Chapter 21 - Feelings

   Not many people I know have experienced seven years of having a child in a federal prison, but they may have experienced loss, rejection, fear and many of the same emotions I have felt but just not for the same reasons.  We all can relate to one another on some level. It is difficult to put those feeling down on paper, but I would have to say there was a strange sense of awe when I first saw the sign marking the entrance. It read “United States Federal Penitentiary, Federal Correctional Complex, Coleman, Florida.”  Filled with awe, I guess that’s the true meaning of awful. And seeing rows of barbwire fences with razor blade wires on top brought on a fear for what Matt lived with daily. It’s like stepping into a horror story I had only dreamed about but now it was my life.

     That first step into a prison is one of those life events that are never forgotten. The only event I can think of that might be similar is the feeling that comes with a first day of school in a new school. There is a sense of uncertainty, a fear of not following the rules correctly.  I recall a school day like that after my   parents moved to Huntsville at the beginning of my fourth-grade year. I remember going in that new building without any supplies except a new notebook and a few pencils.  There was no Meet the Teacher in 1964, so mother enrolled me on the first day and I entered the classroom on my own. I was terrified but managed to stay calm enough not to make a blubbering fool of myself. It was a sense of abandonment and survival all rolled into one big stomach ache. There was no time for embarrassment, I had to remain attentive in case someone was looking at me. And yet, I was excited about the new year and meeting new friends.

     That feeling returned several times in my lifetime. I felt it most often when I changed schools or started a new semester of classes in college, but never did I feel that first-day feeling as much as I did the first time I entered the grounds of FCI Coleman. I was scared, nervous, anxious, and excited all at the same moment.

     As we traveled down the long road, passed the guard building and a group of warehouses I began to feel overcome by intimidation before spotting our final destination. Pulling in the parking lot my mood changed. It felt like we were entering the set for some prison movie…surreal. I could see no less than four towers that stood taller than any telephone pole I had ever seen. They compared more to those huge power line poles that lead to a power substation. I’d hate to guess how tall they actually were, but I’d say they stood about 50 feet tall. Each tower had an enclosure at the top that had dark colored glass on all four sides. I would assume that they were manned, at least at random times in alternating towers. Matt said there was a rumor that the towers were not manned at the medium facilities, but I would not want to take any chances at either place.

      During a first trip of any importance, I nearly always become preoccupied with observing every detail I can take in, kind of like my first trip to Disneyworld and our trip to the Holy Land.  I did not want to forget the procedures I had practiced. I wanted to remember exactly what I needed to do on the following visits. Because I was so focused, I was also very quiet. I did not laugh and showed very little emotion to any of the guards. We were also discouraged from talking with other visitors, so most of our communication consisted of a smile or a simple, “How far did you have to come?” I guess the authorities felt that we might strike up a coup or start a conspiracy. Who knows?

     I couldn’t help but feel a sense of compassion for the other guests in the waiting room. We all had something in common, a wayward son or relative who we loved but had to deal with his mistakes. I looked around and saw many different faces. One lady had come from California to visit her son, only to find out he was in the Special Housing Unit and could not receive visitors. A brother was turned away much like I was because he tested positive to cocaine. One young lady was told she could not visit in the clothes she had on because her pants were too tight, so she left to find a store where she could purchase appropriate attire.

      I felt sorry for all of them. I knew their heartaches and their fears all too well. It really didn’t matter what the crime was, we were the families who had to deal with the embarrassment and humiliation we faced on a daily basis. When Matt was first arrested and charged with the robberies, I remember seeing his little league baseball coach and his wife in a retail establishment. I know they saw me, too, but they turned away and acted like we were not there. I’m sure they just didn’t know what to say. It was probably best since in the early days I would cry at the mention of his crimes. The hurt was too fresh and too real.

     Several years later, I was able to put my feelings down in words, so I started a blog called Visiting Prison. It was my way of giving the glory to God even when the situation seemed like a hopeless cause. Through my blog I was able to reach others in similar situations who did not want to talk about it. I tried to give them the hope I have in my Savior Jesus Christ. I wanted them to know that they can make it through the bad times, that God will NOT take the hurt away but He will send a peace and be with them through their journey just as he has been for me.

     Those same people who sat in the waiting room with me had become my purpose, so I began to write. I began to share my thoughts and feelings. I began to share God’s glory to all who would listen.