August 2006 By T

Orange County Jail. The words made me cringe just to think them. I was the one who felt like a criminal as I approached the officer behind the glass to show my I.D. to be admitted. After waiting for what seemed hours, I was invited to pass through the metal detector and walk down the long hallway to the visiting area. The long hallway was white, ironically, and as I walked, I felt the evil of that place pressing on my heart. There was nothing "white" about this place; it was as dark as I had ever felt.


I was assigned a booth, I guess I would call it. It wasn't enclosed. It was a seat at a counter. Each booth was separated by a piece of wood, a small wall to separate me from the next visitor. On the wall was a phone handset, in front of me was a glass window, and opposite my wall with a phone, was another wall with a phone. As I sat there for a long time, I was completely overcome with emotion. In my mind I replayed hundreds of scenes of his life, my life, our family's life. I saw us all at the park, me swinging him when he was three, or him swinging his sister when he was a little older. I flashed to times sitting on the couch while I was feeding a baby and reading to him. For hours. I could see him helping his dad mow the lawn. I could see the huge messes he would make with his toys all over his room (and my room, and the bathroom, and the family room). These were the happy memories, but at this very moment, the memories were painful. More pain than I had ever felt before. How did we get here?


The wait, sitting there, was really long. I don't know how long, but long. Then, men (when did my boy become a man?) began filing in behind the windows. They were all dressed in orange jumpsuits. When he sat down and saw me, he, too, started to cry. He motioned for his dad to pick up the phone. And he asked, (I really believe out of love for me), "Dad, why did you bring Mom here?"


I'm crying as I relive this in writing. I don't know if I've ever written this down before. I'll have to check my journal. Some things I've been through were just too painful to write. I really should remember. Not the pain, but the lessons. That's what I hope this blog will be about. Lessons in no particular order.


Lesson 1: A jail is somewhere I never want to go again (even though I think I've been twice or three times now). However, that is beside the point. Important lesson - My life does not look like I had hoped. And that's okay. His choices, while painful to me, can be separate from mine. This lesson I will probably visit many times on this blog because I have had to learn it over and over again.