I had my first visit since my mother’s death (with my oldest sister). As I approached the visitors’ room, I thought about only being able to hold her for only a short period of time (30 seconds to a minute). We had to sit about a foot apart with two yellow caution lines between us; one on her side and one on my side, with a red line between the two yellow lines. We would no longer be allowed physical contact at that point, under the threat of the visit being terminated if any part of our body, whether it be a foot or hand should encroach the prohibited zones. I found myself worrying about how I might react if it came to wanting to just embrace my sister, comfort her during this particular visit, because I knew that as hard as we may try to avoid the relative truth-that our mother was gone-and that we truly were motherless children, and we were missing her. I fought through the hurt and anger, and guilt that I was feeling in this moment.
We ended the visit with the officer signaling me to go (while she had to remain seated until I had left the room), unceremoniously; not being allowed to give my sister, whom I see bending under the weight that she now bears upon her shoulders, without a simple act of affection or comfort or embrace or even a touch. I could only say I’m sorry, I love you.
I’ve served thirty-six years to date. This is what we have become.
Aubrey Ashby
You can support Aubrey by reaching out to him via web.connectnetwork.com, or by writing to him at Aubrey Ashby #29999, Wabash Valley Correctional Facility, PO Box 1111, Carlisle, IN 47838
