I have recognized in myself a coping mechanism that involves me being able to “shut down.” I have learned to suppress emotions well, both good and bad. As I seek healing in this area, I am able to easier, and more quickly, identify when I am in this mode.
Two days ago I was able to admit I had reached that place once again to my helpmate over our morning telephone conversation. He is helping me discover what triggers these emotional suppressions so that we can take victory over this. Honestly I answered, “I miss you. I hate that I have to consider the weather and how it will affect the next 164 miles of road conditions, when I want to see you. I hate that I only see you one day a week, and now with winter here, it may not be that often. I want to be with you, and I can’t.”
The pain can become overbearing, the longing; exhausting.
No sooner had I spewed out the true triggers when my husband replied, “I’m on the draft.” “What did you say” I asked, though I heard perfectly what he’d said. “I’m on the draft, the officer just read the list and called my name.”
“Stop it, Jacob. Don’t mess around like that.”
“I’m serious babe.”
I listened as my husband turned his attention to the officer reading his list of movement for that company, “You called my name? Can I finish this call?”
It was real. This was happening. There was no suppressing the emotion anymore. I began to sob, and protest, “No! No, Jacob, no. I don’t want you to move.”
I was scared for my husband. So scared.
My husband has resided at Attica Correctional Facility for more than seven years. He has developed a rapport with officers and inmates alike. He is well-respected by both, though there are and always will be sour apples on both sides of that fence. He earned his way to honor block where he had more privilege. His cell was slightly larger, though still far too small for any human being to be comfortable in, let alone a six-foot two grown man. He was able to shower daily, not something you get to do in “population.” He had increased accessibility to cooking gadgets where he and his mates made meals together.
The two greater privileges were being away from population, where greater danger hazards existed, and the increased phone availability. Not that there were more phones, but fewer men to use them and longer calls. Five minutes longer. My husbands safety and our communication are top priority.
My husband became very involved in programs at the facility, teaching men about PTSD, drug and alcohol rehabilitation, and anger management. He was a part of two youth programs that he viewed as ministry, and loved deeply. Children from nearby high schools and sometimes colleges, are given a guided tour, and then sit down with select “inmates” to ask questions about their experience. Sometimes the questions ran deep and personal. Those were the questions my husband invited most, as he saw it as an opportunity to reach kids who may find themselves on similar paths as he had been on at their age. He hoped with each day of these programs that he could reach just one child and “help save and change their lives.”
We began our Family Reunion Program visits just a few months ago. Our fourth was scheduled to take place in twenty-one more days. We had our meals planned. We bought gifts for the boys and were going to have our family Christmas. This was part of my shut down. I couldn’t wait for it to get here.
All of this would be lost now.
He will start all over again.
My husband sacrificed it all to be closer to his family. To provide for them in the only way he knew how.
His sacrifice is HUGE.
I continued to cry. Trying to understand what would happen now. He would be “keeplocked” for the remainder of the day. No leaving his cell until the officer in charge of transport would take him out the following morning.
For “security purposes” he, nor anyone in his family, would be told where they were moving him or when he would arrive.
We finished our phone call in prayer, lifting one another up, with as many I love you’s as we could possibly fit in. He was strong and brave, reminding me of Gods promise to work all things out for our good. (Romans 8:28) I was praying earnestly for God’s continued favor and protection.
It has been 48 hours since I have heard my husband’s voice. I have no idea where he is. I have no idea when I will speak with him again.
When I call a facility they tell me that the system only indicates he is “on the bus, en route.” “I’m sorry, I can not give you any more information than that. No one will be able to tell you where they are taking him. You will have to wait for him to call you, or try back later this afternoon.”
Yesterday, I sat looking out the snow falling over our yard, smiling at the thought of my husband being outside of those 30 foot concrete walls for the first time in more than seven years. YEARS! I thought about how everyday people travel the roads, robotically, ignoring the surrounding landscapes, taking it all for granted. I pictured my husbands beautiful smile as he took in sights he has not seen in those long, grueling, years, and places he may never have seen. This lightened my heart.
As I continue to walk by faith, not by sight, I am able to see more of the goodness of my God, my Abba, who loves me. I was able to turn my prayer into praise and gratitude.
I praise God for His timing. Jacob was on the phone with me when he was told of his transfer. I heard it from his mouth. I didn’t have to hear it from a fellow inmate, or a fellow inmates wife, as often is the case. I praise God for the compassion and kindness in the officers heart to allow my husband and I to finish our call.
I am most thankful for a husband who loves me so incredibly selflessly. “Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends.” John 15:13 Both my husband and I have this verse tattooed on our bodies, and more significantly, in our hearts.
There has been a sacrificial laying down of each of our lives in this marriage. That’s why this love is so powerful and strong. That is what gets us through these incredulous circumstances. God’s grace and our love.
By faith we walk. By faith, I will see my husband more than once per week, only thirty miles away from home. Merry Christmas to us, what a gift! By faith, next year our Christmas gift will be executive clemency, having my love home…for good…where he belongs.