Time Passes

Or does it? Not long ago I was part of a discussion where the metaphor of a panorama was used to describe God's vision of time and space. He knows everything that has happened, is happening and will happen in every nook and cranny of His creation, down to details smaller than the hairs on our heads. If that's the case, then is time really passing, or are we moving within a construct we call "time?"

Whatever is the mind-boggling truth, it is now over four months since I started this. (I just found and published the draft of the second post, which I had completely forgotten, so there's some overlap about communication via letters.) During those months, David began a 24-week treatment for Hepatitis C. He has been receiving daily pills and weekly injections. At times, that has meant trudging through the snow to get to the infirmary, and there have been problems with availability of medical staff to administer the medication and also with communication about the medications. I'm not sure he has actually seen a doctor in person since he was taken for a liver biopsy 18 months ago. What I have heard about are the videoconferences. Nevertheless, and in spite of side effects such as itching and fatigue, David is grateful for the treatment, and so am I. These are very expensive medications, and it is a troubling reality that when the state assumes custody of a person, it also assumes responsibility for his/her health. Inmates do pay for ordinary visits to the infirmary, but when it's something big, the state pays. That is probably why there was such a time lag between the decision that the treatment was needed and its actual beginning.

However, in the letter I received from David today, he says that he has nine weeks of treatment left and that he now feels well enough to start running again and doing some calisthenics. Considering the weather in Ohio for the past few months, I'm sure that running wasn't much of an option anyway.

Over the winter, I have looked forward to finding the envelopes marked "INMATE CORRESPONDENCE" in my mailbox. I occasionally wonder what the letter carrier thinks. David's last name and mine are different, so maybe she thinks I'm one of the many people who carry on romantic relationships with prisoners, or maybe she knows exactly the situation. Letter carriers know a lot about us after all. I try to write to David every week too, but sometimes there's slippage and I probably average about 3.5 letters a month. He also corresponds with my good friend Margaret who lives in New Hampshire and who, for some reason has taken an interest in David and his education. In difficult situations there are sometimes gifts, and Margaret is one of them. She of the Wellesley education and the Harvard-educated husband and the many years of teaching English really believes that his letters could someday be a book and she is saving them for that reason. What tremendous encouragement that is, whether it ever happens or not. He does write well though.