from the prison that can so easily be taken back.
***
I am just home from our third family visit, and this is the hardest one yet. I’m sure my emotions are compounded by living halfway across the country, as I’m not able to go for regular day visits. So it will be at least four months until we can be together again. And on this day, the hardest day, the entire communication system at the prison appears to be down for an update,[7] so it’s been just a blank wall between us.
I am not someone who ever feels comfortable crying in public, but today—my travel day—has been one long effort to keep back tears in very public places. I was not entirely successful.
Note: We know how very fortunate we are to have family visits. Only four states in the US offer them: California, Connecticut, New York, and Washington. Prisoners serving LWOP are typically not eligible. And I can afford to travel and miss the time off work, barely.
[1] My little euphemism.
[2] I don’t realize how much I use my cell phone to look up movie facts until I don’t have one.
[3] Imagine that you bring one of your favorite yellow kitchen towels to use, and because there are no oven mitts in the kitchen, and your loved one has not used an oven in 24 years, that he burns a 3-inch scar into your sunny towel. But it only becomes a delightful memory.
[4] Delightfully squooshy but impossible to move on.
[5] MFT’s friend was accused of having a cell phone cable and immediately lost his upcoming family visit. He was later able to prove that it was a charging cable from the prison catalog and thankfully received his visiting rights back.
[6] You have until 9 AM the first day to check in.
[7] Apparently, it’s actually a prison-wide shut-down of all communication due to an overdose death. Word on the street is they are reviewing all recent texts and phone calls for the investigation. Update: What actually happened was the WiFi was cut which shut down the whole prison.