I've just completed my third week of prison! So much of this existence is brutal; but I have come to find the weekends particularly hard. They are filled with too much time on my hands, which leads to memories of happier days. Days spent with my sons, families and friends. For the past ten years as Brooks & Philip were growing up, they played in countless town baseball, soccer, and basketball games. In all those years I missed maybe one or two of those games. What a joy I would get, sitting in the stands, watching the two of them compete, the innocence of the surroundings protecting us all at that moment. What a proud father I was. While I sit in prison I recall taking them out for a treat or lunch afterwards, I wanted to soak up every single minute of being in their space. And as I look around at my current surroundings, I miss the connotation of Saturday mornings; the errands, trips to the local coffee shop where I would hang out reading the papers, planning a busy day ahead.
I have begun to realize that I almost have to force myself not to look back on those days. As harsh as that sounds, it's true. While yes they define my past and my days as a father, it's just too damn painful. It is almost like I have to block the boys & my family from my mind, they can't exist inside my head while I stay here, perhaps just quick little pit stops here & there. Because to dwell on the past will just make me sad and weak, and to get through this, I need to be the total opposite. I have to tell myself that kids are resilient, they are healthy, they are getting tons of support from family and friends, and someday we'll all come out of this in one piece. Maintaining a strong psyche, I realize more and more, is the key to survival here. Prison is a hate factory, and if I'm not careful it will strip me of my remaining dignity and self-esteem.
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