(t)he (b)ox

Four times a year, David is allowed to receive a sort of CARE package, not to exceed 30 pounds. The number of boxes is decided according to security status, and they each can contain only food items or only what are considered "sundry" items. Initially, he was not allowed to receive anything, so when he was tranferred to a less secure status facility a number of years ago, so long ago that I don't remember exactly when, he gained that privilege.

The first food box contained a lot of cheese, some pizza makings, some chips, some canned meats and fish and ravioli, some microwave meals, some cookies and some candy and the all-important-to-David flavored coffee and creamer. Over time, David's requests changed as we learned what shipped well (the potato chips, not so much) and as he became more conscientious about his diet. I think too that the overwhelming temptation to eat too many sour Skittles resulted in mouth suffering that he decided just to avoid altogether. For me, it was a pleasure but also a challenge to assemble The Box, written with initial caps because it was so important. The restrictions as to weight but also as to carton size and to limits on numbers of products and to type of product package (plastic versus glass, see-through versus foil) created some anxiety. I usually bought too much and had to calculate and substitute, more than once in the parking lot of the post office. And one time the entire thing was returned to me because it was overweight by a few ounces. Then it was a scramble to put together another box and get it mailed by the last day of the month because boxes could only be received during certain months.

The early sundry boxes contained audiotapes (because at that time CD players were not allowed), clothing, slippers, pens, blankets, towels and I forget what else. Again, subject to strict rules about numbers of certain items, color of clothing items, etc. It took several tries to get an acceptable pair of "shower shoes" through. One pair were considered "sandals", which are not allowed. Along the way as David got more into school and had to have a typewriter, it became a thing to find ribbons and correction tape. And many times it was just impossible to get new audiotapes. When see-through CD players were finally permitted, it became easier to find the music he requested.

So with all the rigamarole involved in assembling The Box, you might think I'd be happy that the whole process was changed last year to eliminate the home-assembled packages. The way it works now is that there is a corporation, Keefe, that supplies many prison commisssaries and now is the sole provider of food and sundry boxes to inmates in many states, Ohio among them. Obviously, this eliminates a lot of security issues for prison administrators and staff since they know the source of the package and its contents and the limitations are built into the ordering form. It's a lot easier for the sender of the package too because the corporation website is very easy to navigate and there is no need to worry about finding the size box that will fit through an x-ray machine. The thing is, though, that I miss the ability to give my son a chance to choose what he likes from a wide variety of items, and I resent feeding what is very much a prison-industrial complex.

It was bittersweet fun to walk the aisles of Wal-Mart and Target looking for the right style and color of t-shirts and shorts and underwear and shower shoes and linens. It was a loving challenge to seek the unusual music David requested, which he now buys through a catalog when he wants to treat himself. And it was satisfying to get The Box on its way once I was fairly sure that the weight and everything else would meet approval. And then there was the enjoyment I could imagine David having and sharing as he made outrageous pizzas in the day-room microwave.

However, I always knew the day would come when I couldn't physically lift the bulky package in and out of my car and so ordering (t)he (b)oxes, no longer worthy of initial caps, with a few keystrokes and a credit card is probably an improvement, I still wish I could send David some Boboli pizza crusts or the special blueberry coffee creamer he covets. Typical of the way he thinks these days, he says that at least now he doesn't have to hurry and overeat perishable cheeses before they spoil. Sometimes he has a much better attitude than I do.

And then there is fear.

A disturbing part of doing time with a family member is that there is fear involved. The person you love is locked up with some very dangerous individuals, even if he or she is not particularly dangerous at this time. To some, my David would seem dangerous. His conviction is for multiple armed robberies, and it doesn't matter that he did not use a real weapon. He intimidated his victims with the threat of one. They were undoubtedly terrified. So now he lives with men who have used all manner of force to get by in life. That reality terrifies me, and so I avoid watching most movies and tv shows about prison life. Recently, though, I saw a series that was shot at Holman in Alabama, and I found it more like what I have seen than some of the very dramatic depictions of incarceration that are out there. The reality though is that my son lives with more-than-average danger every day and night.

This week's local news brings that reality to the forefront of my brain. There are two terrible stories of criminal behavior. One concerns the rape and murder of a 78-year-old woman, so goodhearted she was known as "The Angel Lady." The young local man who killed her has pleaded guilty and will likely spend the rest of his life in some prison. The very fact that a human being can behave in such a bestial way is very upsetting. That a human being with such capability might share a dorm or a cell or a shower or a toilet with my son is beyond anything I want to contemplate.

The other terrible story is that of a man who was already incarcerated in a medium-security prison, as David's is, and who apparently couldn't take it any more and so victimized a female prison employee for hours, raping her at least three times. He says he was hoping that the guards would kill him. "Suicide by cop." Never mind the negligence of the prison for allowing her to be in a positon where an inmate could find her alone or where an inmate, like my son, would be trusted as this man was, the man himself took the action.

Who of the men living with David might take similar action today? My hand is over my mouth to stifle my scream. And yet I know, and have said here, that nothing in life is guaranteed. That's the terror of violent crime: you usually can't see it coming, and while we know it's out there, we aren't ever ready for just how bad things might get. Father, take this cup from me and bring me thoughts of a sunny day. Fear and faith cannot live in the same space.

"Hon"

Finally success in the reservation department. Yesterday I got through on my first try just after 10 a.m. And I got two all-days together. I'm not sure how to feel about the fact that the Visiting Officer who answered the phone obviously recognized me. She even called me "hon," as in "You're coming from South Carolina, aren't you, hon?" But this is part of my journey: to learn to look at my life as it is not as it started out to be.

In the many Al-Anon and Nar-Anon and Families Anonymous meetings where I have tried to rearrange myself into an accepting and serene person, I have learned that "The Dream" is the hardest thing to give up on. I fought it every step. And finally I came to the understanding that substance abuse by other people is a reality in my life and that I chose it. At some level I always knew that David's father was a reckless person and that he drank too much. He was a poor choice to be my children's father. I was too young and naive and, yes, prideful, to face what I was doing. My father didn't speak to me for months after I said I wanted to get married. I was just twenty then. He said, "A million bucks worth of brains down the drain," and then went silent.

I've had plenty of time to ruminate on all this, and to learn not to judge, not to blame but instead to pray for acceptance and humility. I've also learned to look for the lessons in life. So it's fine that they know me at the prison, and it's even better that there is mutual respect between me and the prison staff. I know their jobs are not anyone's dream either.

Two days to be with my son. Yes!

Redial

It's finally Spring and I'm looking forward to a road trip and a visit with David. His letters have been very positive, full of acceptance of the limitations of his situation but also of hope for a better future. I know that we both will have lots to say during the two-day visit I'm hoping for. BUT, I can't seem to make a reservation. I've been calling the Visiting number since Wednesday and getting either a busy signal or a long ring followed by the message that Visiting is sorry for the inconvenience, they hope I'll be patient and ask that I call back later. This has never happened before. As I said in my first post, it's usually a redial situation to get through, but never have I had to call day after day and still not gotten an appointment. The biggest problem with all of this is that reservations are limited and only available for 30 days forward. So I'm having a little trouble creating a schedule that won't conflict too much with obligations at home.

I know what David would say. He would remind me that visiting is a privilege, not guaranteed and that he is grateful for every visit. He is probably much more evolved than I am, and certainly more than anyone else in our family.

But I want to talk with him about the changes in his environment and about his health. He tells me that an additional 300 or so inmates have arrived at LOCI and that there have been budget problems that have resulted in equipment like microwaves going unrepaired. Some who see this might question the presence of microwaves in prisons in the first place. I understand that. But many prisoners cook their own food in an attempt to stay healthy. They buy canned fish and whole grain items in their commissary because those things aren't part of the regular prison diet. It should also be noted that recently there was a 7% increase in all commissary prices.

Regardless, it seems to me to be a security issue that equipment and systems be working. As I have said in other blogs at other times, most prisoners will be released, and while prison time should not be comfortable, it should be safe and conducive to rehabilitation that will help a former inmate rejoin the community. There is no value to anyone in dumping sick, angry, untrained people into situations where they will allow their desperation to make bad choices for them and for us.

I will try the redial again tomorrow.