37 and a half to life

Tonight is my husband's last night of captivity. In less than 12 hours he will be a free man, at least physically. His spirit and his mind have never been imprisoned.  I have no words for the way I feel right now. This is too big to describe!  Last Sunday I visited my husband for what I hope will be the last time. As I sat in the visiting room, I was flooded with memories; how I imagine one's life flashes before we die. I saw myself as a young woman, nervously waiting, butterflies in my stomach. I thought about the countless ordeals and hurdles just to see my loved one. I experienced the sweat, that even when it's freezing outside, manages to invade my temples. Only someone who has lived this prison-from-the-outside experience can relate.  While I sat in the visiting room I noticed the young families, the parents visiting their adult children, the in-love couples, and I thought about the advice I would give someone who is new to this life:  *Keep your cool- many people in c

Today, my only son enters his teens. Just yesterday he was a baby, now he's a young man!  We named him Justice because we needed some in our lives. The day I came home from the hospital with him I received a call from my husband. He was going on the draft (being moved) because he would be going in front of the clemency board. Clemency... what? I didn't even know he'd put in for clemency, and neither did he. His mother had written a letter to the governor and that's how he got on the list.  I knew that he was excited but there was also urgency in his voice. Usually, people have months to prepare for clemency. He would need letters of recommendation and other documents to prove his worthiness. I sprung into action, calling people to write letters.  Once he was gone to Sing Sing, where he would see the board, I had time to process the grandeur of this opportunity. I imagined him coming home within months, just in time to help raise our son. I was elated when a parole offic

 This past Christmas break I spent my downtime putting puzzles together. My 20-year-old daughter Tweeted, "why did my mom get me a puzzle for Christmas and she just did the whole thing herself??? I have to laugh." So I was a little obsessed with finishing the Frida Kahlo puzzle, it was so pretty! As soon as I finished it, I took a picture of it and took it apart, announcing to my daughter that all the pieces were there (insert cheesy smile).  Later the same day, my sister's children came over to visit. I asked my eldest niece if she'd like to work on a puzzle with me. She said yes and I quickly grabbed one none of us had ever put together before. It was The Polar Express! We immediately started strategizing and sorting pieces but we didn't get too far. The next morning I got to work on the puzzle, convinced that I'd be done by the end of the day... HA! To my surprise, this innocent-looking puzzle actually took over the rest of my days off, and then some. Just

October 21st marked 28 years since he's been gone, but not really gone. I recently found out that there's a term for what I've been feeling all of these years. Ambiguous Loss. I have been doing a lot of research lately, in an effort to make lemonade out of the many lemons I have been accumulating, I am pursuing a Doctorate degree. The reason? To learn as much as possible about the effects of parental incarceration on their children and how to help (as an educator).   God-willing, my husband will be home to see me graduate. And yes, he'll have to call me doctor! I have a lot of passion for learning and even more for educating others. My hope is to continue my journey and help de-stigmatize the prison experience in schools. How, exactly? That's the part of my story that I'll have to create. I am suddenly in a place where I have to think ahead, to look into a possible future. Something that is difficult for me. I'm more comfortable living in the moment, no more

 With all of the insanity that continues to overcome our nation, no... our planet, today I choose to write about me. I know, it may sound selfish but I needed to escape for just a few minutes and tell a short story about a promise I broke.  It was July 10, 2020, aka, my birthday. Daughter #1 wanted to do something special for me. She decided to treat me to a salon visit, begging me to get a cute, shorter style. "Cut my hair?," I said, "but I made a promise that I wouldn't cut it until your dad got home! " She insisted and I agreed to "just a trim."  Salon visit day came, my daughter asked, "Ma, so what haircut are you gonna get?" I responded, "A trim, remember?" She didn't like my answer, she wanted a whole different me coming home that day. I understood, what daughter doesn't want to beautify her mother?  I put on my mask, walked into the salon and was greeted by the owner, who would be my stylist (salons were open at very

What a difference a day makes!  On Monday, the day after I was desperately awaiting to hear about my husband, I called the correctional facility. I asked to speak with his counselor, when I told her why I was calling, she transferred me to another counselor because "her computer wasn't up" (whatever that means). The second counselor told me that they don't deal with HIPAA forms. She transferred me to the medical admin. The woman who answered the phone didn't seem to understand why I was calling. She announced that she couldn't tell me anything, I felt like I was in the "Groundhog Day" movie and began to explain all over again. The woman finally said, your husband can sign the HIPAA form when he gets back from the hospital. I shook my head and took a deep breath before saying, "I just want to know if he's OK, now! and by the way, no one ever called me to tell me he was taken to the hospital." To which she responded, "so, how did you

Today I feel helpless. I know, I should be used to this; being married to a man who is incarcerated, who doesn't have a say over many of his own actions and decisions, frustrating as it is, you never do.  This is a new level and the worry is overwhelming. You see, I haven't spoken with my husband in three days, not unusual, but what makes this different is, the last time I spoke with him he was very sick. He was coughing, had shortness of breath and hadn't been able to sleep due to feeling so unwell. I had been urging him to put in for a sick call for days and he kept telling me no. "I'll just work out and be fine!" but I told him that we're in the middle of a pandemic, please get seen. Even my sister, who is a medical professional, gave him marching orders to get medical attention, he declined. Finally, last night (Saturday), I called the facility to see if they would tell me if he was OK. Perhaps he was in the infirmary or had been quarantined. I also ne

Drawing by our 10 y/o son March 14, 2020 was be the last time I would see my husband under 'normal' circumstances on a visit. Pre-COVID 19 might become the way some of us refer to life as we knew it prior to that date. Since my husband arrived at this current medium security facility in December 2018, I have visited him regularly. Every facility has a different procedure for visitors to follow even before getting in. In Attica, if we visited during the weekend, we would have to wait by our car to be picked up by a van, taken to the hospitality center where we would wait for our turn to be driven back to the main building and THEN be processed for the visit.  This particular facility has a different way. Upon arrival, the first place to go is the hospitality center, fill out a visit pass (which has a number on it). Then if you drove, you go back to your car and wait for your number to show in the window. At that time you walk to the building, get processed and (hopefully) visit.

2020 came in with a vengeance. My native Puerto Rico began experiencing earthquakes, it had been about 100 years since any such significant quakes had taken place, people were suddenly displaced from their homes, and afraid to sleep indoors, camped outside to feel safe. Then, only three months into the year, what seemed like the entire world just paused. COVID19 (a virus likened to the 1918 Flu ) was threatening our very existence, killing many overseas, the death-toll raising here too. Schools closed, businesses closed, churches closed, everything closed (except grocery stores and hospitals). Distance learning became the new buzzword in education. Social Distancing part of our vocabulary. "Don't wear a mask, wear a mask,  test only if you have symptoms, everyone should get tested, worry only if you are old, anyone can die, antibodies means your'e safe, not so fast!" I'll stay home, thank you...  let me know when it's safe! In the meantime, my college s

Everyone is feeling it right now. COVID 19 has taken over our lives and no one has been spared. This pandemic has catapulted the entire world into strange times. This invisible enemy, as many have called it, doesn't discriminate and is among us, making some deathly ill and barely affecting others' health. It may be inside me at this very moment and I don't even know it. That's what makes it so scary, so nerve-wrecking. So all we have to do is stay home. Those of us who don't have to take care of the sick or work at a grocery store or provide any other essential service... we help by staying home. I am working from my laptop; attending and running meetings online. All of the attendees sit in their own square, reminiscent of the Brady Bunch opening , it's kind of comical. I also get to facilitate the home or distance learning that my kids are engaged in. All of them (2nd, 5th, 12th and Sophomore in college) work on their devices and attend classes in the s

The dictionary defines 'false hopes' as confident feelings about something that might not be true. I can bet that nearly everyone has experienced false hopes at some point of their life. As I reflect on the last 26 years, there have been many moments of hope that later turned out to be false. From the moment my husband was arrested, knowing that everything would be OK and he would be released. But he hasn't come home, yet. In 2005, the Rockefeller  Reform gave hope to a lot of inmates. Many became eligible for re-sentencing under the new guidelines. Some were fortunate enough to go home. My husband held out hope that this would be instrumental in his return. He drafted out his own motion, a lawyer was hired to represent him and when his time came, he received a time cut. From having 25- life he now was to serve 20 years flat on the drug conviction. When he was re-sentenced, the judge made no mention of his consecutive sentences. So, for the next 4 years or so, we hop

Almost a year since my husband has been closer. An hour drive to see him is still nothing compared to the 5 and a half from before. This last year has been full of getting back to our 'normal'; regular visits, daily phone calls (that are longer than 15 minutes!), bringing packages, etc. With more interaction, though, also came more conflict. More interruptions in my day (that sometimes weren't taken kindly), more being in the 'know' at the home-front (more about that another time :) But also more conversations about how to get over those conflicts because, soon, we'll be under one roof (God willing!). It feels good to have him near, almost like he's here! And now, with the help of technology and of course money, we have found a way to get closer. So, a couple of months ago my husband called and announced that he had finally gotten the long awaited and highly anticipated "TABLET!" It was the cutest thing ever, hearing him talk about the feature

Have you ever taken your kids to the playground only to have THAT kid show up? The one that always makes some other kid cry within five minutes of his arrival? The one that made you cringe when you found out he was in your daughter's first grade class? The one teachers pray he'll stay home... just ONCE!? We have all met THAT kid. Some of us have been THAT kid. Well... I'm his mom! Some call him spirited, others energetic, active, full of life... he needs to burn energy, yes. It started when he was 6 months old; he let out a shriek unlike anything I had ever heard before. As he got older, he was perceived to be 'aggressive' towards his peers. As an observer, I think he had a hard time with spatial awareness... he was clumsy and impatient so he would push his way through (the playground, a line, etc.). I was so hurt and embarrassed to hear other parents complain about THAT kid, that I started taking him to the playground when I knew it would be empty or close

Last night my eldest daughter called me, and with excitement, announced that she had run into a friend who, in her words, was "well connected." She sounded like her eight year old self whenever she learned something that really peaked her interest and filled her with curiosity- she couldn't stop talking! "Mami, this guy has dinner with Judges and Federal Prosecutors, he says he can help us, that all it takes is money and Papi can be home... he can come home, like tomorrow!!!" I listened to the high pitched sounds of my daughter's hopeful speech but I could not bring myself to share her sentiment. She sounded amazed to find out that all it takes is money, "you're preaching to the choir," was my thought, but I let her continue. She talked about privilege and that, for once, we may have a connection with someone who has it and can use it to help us. OK, so she has a point... but is it too late? My first thought is, I have no money. I have ex

Long Point State Park at Dusk, 2017 For many people, summer is a time for relaxation, family vacations, to regroup and recharge. As a teacher, I can count on one hand the times I have worked during the summer- though I should (my wallet can attest to that!). Living in Western NY, I ought to look forward to the summer and, in some ways, I do. Not having to wake up early or to get the kids out of the house by a certain time is nice. The weather is incredible and saying goodbye to wearing socks and layers of clothes is heaven. Another perk of the good weather is that my husband gets to call more often. Since the phones at the prison are located outside in the "yard," he's able to call without worrying about the elements. The little things... In other ways I don't look forward to summer. I get anxious because my routine is disrupted and I feel like I'm doing nothing. I stop earning a salary so I feel like I'm not being a good parent or a good wife. I am full

It feels like forever since I've had time to write. I have been busy beyond belief, busy in a good way, busy nonetheless. I have been fortunate enough to be working on Saturdays at my school. We have been providing workshops for the entire family including recreational activities such as swimming. It has been such a rewarding experience for me because I have gotten to know many of the students and their families and have build a deeper connection with them. I also get to bring my own kids (the little ones), who absolutely love it. My son gets to play basketball with other kids and my daughter is practically swimming on her own. A couple of weeks ago, for Mother's Day, we held a workshop called "Mindfulness for Mom." My awesome LINKS partner and School Social Worker lead the workshop with a group of moms and caretakers. They got to talk about self care and then they made scented sugar scrubs. The ladies walked away happy, some commenting that 'this is what I n

Me, 1989 In my early to mid teens I loved Clinton. No, not the President, he wasn't President quite yet... not his wife and first woman to come so close to the Presidency (she was robbed!!!), nor the prison that holds my heart at this very moment. No, I was in love with La Clinton... pronounced 'lah cleen-tong' if you're Hispanic! The Avenue, where excitement lived, colors were bright and everything seemed like so much fun. It didn't have the greatest reputation and I was technically not allowed there, so that made it even more attractive to me. It seemed like everyone who was 'cool' was from La Clinton. It should come as no surprise that my husband lived on a street off of Clinton. He and some other neighborhood guys would DJ parties, performed at various events, created art; evolving into local celebrities. And he was my friend, mine. So I got to hang out with them!  Street Art, 1993 When I learned how to drive, cruising was the thing to

The following poem was written by my husband. I sent him a copy of the post I wrote by the same name. he was inspired to write this poem. He told me that when I wrote ' Gray ' I captured how he felt, too. He even had some of his friends read it and they were moved because they identified with gray. I feel grateful to have been able to use a painful moment to inspire beauty.                                          Gray                                              by KMT Is it possible to escape the feelings of a place where the feelings of the place is captured on the face? And all in this place pray for the great escape from the gray.  That sits in the middle of nowhere,  near the border of hate and despair.  The nearest town is don't care,  which has a college populated with children in much fear.  This is everyday in the gray; under incredible stress,  we live in the mess,  trying no to be infected by the gray is a test.  Gray preparations, cause the gr

Last night I heard from my eldest daughter that she experienced trauma from growing up with an incarcerated father. That she doesn't like going to see him because it is painful for her. I had never heard this before. Ever. It made me feel sad. And like a bad mother. Did I make a mistake in exposing my child to prison life?  I began to think about the experiences we had, the two of us. First, I thought about the fact that I was 20 years old when this journey began. My daughter was 9 months old. We were suddenly abandoned, left to navigate life on our own (without Daddy). As time passed and my daughter got older, prison became her playground. She had the biggest personality in the room, always. When we would visit my husband, almost every inmate would say hello to her. She would manage to end up with candy, chips, and other treats that were given to her as she visited and greeted people around the visiting room. Back then, the rules were not as strict as they are today. My daught

I know, I'm about to say the most cliche thing ever... gray is not just a color but a feeling. There, I said it! Now I'm going to explain why I've decided to be Captain Obvious and talk about something that artists have long been capturing in paintings, poems and songs... the feeling of GRAY. Dannemora has been 'home' to my husband for the past 14 months. It is infamous for the ' great escape ' that took place a couple of years ago. This place sits in the middle of nowhere, near the Canadian border close to Montreal. The nearest town is Plattsburg, which has a college and is populated with younger people and features hotels, stores (WalMart AND Target), restaurants, and even a small shopping Mall. Dannemora itself features Clinton Correctional Facility, which also houses CorCraft . There are houses, a Dunkin Donuts within the general store, a gas station, a post office, and... that's it! This past Thursday I set out to visit my husband. I last saw