Diary of a Cross Country Prison Visit

by Ellen Fleishman

Months prior to a visit I dream about it, wondering what is the right time, the right month, the right day?  Do I wait until the outcome of an impending court motion, or after my international visit to my daughter, or do I ignore all those considerations and just go according to my desire.  Nonetheless, I have no choice but to consider COVID restrictions, outbreaks, and parameters.  I am entitled to three consecutive days since I live more than 200 miles away from the prison.  For me it’s closer to 2,000.  So I pick a month, submit the special visit application two months in advance along with the required documents, asking one of my son’s friends if she wants to go with me.  I include her documents as well.   Then we wait.

  During the second week of the month prior to the intended visit, I call the visitation office inquiring about the status of my application.  I have had to omit the exact date since the visitation calendar is not issued until three days prior to the first of the month. I explain that to the officer who takes my call.  Our conversations are always polite, helpful, sympathetic.  I appreciate the officer’s concern and care.  Yes, the application is approved, and I can call back some time later to see if the following month’s calendar is out.  They will add the dates I select to the application.

I call back the last week of the month.  The calendar will be issued within a few days.  I email again three days later and receive the calendar.  I confer with my son’s friend but now she is unable to come with me.  I am unsettled at the thought of having to manage the visit entirely alone, but having done it once, it is less daunting that the first time.  I pick the weekend, with three consecutive 7 hour visiting days, select my flights, hotel and rental car.  I also have to order the restaurant food we’ll eat for lunch the second day of my visit. I pack my suitcase, being sure to include ample reading and writing materials.

I rise at 4:30 am Thursday morning to get to my flight on time.  I arrive at my destination airport, collect my rental car after a two hour wait, and visit our law firm nearby.  Then I drive two and a half hours to the Prison town.  I listen to Christian religious pop music on the way.  Men and women singing about finding God, being redeemed, starting anew, brings me to tears. I check into my hotel, and find a restaurant for dinner. I am drained from the emotional strain of everything I’ve had to do to negotiate this visit, and am relieved the attorney visit went smoothly and is over.  Now we just have to wait.

On Friday I rise early, eat breakfast, and receive a call from my son, who is not on the prison visit list.  I call the visitation office, but it is too early for any staff to have arrived.  I email, and receive a quick reply that they are setting things right.  I drive to the prison which looks very foreboding, even in bright Spring sunshine.   Mistakenly, I park in the employee lot, not realizing my error until the last day when an officer stares at me as I enter my car. 

  I enter the prison, loading the vending machine card with cash for the first day’s lunch.  Unsettled from the earlier confusion, I have forgotten some of the restrictions’ details. I rush back to my locker to remove my earrings, and no longer need my vaccination card.  Finally I am ready to pass through the metal detector and be patted down by a female officer, who is thorough but polite, retaining my dignity. I am granted admittance through several electronically-operated doors, which clang loudly as they unlock.  I walk down a very long corridor to another door I can open myself.  Another officer receives the paper granting me permission to enter, and there is my son anxiously watching for my entrance.  We embrace, perhaps even for a little longer than strictly permitted. Some guards don’t adhere precisely to guidelines. 

My son and I sit across from each other at a table.  When I visited the first time, about eight months earlier, there were two tables between us to enforce social distancing.  It’s great to be closer to him now, great to see him without a mask, great to be able to touch him.  We talk, he cries desperately.  I do my best to console him, grasp his arm, tell him not to cry, that he must take one day at a time, make the most of each day, of his new life. I tell him I forgive him, that I know he will never do again the things which got him into prison.  His cries stop. He is visibly relieved, moved, lightened, happier.  The rest of the day goes well, we have lunch, soft drinks, play some Scrabble, Trivia.  The day is over, we hug again, I am so happy he is happy to have received my forgiveness.  I return to my hotel before finding a restaurant for dinner. 

On Saturday we are excited about being able to have restaurant food for lunch.  It is not delivered until 2pmand everyone is very hungry.  Each time we have a bathroom break we must be searched again before reentering the visiting room.  After our visit I drive to a nearby State park.  It’s very beautiful but the drive there and back to the town, though uneventful, provokes more anxiety for its uncertain route.  But I am happy to have gone. 

Sunday is my last day.  We are both sad our visit is over.  We play more Scrabble, more Trivia, Connect four and some other games.  We’ve both enjoyed our time together.  It’s been great to see children with their fathers.  I hear one daughter express her regret that she won’t see her Dad again for two whole weeks.  Though my son and I have video visits weekly, I probably won’t return to this prison for at least six months.  I cry on the way out, another mother comforts me.  Her son has been in for nine years.  He will be getting out in a few months.  She is both pleased and fearful at how he will manage.

I continue to wonder how my son came to act as he did.  I continue to try to understand if I did anything wrong.  My son says it is all his own doing, I did nothing wrong.  I believe that is correct.  Human behavior is a bafflement.  I can only provide support and love and hope that will be enough to get him through, however long it will be for him.  I listen to the same Christian pop station on the way back to the airport.  It comforts me; though I am not Christian, the message resonates.  I understand its appeal.  I will keep it in mind until our next visit.