“There are people that will come into your life that you think will be there for only a season, but will be there for a lifetime. Then there are people that will enter into your life for what you think will be a lifetime only to be there for a season.”
During a visit, my oldest brother explained to me his experience once being released after 8 1/2 yrs in federal prison. A point that had become contentious, to a degree, was when he began describe how “there are people that will be here for you while you’re in, then there are people that will be there for you when you get out.”
Me being me, I could give a damn about you being here for me once getting out of prison. I have served a lifetime in here. It hasn’t been easy. For those that have had my back, both inside these walls and out, I am forever indebted to. My father gave me an example of loving when things are hard. We lived in rundown motels. Slept in his Suburban some nights. There were nights when I would stay in someone’s apt and he would sleep out in his car or the Suburban and in the morning I’d bathe and he’d drive me to school. I understand that that is a parents love, but how many parents would have given up on the challenge of raising a child under those conditions? Particularly a man? And this was for yrs. Much of which he was addicted to crack
Point being, I was given an example of loyalty EARLY (!). He had my back when it was hard to. Today, I am of the mind that you gotta love me, be loyal to me, when it is neither convenient nor easy. Love is accommodating… Loyalty is accommodating. Meaning, loving someone is to make a way, be it in part or in whole, when no way is available. Being loyal to someone, is securing that way. Insuring love’s delivery arrives unimpeded.
There are mornings when I awake that I have no idea how I am going to make it throughout the the. I awake on those mornings panicked, anxious, indecisive, in need of a place to hide. Simply, a brief moment of freedom. If not freedom, at least some similitude of it. But there rarely is. So I try to facilitate a space where I can find some freedom by working out. Pushing myself.
There was one question nd one answer that I caught on Family Feud while going through the television stations tonight. It was, “Who listens to you when you want to get something off of your chest (I’m para phrasing)?” The answer was, “Wife/Spouse.”
My spouse, and wife in every way that mattered, died from what began as breast cancer, Thanksgiving morning of last year. She made life both infinitely harder and easier, sometimes simultaneously; but there was always tomorrow. She’d endure my rants and be receptive of my flowery words of apology, and my romanization of the future. She worked to quell my fears and silence my insecurities. And she called “shit” when she smelled it. I no longer have her to sure up the fort that I’ve built around myself over the yrs. As result, the world has become measurably smaller.
I write this only to say that prison is a very small place; but it is just big enuff to lose yourself. I have always fought to remain compassed. To not be lossed to this place.
Categories: Melvin Monroe