The mail rarely bears letters. Mostly it’s not letters. Buy this or pay for that, that’s the mail. The exceptions are the letters from my brother. He is in a prison in Texas. Handwritten on school notebook paper with an ink pen. He tells me about the lockdowns, the intense heat all day, most days, about the typewriter I helped him buy from the commissary. This is a typewriter I have never personally seen evidence of in a letter. He is saving the ribbons, he says. I hope he is saving the ribbon for his novel. I send him surfing magazine subscriptions and he will tear out the best curls from Indonesia or Chile. These are real gifts since he won’t be able to get them back. He sends me his best photos and catches me up on the news.
He hasn’t joined a gang and that has cost him at times. He says he mostly stays to himself, works out and eats tuna fish, again from the commissary, at every meal. The food in prison is the lowest common denominator of edible material. I have walked through a prison. Lunch smelled like something burnt and rotten. It looked that way too. He is one of the lucky ones with a family who can help subsidize tuna and new tennis shoes from time to time, a typewriter, fresh undershirts, better soap.
Most days his mail bears nothing, of course. I send him letters via email through a special service. He gets a print out of it. Sometimes I will send him the latest photos from Bend Light or of the kiddo. He does love that, I think, because it is a real letter as much as anything, but my letters are mostly pathetic. I don’t know what to write. I catch him up on the news, on how work is (I am yawning even as I write that), etc. I put myself where he is and I wonder what I would care to hear? Everything? Nothing? My personality might tender to want to hear nothing. What I would need to hear though, is everything. The worst part about prison must be the disconnection. Humans get sick when they are alone. Prison, I imagine, makes being with a whole lot of people in very tight quarters feel like being the most alone. I usually end with a paragraph to remind him that he is not alone in this world, that we are connected. These words connect us, brother. When it is night and hot and lonely, read this: I love you. After the meaningless bills and the ads, and the promos and the catalogues and the work and the long day, the thing that will make sleep come and the morning seem ok and worth getting up for is that someone loves me and that I am not alone. I hope that works for him too.
Reading this brought back the phone call I received 27 years ago being informed, my younger brother had been caught selling weed in Arkansas. He was sent to prison for 15 years, served 7.5. I was devastated.
Once when I was teaching a workshop in NY, a friend drove me to the prison he was in at the time to visit him. I felt so much grief, knowing he was behind bars and that this was his life and couldn’t stop crying all the way back to Manhattan. This was my one and only visit. He forgave me, because he knew how hard it was on me.
For years I felt guilt that somehow I should have done more to help him get on a different path. Why had my life turned out “better”.….…. but he survived, stayed married and has stayed on the straight and narrow of the law.
I love him, but I don’t know how to talk to him or how to share my life with him given the vast differences in how we view the world. A different kind of grief.….….
Oh I hope so too. For what it’s worth tell him I said hello…
I’ve often wondered how the rest of your family’s doing, I’m sorry to hear about your brother. I imagined he was living in Hawaii doing what he loved to do…surfing. It’s strange, now he can’t even surf the Internet, or maybe he can. There’s alone and then there’s ALONE. Recently, our chemist passed away…he too was both alone and ALONE at the time of his passing. I believe Michael Jackson was ALONE. It’s strange, but when you’re ALONE, it’s always a prison of some type.
I think the Golden Rule comes into play here: Treat others how you would like to be treated. Mr. Allasandra (creator of the Platinum Rule) could argue that you are being selfish in treating your brother [only] how you wanted to be treated. But coming from your heart, you know your Brother. What makes him smile? Do you remember?
See? You know what makes him smile…by applying what YOU know about your brother, you are bringing mini-life (gifts) to him as he lives in a very constricted environment. Whatever you are doing is a gift to him, AND to you.
Your brother receives your gift because you are merciful to him. No preaching here! Giving mercy to someone IS A GIFT.
If you were in prison, what would you want? I would guess you would want to know that you matter. Your brother matters to you because you keep in touch with him. Giving him a part of you is a gift.
I have a brother who faced a prison sentance staring at 4 misdemeanors and 2 felonies. We were in court for 10+ months fighting the allegations and he did not get charged with either. He did receive probation and the scare of his life. I treat him how I would want to be treated: with respect. I love my brother. He is a gift to me.
Steve,
Alone is the worst, so true
Thanks Cindy. Mattering is really important, I agree. As I was writing that post I looked up “mattering” and found out that kids who feel they matter are less likely to be destructive in their families, to which I thought: I am glad we had someone do research to teach us that.
Moving.…
Brothers are special, they are in your heart– like it or not-always…
There are so few chances to connect– even when sitting across from each other on the deck.
I watch the otters play in the river below. How do they talk? They do seem totally connected. Without proximity what connection?
Moving…
Brothers are for life. No questions asked.
Even when sitting on the deck on a sunny morning above the river, looking one another in the eye, connecting is hard. I smart when it fails.
At dusk, just before everything turns dark, the otters are romping in the water. They sure connect, they are in tune. Connection need proximity? How close?