Glor: Thursday, June 29th, 2006
Hey, busy bee, I can’t explain prison, what it’s like, the way people think in here, what it does to you, or even who I am now. It’s why I’m trying to distance myself as I get closer to getting out. I’ll never be able to leave it behind, make it go away, or change how people think of me.
Take care, -- Love Gary
Dear Brother: July 6th, 2006
I agree . . . that you will not be able to make your prison years go away. And, yes, you [can’t] alter how people think of you through sheer force of will . . . But you can make those years work FOR you. You can affect the people around you through action and reaction, give and take. Often, our flexibility and strength, our resolve in the face of extreme duress, is what rubs against those around us and sands them down to a smoother, more desirable finish . . .
If you experience resentment towards me, some dormant seed within, sowed the moment I had to alert the police to your whereabouts, I’ll deal with that. You can find my suburban spoiled life totally disgusting and . . . still be my brother. Tell me stories when you want; tell me to back-off when you want. I realize I [can’t] ever know what these past years have been for you. I’d probably be afraid of most of it if I did know. . .
Love ya and toodles, --Sister G.
Glor: Wednesday, July 2nd, 2006
Hey. It’s hard. Hard to relate, to think of someday having to try to relate on a more intimate, everyday level. I know how hard you try, how bad you want to be helpful & all. But you don’t know me anymore. No one does . . . You’ve done a lot of changing in the last couple of years. Me too, I imagine. I wish things were easier, that we could be more comfortable . . . Maybe someday we will be again.
I watched . . . ‘The View’ this morning . . . the blonde one went on a rampage, & no matter how any of the other women tried, they could not get their views in edgewise. What she thought was the end, right for everyone. Period.
If your children . . . required protection, you’d break the law in a heartbeat . . . if you were helpless and hopeless and on the mental edge, there’s no tellin’. Stay away from [saying] never. Felt like you were droppin’ bugs left & right in that last letter [about Cousin B’s situation]. I got your opinion/feelings about the pill/drug selling, law-breaking, etc. We all do what we feel we gotta do.
I always felt like you were in my corner. A sister, friend, & second mom. You hurt my feelings & pissed me off. If you don’t trust me, if you’re gonna judge me because of my past, or my habits/choices/lifestyle, whatever, then we’ll have the same relationship as I do with the rest of my siblings, which is not to have one.
I love you. I have many, many fond memories of you. I’ve always felt close & comfortable, when it comes to our relationship. I don’t think you comprehend what year after year after year of prison life does to someone, & I’m not gonna try to explain it. I’m not gonna apologize for who I am, and if the only person who will stand by me is me, then so be it.
You are a great sis . . . a genuinely good person . . . I’m grateful for your daily notes, attention, etc . . . you don’t have to. You have plenty to do.
I’m worn out . . . not a day goes by that I don’t have some cop givin’ me a hard time . . . for no other reason than they can say & do whatever they want . . . so you can see where I get upset when I have a chance to come up a bit, with the help of someone in my family, & I get the same mistrust & hesitation, judgment, or whatever.
I would do anything for you, mom, your kids, if it meant breakin’ the law, coming back to prison, so what? . . .
I don’t resent you . . . it just reminds me of how far the gap between us is . . . so maybe I’ll drop out for awhile. Too much emotions & inability to communicate, & it’s not pleasant . . . give my love to the kids. I love you Glor.
Glor: Sunday, August 20th, 2006
Hey, I don’t know. That’s my whole trip now. I don’t know. I should be a better brother & son. A better person . . . My mind is so messed up. My feelings & reactions, thoughts and worries about everything are all screwed up. I probably hurt your feelings. I apologize. Confusion & fear aren’t an excuse to hurt the people you love.
I have a pet praying mantis. She (I think it’s a she) is green, still really small, about two inches long. She’s on my finger, now my hand, while I’m writing . . . now on the end of my pen. I love playing with her, letting her crawl all over me. At night, her big eyes turn from green to dark. When she looks at me, I can see her tiny pupils following me. [She’s] actually a very beautiful creature.
[I wish] to be not so messed up. To even remember what it’s like to have a normal conversation with someone who doesn’t already have a label on me. To be unknown and unjudged. My edges are rough, my manner anymore abrupt & sometimes harsh . . . I don’t mean to be a negative space in your head or heart. You deserve better.
I’m gonna lie back and listen to Stevie Ray Vaughn . . . send me pics from your party & the Tracy Byrd concert, huh?
L8R, Love Gary
Dear Gary: August 25, 2006
Even if you did hurt my feelings, you are allowed. [It’s] a part of any relationship. Maybe we were overdue for such an incident as your venting letter. Lord knows, I have plenty of vents with and from Jimmy and the kids. . . we work through and past the episode, learn, forgive, apologize, and continue on . . . [you and I] can do that, too . . .
The content of your letter did sear a considerable hole into my tender heart. We’ll call it a burning arrow of pain and confusion. I walked down to the end of the cul-de-sac and sat on the curb to cry. I tried to wait for the big rain storm, hoping the waters would come and wash me into the sewer and carry me off to the ocean . . . far away from anyone I could possibly screw up with my words and good intentions. Sarah actually walked over to me to see how I was . . . Or maybe she asked in the kitchen and Zachary walked over to me in the cul-de-sac.
Regardless, all I could think was that I might say something that would screw them up in my efforts to love them . . . so earnestly. I felt like I had done that to you. If I could cause you to think I had withdrawn my support for you . . . what was I capable of making them think? And if I had indeed changed so drastically, demeaning myself by becoming some shallow, shadow version of who I once was, or who I was intended to be, how could I be good enough to be their mother, since I had so obviously failed as your sister? I reexamined my reasons for calling the police on you back in Colorado . . . I went all out, mentally and emotionally, allowing myself to spin way-y out there, feel a few things I had either . . . tucked away or thought I had prayed . . . through.
Eventually, however, I had to come back down into the reality of the situation. Separate myself from the emotion and look at it from the perspective of two people trying to stay connected within the framework of two drastically differing lives. It took me several days of intense examination to come out of my grief for what I felt I had lost. Probably more than a week to really feel my head was screwed on straight.
I decided that you needed to be able to do what you felt you had to do if it would help you to survive and leave that prison alive: even if that meant disconnecting from me. Your wholeness could be dealt with later, I reasoned. As for me, I would continue to write and allow you to decide if you wanted to read or not. For me, the writing is necessary. Right next to God, you are the most conversed with in my brain . . . I don’t write you out of guilt . . . I love my brother. I LIKE my brother. He’s worthy of knowing . . . and of the work it takes to maintain a close relationship . . .
I think the reality is that we can’t get everything across in our complex lives within the context of a few letters and scattered, SHORT, interrupted phone calls. You express some very intense and sharp views on a variety of topics. I don’t look at them and think how very wrong or judgmental of you. I just read, glad you thought to share something, hoping for a chance in your free future to truly hear the full version of that particular thought or opinion.
I wait for the days when we can have real discourse and truly hear each other out. For now, I think of our meager communication as a tether that keeps us from floating away, until such time as the earth can be brought to meet our feet in unison with actual gravity. Make sense?
Gary, I would not want you to do anything illegal for me or the kids or mom. I never want to see you in prison again. It would wreck me to think of you stuck there for a lifetime. . . I’ve developed enough in my personal faith . . . to believe the Lord will help to take care of things if I do my part. I don’t lie for my kids to get them out of jams or misrepresent myself to other people to make my family look better than it is. I try to help the kids face what they must for what they did; I try to figure out who I really am and represent that person. Make amends when I don’t represent who I really am . . .
I have no interest in doing anything that might be construed as illegal in order to help you. My greatest fear . . . that it would come back on you and get you more time in prison. My second[ary] fear (maybe not the best word here) is that of doing something I don’t believe in. Can you really penalize me for desiring to be a law-abiding citizen? Can you really be ticked off at me for hating drugs and the cycle of dealing/selling that keeps it in society? What goes on in prison in order for you to survive the experience is NOT the same yardstick you, or I, would use outside of prison.
I . . . hope that you would not decide to engage in illegal activities upon your release in order to make a living . . . I KNOW there will be a way provided for you . . . But you will have to be patient. Let conditions and situations be created and put into place.
Last time, you bolted before I could do anything concrete to help you . . . I was so desperate to help you then . . . I am determined to help you, now.
September 6, 2006 8:26PM (still Gloria*)
Well, that was written . . . over a week ago . . . I read my letter, again, and decided to let it stand. I’m more than just those thoughts . . . definitely NOT LESS . . . but I can’t expect to make myself totally understood by you. I think there are times when I try so hard to be understood – for the sake of the other person and for the situation – that I overshoot the target. Too earnest. Too zealous.
I was slicing garden tomatoes and putting the crumb coat on my cake before coming up here. (An aside: The crumb coat is a thin layer of frosting that goes on the cake first and sets up. Then, the decorative and thicker second layer goes on without any crumbs to mar the look of the surface. My neighbor is having a “Friendship Dessert Party” tonight. I broke out all of my fancy dessert recipes and settled on a labor intensive 3-layer cake: orange chiffon with a buttercream frosting and an orange filling between all layers and on top. I’ll be bringing home 8 samples of desserts for the family. And they best hurry and eat them! Save me!)
Okay, I could ramble forever. But I have to get other things done today. And I’m sure you do, too. This letter ain’t that riveting!
Oh, I’m enclosing a page on praying mantis’. I asked mom to look up a few sites so I could give you some info. How is your pet? Still around? If not, how long did it last, or stay with you? We have a multitude of stick bugs in my garden. I see the mantis every now and again. Bugs are pretty cool . . . Though all of my children would say otherwise . . .
[Well] Over and out. I love you, mucho. Millions and billions and cotillions! – Sister G.
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