Musings on a winter morning....

We made our twice yearly return to our cabin in Washington State late last month. As always we were excited and anxiously looking forward to the trip, its always an enjoyable scenic drive and we always enjoy our time spent in our quiet, remote cabin, a far cry from the busy city life we have here in southern California. It’s a time to relax and reflect, removed from the distractions of a crazy busy world.

As I sit to write this morning I feel somewhat introspective, finding myself thinking about how ones perspective changes with time and with experience, with the living of life. Perhaps this is because of the ‘season’ that is currently upon us, and the nearing of the end of yet another year.

Once the little community we would be returning to, albeit briefly, was “‘home” and all that word connotes. It was a small and safe community where we lived our adult lives, raised our children, where we expected no doubt to live out our retirement, those expectant sunny, golden years. Looking back I see we saw and experienced life, our lives, so differently than we do now. Small towns can be so insulating and limiting. Though we only moved 3 States away, it has almost been as though we moved worlds away…our experiences and outlooks have changed and grown, much as a childs does as he grows into adulthood.

As difficult as it was, after being literally torn from the very fabric of that life, suddenly, unexpectedly and unprepared for the challenges, struggles and certain pain ahead, I can honestly say neither Rod nor I regret making the life changing decisions we ultimately made. That of uprooting, ending our lives as we knew them, to be with our son in his darkest hours, and to support and share the journey that lay ahead in every possible way. We have never regretted that decision, in fact still feel immense relief that we did make that choice! Over these last going on 9 years now, stronger, tougher, yet more, shall I say “gentle” layers have been added to who we were then, and funny as it sounds, to me anyways, we both feel more cosmopolitan than we ever would have imagined ourselves. Not in the way of world travelers, as we’ve never been that, but more in the way of ‘life’ travellers. And “cosmopolitan” in some ways, thanks to the many, many interesting and wonderful people, the families, and some new friends we have made in the prison visiting rooms, those from throughout the country, with whom we have shared, and continue to share, this journey. Navigating the twists and turns, the unrealities AND the realities, the topsy turvy world, an entire ecosystem unto itself really, of the US Prison System, has been at best ‘interesting’ and at its worst, dark and frightening. With it came pain that we could never have imagined, but a greater depth and understanding of the fragility of this life, the humility, yet the honor and the joys in it. For how can one truly appreciate joy if one has not experienced its counter. My mother often used to say to me, as a child when I dealt with a difficult situation, "this too shall pass"... and I learned it always did. The emptiness left by the passing pain of the early years into this journey has been filled to the brim with feelings of gratitude, and with appreciation for all that we are, all that we have and hold dear. That which we discovered could never be taken from us.

And so, as we near the end to yet another year I find myself more optomistic and looking forward in ways I haven’t experienced in some time. I admit to some anxiety and concern for what lies ahead for my son as he returns to a world so very changed since the 10 years he left it, and the many challenges he will face upon re-entry. The continued growth of the US prison system depends on failure upon release to sustain this experiment in mass encarceration, to continue to profit and grow the very industrial complex it has become. However, still I feel renewed optimism and hope at all that IS possible as we move into the next chapter.

"You don't want to get to the end of life's journey and discover you never left the interstate." ~ Robert Brault