My emotional day. by Lesa

8/31/2014
Today seemed to be a hard day. My son called me this morning and asked me to come over with the kids, they are all in town, 2 live in Houston area, 1 still at home, 1 in Austin and 2 in San Antonio.  All were at my daughter's home in Houston. I went over. At one point I sat by my son, laid my head on him and I wanted to cry.  I had told them the update on Wes, court date on Wednesday, etc.  I found myself embarrassed for myself, embarrassed for him, I wanted to explain to them that this is not who he is. This man is amazing and I love him.  My girls have been able to get to know him more, they are in town.  The youngest is still at home and they have a great relationship. The older three boys only know the basics of what happened and his history of a DWI. I was saddened that he was not there to share in the kids, sad that I could not explain to them the complexity of a loved one who has screwed up, but is not a screw up. My children are not judgmental, and have been very accepting of a new step dad.  Perhaps it was just my uneasiness of the coming court date.

Visiting with Wesley I found myself teary again. He asked me why I wouldn't look him in the eye. I did, of course, but I was trying not to cry.  I didn't want to cry around him.  I don't want him to know I was sad. I don't want to hurt him or worry him.  He is already so afraid that I am going to get tired of this ordeal and divorce him.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  He is a wonderful mate. He is my best friend.  I am not mad at him.  I guess I have not really processed the reality of how long he may be gone and that is starting to hit with the coming court date.  I am sure this court date will provide no answers.  I feel strongly that if they wanted to revoke his probation, it would already be in the process.

9/1/2014
I find myself unable to sleep, crying quietly in my bed, the dogs asleep next to me.  My relationship with Wesley has consumed me.  I realize that I have neglected friendships. I adore my husband and would rather be with him than anyone.  Normally his schedule is completely around mine. Rarely does his work need him beyond what I am working.  So we spend all our time together.  Now, his absence is leaving a gaping hole in my life.  I am feeling the loss, and fearing the time I will be alone 'til he comes home.  Wesley today expressed, again, his fear that I will tire and leave him, leave this ordeal.  His fear is real because statistically, 80% of men and 100% of women are divorced when incarceration is a year or more. I had no idea. Staggering.

"Judee Reeves wrote in 1994, "Families of inmates have been called the "hidden victims of crime" (Carlson & Cervera, 1992, p.5). When a crime is committed, there are victims other than the primary victim(s). These secondary victims in."clude the families of the primary victim and another often overlooked group of victims -- family members of the person who has committed the crime. The families of inmates are often overlooked in research and in designing social programs, yet many suffer devastating consequences as a result of a loved one's incarceration."

Prison Marriage

Can a Marriage Survive a Prison Sentence?

By Sheri Stritof

My husband has nothing to worry about , I am madly in love with him.  I have never met another like him. He fits me so well.  Smart, sexy, handsome, funny, silly, loves outdoors, loves to ride motorcycles, and adventurous, in many ways.  He is also an atheist, I am a moderate Christian.  We do not see eye to eye, but we listen, respect our differences, and love that we are passionate about our beliefs.  I hurt for him, so passionate for justice, now to be taken away from practicing what he is so gifted at.  I would be devastated if I could not practice nursing.  It is as much of my identity as anything.  I love people, I feel their pain, physical and emotional.  I try to change the world in just a small piece of one person's life.  People are important, all people, from all walks of life.  My husband feels the same when it comes to justice.  Our hearts so similar, with a different focus. It is amazing at times how similar we are.  We both carry desperately wounded hearts from our childhood.  It has formed some bad habits in our adults lives that we are still having to overcome.  But are we not always striving to overcome some baggage of our past?  Some childhoods are less damaged and painful then others, but the weaknesses are still there.  I am sure my own children will have issues, no parents are perfect, we do the best that we can, but we make mistakes.

My third anniversary will be this week.  I married my husband while he was incarcerated in Montgomery county jail.  It seems fitting, of sorts, that it comes back here.  So what does it mean?  What is different?  What is the same?  hmmmm.  I love my husband even more now then when I married  him.  I have heard him cry, like a little boy.  Scared, of losing me more than anything.  He has opened up about his past abuse, and I am understanding more of his behaviors, or his poor coping skills.  He has grown and learned so much in the past few years.  He has healed family relationships, and severed one. I know him completely, and he knows me.  We understand each other, and have helped one another make peace with our past, and set up our future.  Wesley has had a set back, but it does not need to define him.  I see now, where we failed.  He needs me, he admits freely now.  Not something he has always been able to do.  Working nights was very hard for him, and put him in a vulnerable place.  We won't do that again.  He has always been so protective and careful with me and my own weaknesses and places that were painful.  I missed a big one of his, but only because I didn't understand or know.  He can not be alone at night.  It is complicated and simple.

When you go through rehab you learn what your poor coping skills are, and what your weaknesses are in order to A. better prepare for probable problems and B. have set up specific things to do when problems come.  I didn't understand Wesley's problem with being alone, especially at night.  Poor coping skills eventually snuck their way back in, and we are where we are.

Must try to sleep, have to be up for work at 6am.  Hope, somehow, this helps someone out there, but even it if isn't, it is good therapy for me.

Night.

The importance of soup. By Wesley

You will recall that last week the commissary lady let us down.  We waited impatiently for her to arrive with her bags of treats. Hour after hour we pressed our faces into the glass watching for her until the guards announced she would make no appearance.  We revere her as Santa Clause, the tooth fairy and Jesus, all rolled into one.  Her selfless quest to bring us joy elevates her above mere mortals.  But after she failed to come and left us all empty handed, (and bellied), there was only one reasonable conclusion we could reach:
The commissary lady is a whore.

She proved that once again today, but before I detail her latest transgressions, I must first address soup.

The one thing every commissary order has in common is soup.  Not ordinary soup, mind you, but Ramen noodles.  They come in four flavors: Chili, Beef, Chicken, and spicy vegetable.  But the truth is they should all be labelled as "salt flavored".  They are absolutely poison to your body as each of them contains as much sodium as the dead sea.  But we order and consume them in bulk because a soup is not just a soup.

A soup is a unity of currency.  Every thing is valued in soups.  A bottom bunk next to me just opened up and the guy above it was very happy to move down.  But he was offered a soup to allow another guy to take it and he accepted.  Bottom bunk is worth a soup.

In jails and prisons Ramen noodles ought to be stamped with "legal tender for all debts, public and private".  I bought a special mattress last week for 2 soups and it was worth every noodle.  Lose a game of spades? Give the man a soup.

But soup means more too.  I realized this past week that many have no soup.  I asked around, and the consensus is that people without soup either don't have anyone to put money on their books, or they don't have anyone willing to put money on their books.Either way, they are alone.  In addition to not getting a bag of unhealthy joy from the commissary lady(whore), they have no one to call.  There are no visits.  There is no one to pick them up when they get released.

A soupless guy just got released.  He'd intimated that he was homeless earlier in the week.  So I asked him where he was going-who was picking him up?  He said he would walk to Interstate 45 and sleep under the overpass.

Soup is not always just soup.

This afternoon, after yet another stressful day waiting for the commissary lady, she appeared as if from nowhere.  Grown men wept while they jockeyed for position at the door slot through which her goodies poured forth.  Her bags dwindled away to nothing.  I was left aghast- empty handed and ashamed.

No soup for me.

What is underneath the surface. by Wesley

8/28/2014

A glance around at most times of the day at the 24 men who share this cell, seems like a happy lot.  Laughter is near constant.  Smiles and games, men engaged in conversations and prayer; activity is constant.

There are arguments, of course.  Any disagreement can lead to dangerous tensions.  The T.V. for example, is a serious source of conflict.  But most conflicts are full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.  I can hear Jane Goodall narrating the conflicts calmly in my head-"young male chimps displaying their anger and aggression with no harm done."  She would know just what to say.

Card games and dominoes are going on non-stop; laughter and bravado pour forth.  The same stories of capers past are told and retold daily.  Exploits with women, especially "dope whores", are relived to great laughter every day.

Today I watched a man laughing wholeheartedly while playing spades.  His face clouded during each lull in the action.  His smile was strained and his eyes sad.  A shadow passed over his face each time he allowed himself a moment to reflect.

The young man in the bunk next to me sits and stares into space and tells me he is off in the world.  He swears that he will no longer do or sell meth when he gets out of custody, whenever that is. It will all be different-he says- he is moving to Seattle.  I suppose he's thinking about Seattle when his eyes are so distant.  He is earnest: there is no greater penitent than the incarcerated.

The eighteen year old above me who is accused of armed robbery wept tonight after seeing his mother for the first time since his arrest.  Gone was the tough kid who arrived last night.  All that was left was a frightened child who'd disappointed his mother.

Earlier a guy got off the phone after an animated conversation with his girlfriend.  He told us she told him they'd been evicted.  That she'd told him she was not happy and then their time on the phone was abruptly cut off and he couldn't get her back on the phone.  His eyes were ringed with red while he considered what her next sentence was going to be.

I didn't shave for two weeks after arrival.  I couldn't look in the mirror long enough to shave, so I ignored that part of my hygiene.  Before too long the itching overcame my shame and I shaved.  Then I picked up my book again-any book- anything to keep me from thinking.

If you could crawl inside the cracks in the facade, you would see that the vast majority of these men are deeply sad.  Not proud of where we are, who we are, or what we have done to ourselves and to our loved ones. The shame is a shroud over everything we do.

Brush away the bravado and you can see the fear in us as well.  Fear of the present, of course, and also the retribution that will soon enough sting us all.

Also, the fear of being alone gnaws away.  Cast aside and away by families frustrated by our poor choices.  Shown the door by a significant other more interested in a relationship with a man who helps with the kids, the bills, and the emptiness. A man she can touch.

So we laugh, because that is better than the alternative.

Next: The importance of soup (really).

Yay, a court date!

Well, it may not be good news at court, but at least the waiting will be partly over.  I guess I never really explained how we ended up here.  I was working a night shift, Wesley went to a birthday party of a friend.  As what happens many times when I work nights, Wesley misses me, and is lonely.  This day was not different, except at his friends house he decided to have a few drinks.   He thought it had been enough time, he had been eating, but he messed up.  On his motorcycle he likes to dance, he listens to music on his headphones, and sways back and forth in his lane. He got pulled over. I had just texted him, around 11pm, asking him what he was doing. I had not heard from him in awhile.  He said he had gotten pulled over and would be arrested for DWI.  I stared at the screen, my gut wrenched. All I could do was type, OMG. I was just shocked.

I had been through this before.  I had met Wesley, another long story, and we had just gotten serious in our relationship when he was thrown into jail for missing a drug urine test, which is the same as a dirty test. The judge held him for 3 months before telling him he could go to SAFP for 9 months, or get revoked.  During the 3 months at County I didn't get to touch him. I got two 20 minute per week visits.  Once he got to SAFP, which was just over 200 miles, one way, I drove every weekend for a 2 hour visit.  Because I came from so far, once a month I was allowed an extra 2 hour visit on the same weekend. I would stay in a hotel and have Saturday and Sunday to visit.  We wrote almost every day.  We talked on the phone every day.  It was good therapy, but was so long, so hard, I missed him so much.  Now, I'm looking at that phone, seeing his text, thinking, I am not going to see him again for 3-5 years. I was heartbroken and I still had to finish my shift, pretending everything was okay.  Wesley was allowed to keep his phone for a couple of hours and he texted with me til his phone died. He was devastated, suicidal.  Told me to divorce him and move on.  He told me later, he looked around the cell for something to kill himself with.  Despite my own heartbreak, I hurt for him.  I told him over and over, it would be okay, that we would get through it together.  When I got home in the morning, I could finally let it go.  Thank God my kids were gone, I wept. I couldn't sleep and had work again.  I knew work would be a good distraction. I showered, drank water and got dressed.  I was in shock.  I came home, I knew I wouldn't hear from him for a few days while they processed him in Harris county.  At one point I was angry at him, felt like I had been betrayed.  My last memory with him, he was dressed so handsomely, getting ready to go visit his friend. He leaned down and gave me a peck on the cheek.  My last touch for maybe 3 years?  I cried.  I cried a lot.

The other fun part of this was Wesley's identity was being mixed up with another with his same birthday.  The other guy was a really bad guy.  This has happened in the past.  We believe part of the reason he was arrested at all was because of this other guys record.  My husband says the arresting officer was very nice, even asking him what he was doing driving the way he was, Wes explained it.  Anyway, they didn't set bond at first, and when they finally did they through out a $100,000 bond, which was grossly over fair.  But there is no negotiations, you pay it if you want out, Judge set it high because he never thought he would be able to pay it.  Luckily, I have wonderful friends like attorney Lori Laird, my best friend, and another friend she introduced me to attorney Shari Goldburg, an attorney who also own Freedom Bail Bonds/Bay Area Bail Bonds.  These people are awesome. I was so stressed they handled everything professionally, quick, and were just awesome.  I can not recommend any of them enough.  Wesley got out of jail the day before we had to leave to see my son get married.  It was 2 months and 3 court dates before he finally turned himself in to Montgomery County.

So now, Wesley is on probation in Montgomery County, waiting to see what the judge will decide to do for breaking his probation.  Then we have to face up to Harris County and what they decide to do.  We are praying, praying and hoping that Wesley will be allowed to go to rehab, get clean and sober, and get another chance.  He would be on a probated prison sentence, fingers crossed....well, I will be praying.  Till then, I don't think I will be eating or sleeping much. I have more to write, but I am falling out. I am only halfway through my work week. 50 hours this week, I'm tired.

Being locked apart, by Lesa

8/26/2014

I'm tired.  I have just worked thirteen hours. When I got off of work, I picked up my son so we can buy a few groceries, school supplies, and dog food. We got child support in, so the funds were available.  The rest goes to bills, and stupid phone service.  Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the privilege of having the overpriced calls.  What I don't appreciate is not being about to look at the account activity to make sure they are charging me correctly, they make mistakes often. I have complained about this before.  I spent 2 hours writing complaints to the FCC and BBB.  We will leave it at that.

Money is tight with only one income.  Time is tight, because now I have to take care of the house, cars, kids, well, only one, three big dogs, and two cats.  I try not to get resentful, usually I am not.  I know my husband never meant for any of this to happen.  He is normally a thoughtful, attentive husband.  His choice to drink has left us in a bind, and the financial cost is staggering.  We have two children in college who depend on me for 1/2 their support.  The pressure gets me down sometimes, but it is a waste of time and energy.  It is not going to change, nor help anyone.  I love my husband dearly, he is my best friend.  He made a mistake, and we don't even know what the fall out will be.  I will be strong and brave.  I will love him through it all.  I have made terrible mistakes in my life, and it is when I have deserved it the least, that love, somehow still got through.  I can only hope to continue to keep this attitude.  My faith gives me the strength, and Jesus's example of love and acceptance sets a high standard.  It is what keeps me facing forward.

When my husband and I are together, we enjoy every moment.  Whether it is doing nothing but being in our jammies, watching TV, camping in the mountains, or riding motorcycles through beautiful scenic Texas.  He and I get each other.  Even without saying much, we understand what makes the other one tick. We accept, unconditionally, each other, and help each other understand ourselves better.  I trust him completely.  I feel safe with him.  No one has ever made me feel that way.

If we keep our eyes on each other, I will pray that God helps me, I know that we will grow in love and be closer than ever. We will learn more about ourselves and each other.  For now, we are locked apart by geographic location, but he is forever in my heart and soul.  There, we are inseparable.

Being locked apart. by Wesley

8/22/2014

"For me, the hardest part of being in jail is missing my wife.   We are best friends.  Of course, most people say that about their spouses, but we truly are.  We do everything together.  We share inside jokes that mystify others as we giggle.  We are always touching, (like home base), when something happens, she is my first call.

Many of my brethren in here immediately cut off contact with romantic relationships once they arrive in jail. Many of them feel that it is not worth worrying about whether their significant other is being faithful; rather than worry about it, they just say, "good bye".

I can understand that sentiment, and the thought has crossed my mind, if only briefly.  It isn't easy admitting that you need someone, especially when you are locked apart.  But I  need my wife to help me feel normal.  I need her to help me feel that I am not society's refuse- that I have value, if only to her.

As I was writing this entry, I had a picture of my wife on the stainless steel table upon which I am writing.  An inmate passed by and asked if that was my "ol' lady."?  I said, "yes, she is my wife" He said, "Don't torture yourself like that."

I don't consider it torture, it is inspiration.  A photo captures a moment in time and I can feel the joy that I felt in that moment.  It inspires me and lifts me up-no matter how low my spirits.  Gives me hope.

Unfortunately, hope is too often lost once the door rolls behind us.  We shut people out before they can betray us.  I guess, we don't give them a chance.  I won't give up on my wife.  She is my past, my present, and I will do my part to make sure she's my future.  It's all the normal I get around here.

The commissary lady did not come today.by Wesley

"When you're locked on this side of the glass there is no greater cause for consternation.  No other even or non-event can cause us more sadness, anger, futility, Santa failed to come.

The Commissary Lady brings us bags of delicious treats, not once a year, but twice a week!  On the eve of her visits everyone dutifully and earnestly gets a bubble sheet to write a list of requests to the commissary lady.  We carefully color in the dots for such treats as M&M's, pickled jalapenos, and jock itch cream.  She doesn't even care if we have been naughty or nice, (we are in jail, after all)!!  She only cares that we correctly fill in the bubble sheet and that we have money, of course. Elitist bitch.

We waited all day, our faces pressed against the potentially MRSA tainted glass, waiting to hear the signature sound of her canvas carts overflowing with outrageously priced delicacies that we can't do without.

As the hours passed, furtive glances passed throughout our cell.  Anguished looks would darken faces like clouds casting shadows on the ground.  Every time we heard the outer door roll our heads perked up, listening for the sound that promised full bellies for even the pickiest eaters for days to come.

(As an aside, I may be one of those pickier eaters but I will eat no more cat food and pasta casserole this week.  The line has been drawn).

When our dinner came we could no longer deny that we had been betrayed.  The tension in the cell was as thick and putrid as the spiceless cat food I forced down my throat.

I hate the commissary lady, at least until tomorrow because a man must have his peanut butter and chocolate wafer bars, 2 pack, $1.30.

Next-  The importance of soup.

Conversations in jail by Wesley

The topic of conversation today has been the wonderful world of insecure women and how long you can stay up on a meth binge.  Don't even get me started on the wonderful world of combining the two.

I'm 46 years old.  I am a 9 year Navy veteran.  I was awarded a Navy achievement medal, several sailor of the months, and recognized as Sailor of the quarter.  I graduated Summa Cum Laude with dual majors in History/Anthropology.  I have a juris doctorate.

I was once on the Today show interviewed by Katie Couric about a case I was involved with (I'm pretty sure she still dreams about me).

And now, I am in jail.

A series of unfortunate evens led me here, and I blame no one but myself.  I drank and drove and I'm paying for it (no one was hurt!).  I' not here to lament my loss, but to share my experiences.

So buckle up, here they come!

Global Tel Link....more like Global Tel Thieves.

So, in my post a couple of days ago I mention the telephone service. Today, will be a rant about the phone service. So I did the math and posted that I had only used $15.70 of a $25 prepaid amount on my card. I called them today to see wtf was up.  Mind you, I am at work, and phone service is crappy. After going through about 6 prompts I finally get to a live person with a thick accent, named Steven.  He then spends the next 5 minutes with security questions, then finally I ask him for the break down of my bill. Tells me there is taxes on the call, another $1.12 for a state fee, and another dollar and some change for something else. I stopped him if he could mail me a copy of the fees. He stated he could not, it was their policy. He asked me if I wanted him to read the policies to me. I asked him if he would send me a copy, he said no, but I could go online and read them. I asked him, so, I can go online and see your policies, but can not see a record of account spending that I had to set up, prepaid?  He said yes.  Global Tel Link....the arm pit of correctional phone service.  They are expensive, but not so expensive that you can afford something.  Their service is okay. Their customer service sucks. You can not get a live person. I had to send in a complaint, then they sent me a reply, by email, of a number to get a live person. I didn't even mind being on hold, but to be told that I can not even see a record of calls made and an accounting of the funds, pissed me off. I guess they think anyone calling a person in jail is desperate and stupid.  Wesley got an earful, and then he said, I see a class action suit!!!  He will be going to the law library tomorrow.

Whether or not we can file a class action suit, or not, it was nice to hear Wesley have some fight in him.  He has sounded better the last couple of phone calls. He told me today he traded a mattress for coffee today, not that those things are going on, I'm sure he was joking...*whispering* no.  Tomorrow is commissary and payday, so he is actually looking forward to something.  He has promised he has sent blog entries in the mail and has had some focus on things to write about. He is witty and smart...I can't wait to introduce him to the blog, you will see what I mean.  I'm all emotional and factual, he is funny and clever...together, we are a hoot, you would love to hang out with us!

I'm off to bed, on work days this will be shorter, but I promise to put my time and thought into it on my days off.  As I prepare to take my #5 of 6 kid to college this weekend, and #6 start his second year of high school, I worry that when I run out of things to keep me busy I will crash not having my partner in crime with me.  We do everything together.  Some people like having time away from their spouses, we are the opposite, we like being together and would rather drag the other with them doing whatever. Part of what got us here was me working nights, Wesley does not do alone well. He was home alone, I was working at a nearby hospital. He was lonely, missing me and went to a friends b-day party and then had a few drinks. He does this cute thing when he rides his motorcycle, he dances, swaying slowly back and forth in his lane, listening to music on his earphones.  Mr. Policeman couldn't figure out what was going on with him and pulled him over.  Well, maybe I should let him tell the story.

I would like some feedback. Please take a minute, tell me what would make more interesting reading, questions, comments, whatever.  I plan on my days off to get more into the SAFP program. I noticed there is not a lot of recent information out there, I thought that might be some help for someone starting that program.

Lesa

A letter from Wesley

Dear Lesa,                                                                                                              8-15-14

We spoke earlier, and I told you how I am currently without words.  With that in mind, I begin this letter describing my affliction with the sole intent of putting words on paper.

It is always that first word, that first word that breaks the dam.  Yet, here I continue writing about not having anything to say.

I could say that I love you, and that is without a doubt true. I love you, I adore you, I an't imagine my life with you, yet I can't help but feel that I may have held you for the last time.

On the tail end of our trip, you were expressing some frustration with me and on more than one occasion told me you "couldn't live this way."  You told me that was just frustration with some of the events unfolding but I couldn't help but see it a different way: that I'm a loser, you should be with someone better, and you will have ample opportunity to meet a doctor, a nurse, a cop, a __________, just not me, who would be a better life for you.

Not that this is what you meant, but when those words come out of your mouth when I am about to go away indefinitely, that is how a felt--feel. 

So I have felt myself contracting, shrinking.  I feel my feelings drying up, wagons circling, walls building, and my "self" disappearing.  I am quiet in here, withdrawn, and cold.  I don't imagine I could be lower.

But I have written and I have told you why I feel dead inside.  I am dead because no matter how much I love you I feel like I will never touch you, kiss you, or hold you again.  

And it is my own doing.

I have put myself into a cage and you, needlessly, with me.  You are sweet and funny, full of life and beautiful.  Many good years left for you to enjoy with your wonderful kids.  That doesn't necessarily mean me.

Make no mistake, I desperately love you and don't know what I would do without you.  I would be done, for sure.   I dunno.  Those words keep streaming through my head.  I'm screwed up and I don't want to drag you down with my self destructive brain.

I love you, and my heart is heavy, and I'm afraid.  I guess that sentence explains as much as the preceding pages, maybe more.

Love always, Wesley

Lesa,                                                                8/16/2014

And then there is today.  I'm sitting here in bed reading, which I have been doing since I got in here.  Reading in hopes of falling asleep.  Sometimes works, sometimes it does not.

Once again I'm at a loss for anything other than spewing depression.  Nice.

I will try some more later.  I got nothing right now.

Lesa,                                                               8/17/2014

You have come and gone.  It was very nice seeing you--especially wearing your pig tails and pink shirt.   I'm sorry if I was bad company.  

I'm really trying to be upbeat.  Or medium beat or any beat.  It's eluding me.

I will do better in the future.

I love you, 

Love always, 

Wesley

Just tired.

So, today I am just tired. Instead of coming home to family, I come home to an empty house. My college kid will be leaving Friday to go back to school, he is at his girlfriends place. My high schooler is staying at a friends. Its just me and my cookie dogs!  I miss Wesley's voice, touch, and smell.  I love snuggling up beside him at  night. I worked a 14 hour day and I am beat.  One of our problems was me working at night left Wesley at home alone at night when he get sad and depressed, then he thinks he can have a couple of drinks and be fine. I must get some sleep. I know that work days will reduce the entry, I can only do so much in a day, but will make up for it on my days I don't work.

Today's tip.  When going to County jail, at least in Montgomery County, if you have white underwear, t-shirts or socks, you can keep them. Wesley, knowing he was going in, put on three sets of each. He got to keep them, was warm, and didn't have to spend commissary on them. He didn't bring more than three because he says it gets hard to keep up. He has to wash them by hand, since you cant send your stuff to laundry.  

Our Story, part 2

Wesley and I started dating. He was very cautious with us going out, since the divorce was not final. He also seemed to still be holding back. I didn't push him.  He, in his last relationship, been horribly verbally and emotionally abused. I had no idea, yet, of how much.  So we went out here and there, but he still seem reluctant to throw himself into this relationship, in fact telling me he didn't want to call me a girlfriend. I was patient, and confident in my feelings. He had, several times, in vulnerable moments, told me he loved me, but now seemed very protective of his heart. One day, after spending a day with his friends in Houston, he called, told me he had really missed me. He said he realized how much time we had been spending together and realized he would rather be spending time with me.  I felt hopeful that he would learn to trust and care for me more, as his own heart healed from the past.

He introduced me to his sister and she seemed to like me.  One day a friend of hers wanted to go out with Wesley and I, we were going out dancing. I made sure she had a good time, pulling her to the dance floor, having fun, being silly.  At the end of the night he looked me in the eyes and said, I think I want to marry you. You are genuinely sweet.  I smiled and said I had been telling him that.  Things changed after that. He was warm, open, and around whenever I was home.  The following week, he asked me to marry him, and I said yes, it was about time.

A couple weeks later he told me his probation officer had tried to call him, he had missed her call the day before. He told me this was bad. I didn't understand, but soon learned, that meant he missed a urine drug screen. She called him in and took him into custody.  The judge, Judge Michael Mayes, believed him to be on drugs. Missing a random drug test is the same as testing positive. Here is where things got complicated.  Wesley's ex had accused him of choking her. He was arrested for choking, which is a felony. He felt, being a Mexican-American, she a blond Caucasian, that he was not even listened to, but charged and thrown into jail. That charge made him a potential violent offender. He was put in county jail with violent offenders. He didn't belong. He said there is an electricity in the air, the racial driven groupings,  like you never know when its going to strike. He kept his head down and quiet. He, being an attorney, even disbarred, was able to help several inmates write motions, and tried to be helpful, others seemed to appreciate him, and he liked being useful.

Wesley refused to plead guilty to the choking charge, I don't blame him, he was innocent. Even his evil ex-girlfriend said no way he would have hit anyone, if he hadn't hit her, she was a total bitch.  I know Wesley had no temper, never angry, and always a gentleman.  I helped him prepare for the grand jury, pouring through emails and texts to show the lies the ex had told.  The judge left Wesley in jail, and even tried to tell him he should go ahead and plead guilty and get on with it.  Wesley said no.  The judge finally told Wesley that he should go into the S.A.F.P. program, he wasn't letting him out. They had already filed a motion to revoke his probation, Wesley agreed. The next day, Denton County drops the felony choking charge and Wesley gets put on the list to go to S.A.F.P.  During this time, we realized Wesley would not being coming home for a year. We wanted to get married, I wanted him to go to rehab knowing his wife was behind him, every step of the way. He had been been beaten and shit on his whole adult life, save one nice ex-wife, and I wanted him to have the security and love of a wife that loved him to death and thought the world of him. His sister Jenny stood in for him and his sister Geri was a witness. The lovely judge Edie Connelly did the ceremony. We had hoped for a call to have him there over the speaker phone, but the jail went on lock down. He calls the next day and asked if we were married, I,  of course, said yes.

Substance Abuse Felony Program, a Texas Department of Corrections program, is a last ditch effort for those with alcohol or drug abuse problems. It is on prison grounds, prison uniforms, etc., but they are in an intense rehab program. Here is some general information about it. It was a wonderful program, but inmates will get out of it what they put in.  My husband and I grew immensely closer during this time.  Judge Michael Mayes is in charge of the program for Montgomery County, in Texas, it is a passion of his, and for the most part, is a good program.  If anyone has question about that specifically, please post and I will reply asap.  I drove over 200 miles one way, every weekend, to see my husband and support him in this program. Most people can not afford the time or money to do this, but I felt it was important for us.

http://www.co.guadalupe.tx.us/guadalupe2010/home.php?content=CSCD/faqs#c6

I could spend awhile here, S.A.F.P. was a good thing.

After S.A.F.P. came the half way house, a useless, crappy place. Maybe for real TDC folks, but there was a lot of drugs and things going on there, Wesley couldn't wait to get out. We slowly worked into a routine, Wesley threw himself into the after SAFP program, his new probation officer was on speed dial, and they talked regularly, sometimes every day. Wesley considered her a friend.  She later took a job in a county closer to her home, and another took her place. They didn't have the after program to bond them, and Wesley lost a key person to his staying out of trouble.  I consider it a big reason for  the mistake that brought us here. Tracey was a good friend, and mentor. Truthful and tough.  Wesley needed that. When Wesley let her know he had gotten another DWI, after me, he thought of her, and Judge Mayes, that he had let them down.  He wrote her in an email that he apologized for letting her down. She wrote that she knew how hard he had worked and thought that maybe the judge would let him continue on probation. Of course there will be jail time from him too, not to mention what will happen with the judge in Harris County. But for now, we wait.

It has been about two years since being out of S.A.F.P., one year since being released in the after program. In the ceremony, those who make it through the 9 months in prison, and the 9 month after program, is very few, but I remember Wesley in County Jail before, and how he was at that moment, he was changed, I was changed, and we appreciated the effort of Judge Mayes and Tracey. I imagine their success rate was higher. I believe the effort of Tracey to stay in contact with her probationers in the day to day of life, when people were likely to struggle with triggers and life. Tracey would always answer her phone, she was awesome. Judge Mayes would take special interest in folks and issues and was also trying to do small things to help a person recovering with things they needed. Would go eat where someone worked as a cook, or get a bike for someone riding it to work, I appreciated that he was thoughtful to some, he tried to help those who were helping themselves and walking the walk. I am going to send this to Wesley. I am sure I don't have all the facts straight, and he can help along the ways. He will be sending me his written blog posts that will be unedited. He is currently in Montgomery County Jail, a warrant was issued when Wesley told his probation officer he was arrested for DWI in Harris County.  I will get to that day tomorrow.

Today's tip. In trying to have more affordable calls, I looked into something called Jailpay....total scam if you are calling a local jail.  Basically they are selling you a local number so you don't get long distances charges, which on a cell phone you don't get anyways.  Your local jail usually only has one provider, you have to use them, and you have to pay their ridiculous charges, or just not talk.  Currently, Montgomery County used Global Tel Link, and they are charging $3.85 for the first minute, and .35¢ each minute after that, there is a 15 minute limit. Inmates can buy a $10 card from commissary, with no service fee, but several dollars end up not being used because it tells you there is not enough funds for a call and it goes to waste.  If you use a credit card to put money on the account you get charged $6.95 every time you charge it up. So if you only put $25 on the account, the first call cost $6.95 service fee, $3.85 for the first minute and  $4.90 for the other 14 minutes. Total $15.70.  Hmm, I did this the first day Wesley called on an automated system. The next day when he called it wanted more money on the account, I called and they said there was only .77¢ left. I just did the math and it was $15.70, the bastards lied!! Get used to this, everything is expensive, and nobody gives a shit about the inmates, except the families, and a lot of them don't either.  Wesley is rare, he is much loved, and cared for, and he will receive letters every day, and I never miss a visitation.  Hug your loved ones, life sucks and sometimes things happen to take them away. Talk to you tomorrow.

Our story, part 1

My story may not be so unusual. I have been a bit sheltered in my life, and learning the hard way that when you love someone, part of your life is their journey.  I met my husband when I posted a poem on Craigslist...yeah, Craigslist. Its not what you think. I was living in Houston, miserable and depressed in a 25 year marriage. Children were mostly grown and gone. I was so lonely...the problems of that marriage were long and complicated, but I was done. The guilt and shame of being a christian, mother of six and wanting a divorce weighed on me heavily.  I started writing poetry, desperate to deal with the waves of emotion.  I posted it in the missed connection section of Craigslist, in Dallas. I lived in Houston, and was throwing to the wind. I received several responses but started an email friendship with my husband.  He was witty, smart, sexy and there was a passion in his eyes that I had always wanted, for myself, and in my mate.  We began a love affair.  After much guilt, and terrible depression we quit communications and reconnected once we had both ended our previous relationships. There is so much more to that story, but for the purposes of this blog, we will keep it short. I may hit on it at a later date.

When we were apart I had kept up with Wesley's progress had been arrested for a DWI 3rd offense in January 2010, I could see that he was disbarred June of that year. I knew he was probably hurting from that, from the distance I prayed that he was okay.  I get an email out of the blue November of that year, asking me how I was doing. I answered back. I was trying to get my ex-husband to move out, I had already filed for divorce.  I was glad to hear from him. He was still sexy as ever, sweet and smart,  but there was a darkness there, I could not put my hand on. I could tell there was a dark cloud over his head, but I didn't want to push him, instead, I figured he would share with me when he was ready.  He hadn't contacted me in awhile, so I googled his name and found he had been taken into custody by Montgomery County Sheriffs Jail. There was a MTR, which is motion to revoke his probation. I didn't understand or know what was going on. I was not separated yet and knew I should wait to talk to him. I was in love. I remember sitting in my bedroom crying, wondering what was wrong with me. I was in love with a man in jail!! My daughter, bless her heart, comes in and sees me crying and I told her why.  I had to see him, so I went to the next visitation.  His face fell, he was shocked and embarrassed. He asked me what I was doing there. I told him that I had to see how he was doing. He wouldn't look me in the eye.  I told him I loved him and promised to write. 

After going to marriage counseling with my husband, I felt guilty, the christian, mother of six guilt hit, I thought I should try again.  I told my daughter my horrible guilt of Wesley in jail, alone, no one caring for him.  I was conflicted.  I wrote Wesley a letter that I was going to try a last time on my marriage. I cried on my daughter's shoulder, no mother should ever put her daughter in that position, but I was beside myself with grief. I had not been in love with her dad for a long time, and I don't believe he was in love with me, but we had been married for 25 years, it was expected.  She told me she would write Wesley while he was in jail. I remember, I was so desperate to make sure he had someone care for him, write him, that I put my poor daughter in a weird position. She is tender-hearted, like me, and seeing me cry, and hearing of this person alone, she did an extraordinary thing.  A few weeks later, I knew the marriage was done and it was time to be brave and move on.  Wesley got out of jail, I had no idea at that time why, but would learn later.  I tried to reconnect with Wesley, but he was distant or didn't answer.  I finally sat crying again, I actually cried every day in those days, grieving for the marriage ending, and making peace with my mistakes. My oldest daughter, Sarah, again, who knew everything finds me, I tell her, he won't talk to me or see me, I love him, I am a fool, he doesn't want me, what is wrong with me.  He answers me later that day with, "it will be alright, we will talk soon, but we need to move slow."  I found out later that my daughter had written him and asked him, during my time that I was trying to reconcile with her dad, for him to not contact me and let me go.  He had kept his promise, until he got a message from her telling him it was okay, she could tell I was in love with him and things were not going to be reconciled between me and her dad.  To this day, I regret putting my daughter in that position, kids are not meant to be the adult, even if they are one. 

So in April of 2012, after the ex-husband would not move out, our youngest son and I moved into a home about a mile away and Wesley and I started quietly dating.