Somerset visitation 7-3-09

These are pictures from our latest visit to Somerset. It was a good time. Bran is headed into his 5th year, and so approaches parole eligibility very quickly. We were able to stay in the prison for a full 6 hours. He never stopped talking. He's literally half the person he was going in. The jumpsuit he was wearing was bagging all around. Bran has one more class he has to take and he's gotten all requirements for the parole board. He's still working in the laundry, though now does washer loading (the machines are the size of a motor home). The work of lifting laundry constantly for hours had really assisted in keeping him in shape.

We stayed overnight in a mansion turned bed and breakfast, and crashed at around 7 that night. We didn't wake up until the next morning. It was a long day, but a good one.

Mother's Day 2009

Just had to post my "prison card" from Brandon for Mother's Day. An associate made this card out of a file folder, a bedsheet (the rose is on fabric), printer paper and assorted markers and pencils. I think Bran added the back-I might consider developing a line with that logo (beats the heck out of Hallmark!) Chuckle. He writes a long letter inside the card but I got a little laugh out of his desire to ride the fjords of Finland one day and become "Lawrence of Scandanavia". Crazy kid. I think he will. But I hope he stays around for just a little while after he's out for old mom.

tired, grateful

I have been struggling with feelings of despondency and tiredness. We're approaching the halfway mark of our son's incarceration- at the least the halfway mark of parole eligibility, and I'm ready for this to be done. In his last letter Bran mentioned going on Lexapro again because he is having a hard time feeling motivated to do anything. He forgets things, sleeps because there is nothing else he can do to shut it out and simply tries to pass time. I understand. I felt better, though, when he sent a work check home and asked us to save them for him to buy a car when he gets out. He's thinking about things beyond prison and I'm grateful.

I was also grateful this morning speaking to him on the phone. It's little things that remind me how he has changed despite the struggle to continue to endure. He basically works what amounts to a second shift in the prison, which cuts his yard (outdoor) time considerably. But he said it's been nice the past week or so, when he gets off shift, to slowly walk outside to his building and drink in the silence and the Allegheny mountain tree line through a gap in the buildings. Such a small thing, but so amazing. A tree lined mountain would never have been a hopeful thing and a pleasure to him five years ago. It is my prayer that neither of us will forget the lessons we are learning now.

latest letter

What I wish for...

Brandon has been pretty well occupied with trying to accept the price of commissary getting ridiculous, especially where tobacco products are concerned-I'm not minding that, he needs to quit smoking, however, it's a big issue. He was saving for a new TV (he's got an all clear plastic issue from county) and there aren't being sold anymore. What is being sold is a universal remote so that he doesn't have to continue to put wear on the buttons, which works as well for $11. Seems that every other inmate with a TV also thinks so, but he got on the list. Bran's prison laundry job is also keeping him busy, but not in the intended sense. Here's excerpts from the latest letter:

Oh! Did I tell you about how I was accused of stealing from a dead Fayette inmate? Probably did already. Anyway, when I started at CI (laundry, sorting soiled laundry from hospitals, etc.) back in Sept., 2nd shift Dirty Side guys kept their stuff (drink containers and mixes, gloves, apron/jumpsuit, etc.) in leftover net laundry bags locked in a shelving unit inside the chemical closet. A level of modest security in a world without privacy, I can appreciate it. For whatever reason, it became an issue (the 'chemical closet' is an over-glorified janitor's nook, anything remotely dangerous is in the back with boilers and detergent mixers behind at least 2 locked gates) so we had to move our things onto some wall hangers outside. There, it gets rummaged through on a daily basis. The bag I was given was yellow with a name partly blacked out, but sill quite legible, on the tag. I figured he was a former employee and never gave it a second thought.

One day, MONTHS after getting the damn thing, Ken "Il Duce" Plummer calls me into his office after dinner. Mind you, I've been sneaking odds and ends out for myself and others (harmless crap, really), messing around, engaging in nutty activity. That day I think Plummer saw me riding a cart of mops across the floor, so when summoned my conscience was a trifle guilty. He then starts going on about complaints from SCI Fayette of a "Grand Theft Laundry Bags" caper that I'm apparently part of. "Where did you get that bag from? Was it an inmate or supervisor? Did you know inmate 'Stult' (guy on the tag) Where you aware that he was deceased?" Just grilling me. My boss, Knapp, thought it funny and was visibly amused. I was so stupefied by the allegation, I blanked out and nearly had a stroke. After the paralysis wore off, I was furious, rabid even. I grabbed the offending bag, dumped its contents on the ground, marched up to my co-workers, and launched into a diatribe, shaking the 'incriminating evidence' in their faces ands tabbing the air with outstretched index fingers reminiscent of Lewis Black. I'm sputtering "...of all the hair-brained...mental midgets!...bullshit accusations!..." After calming slightly, I was able to warn them to ditch all yellow net bags and that I may be fired over false charges of theft. Nothing came of it, but I was so angry because that's all it would have taken to lost my job! Also, their assumption that I'm retarded enough to steal something with someone else's name and state ID# on it, uncovered and out for all to see, with my name written next to it, linking me to the crime. Give me some friggin' credit!

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Well, there's never a dull moment in mental midgetland. Poor Brandon. But these are the lessons he is learning, and I can't but feel he would not have learned them anywhere else.

the present moment

I realize in the past I've written more about the spiritual aspects of this journey and I've not done as much recently. I evaluate everything I experience in the light of scripture and how it fits into God's plan for my life. I'm not perfect by a long shot, but perspective is everything I think and how we view the world. And I wanted to keep the main focus about my son. I will do that as much as possible. It's like life is happening in two streams, one at home, one in the prison. So I will try to compare the two as they go on, intersect, affect each other and shape the present moment, which for now means I need to go pick up my daughter! I'll be BACK!

visitation

We took the trip to Somerset to visit Brandon yesterday. It's four hours from our house, thankfully a bit shorter because of the Route 99/220 add to the PA highway system, but still the day is always long. The entire family was supposed to come, mom, dad, grandmother and both sisters, but my older daughter simply could not muster the emotional equilibrium at this time in her life. It's understandable. As much as I want to love these trips and be totally there for my son while we're in the prison, I fight my emotions. This time I felt like I needed a punching bag. I'm simply out of gas. The younger daughter slept through her alarm and didn't make it. Again, I know that happens, not every family goes through this and it is so much to ask from an 18 year old who is a whirlwind and in love with life, but I was angry. I tried to turn it over to God, let it go, but it took the day for that to happen.

We were the first family at the prison, and while the weather was not too bad, at four something in the morning, rain slicked roads are confusing and fog can come up at any time and blind you. The light didn't help until we were almost there, and it rained all the way home. There is a new metal detector at the intake desk, and clothes that I usually wear set it off. I was just not in the mood. I told the COs the only metal I knew I had on was the zipper on my jeans, and I was not taking THEM off. I already have to wear a hugely uncomfortable sports bra with no metal. It's not every women that has a "prison bra" in her undies drawer, LOL! Well, we got in immediately to see Bran, and he just looks smaller and more fragile every time we come. He's lost about 80 pounds, and has a full beard. He's also rather short and wears glasses, so instead of looking like the hulking mountain man he used to, he looks like an elf accountant.

I suppose after we got into conversation I could see the wisdom of it just being the old folks. The vending machines were either not well stocked or out of order, which thankfully changed as the day went on-I could feel my temper rising again-"if my kid wants chocolate milk after three months, by God he'll have chocolate milk or else"...so we had a good time. It's so hard sometimes to make the shift into funny and natural conversation after months of separation, a long and tiresome ride to the prison and the hour wait to get in. But we do it. And Bran needed to just talk about his life there. It's frustrating and hard, and he doesn't have a chance to speak freely about how he feels often. Commissary prices are through the roof, stupid stuff, working in the dirty side of the prison laundry for basically nothing-it's not supposed to be Club Med and he knows this, but for a 23-year-old to live with no hope of things changing or getting worse every day, that's hard. He needs sympathy and encouragement, some normalcy and the reminder that there is a life "out there" that time will bring about once again.

It was good to get home and get back into the routine, but visitation is a "normal" part of our lives.

white letter recent update: letter to mum

Brandon wrote me a letter. I can feel the tiredness in his words, life sort of dragging and being pulled along just because the moments are passing. In prison, tensions rise and fall, come to a head and settle, only for it to happen again, simply because it is life at the most minimal level in so many ways. But I'll let Bran tell his story. He starts off:

I just found a white hair embedded in one of the earpads of my headphones. Better not be one of mine. Although, I'd rather my hair turn white than fall out. Must be under a little more stress than I thought. I'll never stop dreading baldness until it actually happens or something trumps it and I no longer give a damn. Events over the last few weeks have been conspiring against my letter writing efforts: my most recent move, the perpetual clothing exchange crusade, BS down at work, getting sick or distracted, etc. It's almost as if the whole thing's out of my control and all I can do is wait for the proper planetary alignment and a good word from the jail witch doctor.

He writes on: With work, it's money and politics as usual. The higher ups increased the weight goal that determines the bonus. Last month, we made 40 cents per hour, the bare minimum I believe. The normal take is 60 cents per hour. With our work worth less, there's less incentive to work harder. We already knew we were losing contracts, thereby making it more difficult to reach our bonus goal, but they raised the pound requirement anyway. We net them nearly $1 million annually and they tell us we're lucky we get paid at all. What a slap in the face! Naturally, all this does is fan the flames of long-burning indignation between the shifts, and to a lesser extent, the clean and dirty sides. Accusations fly ("1st shift is lazy, 2nd shift speed washes to get more loads per diem, why can the dirty side leave when their work is finished, it's not fair"), everyone is punished, nothing is fixed. Speaking of things needing fixing, machines are allowed to completely break down before any consideration is given to their maintenance. Luckily, nothing has ever failed catastrophically resulting in injury. One washer has been broken for months, with no effort to get it running again. It can process nearly 400lbs/hr, a rather sizeable loss. After all this, the bosses have the audacity to complain. Have the time to gripe when your CI shop burns to the ground by disgruntled prisoners.

On the whole, tension around the prison rises. A huge brawl broke out on B-block, locking down the jail last weekend. A number of people were stabbed, and a gret deal of weapons were found. A slug-fest in the yard the other day almost ruined this weekend. They at least gave us unit rec,
so we can get out of the cell. Eventually, all this is going to reach a head and it may get ugly. Hey, they wanted to test the waters, take away this and that, pester, poke, and push the inmates. The when there's dire consequences to reap, no one seems to know how it happened.
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Back to mum-we hope to visit Brandon on his birthday, March 29th. He'll turn 23. The time sort of shuffles by slowly and I pray somehow to be past this part of it. Still, there are reasons for everything.