The Platypus, Job and Me

I’ve had another lousy week, lousy enough that it reminded me that God has a warped sense of humor. There’s an old joke about God proving He was a funny, quirky guy by creating the platypus, a mammal that lays eggs, carries its young in a pouch, has a duck bill and webbed feet. It is a complete genetic mish mash.



Tuesday evening I received “legal mail”. Legal mail is the term prisons use to describe any letter, any envelope you receive from an attorney, court, or governmental agency. All “regular” mail is examined prior to delivery to inmates. Envelopes are opened and shaken out (to check for contraband being mailed in – drugs, cash, nude photos). Inmates on the prison “watch list” (known gang members) actually have their mail read before delivery.


Legal mail is different. It has to be opened in front of the inmate. It cannot be read, only shaken out for contraband. Inmates must sign a log book acknowledging receipt of the legal mail.


Tuesday night I was sitting in my cut, writing when the CO hands me an envelope. I looked at it and realized it was from the Court Clerk. I tore open the envelope and find an executed copy of the Court’s order dismissing my Habeas Corpus Petition.


I knew this was coming. I knew I’d lose at the state court level. It’s an exercise in futility. You file with the same judge who convicted and sentenced you and you tell him “judge you screwed up. You didn’t realize my attorney violated my 6th Amendment right to effective assistance of counsel”.


In my case, I went even further. In response to the Attorney General’s motion to dismiss, I challenged the court to face itself and admit the sentence imposed was wrong. I called the judge every non-profane name in the books, daring him to revisit my case.


He held the AG’s proposed order 90 days. Frankly, I started thinking “maybe I’m right. Maybe justice will be done”. No such luck. He did as I expected.


I already had my Notice of Appeal drafted. I already had my pleadings in the works to proceed to the Virginia Supreme Court, and then Federal Court (you have to exhaust your state remedies first before getting in to Federal Court).


But, reading the order – an order drafted by the AG – I started to think “why bother appealing. I’m never getting out of here”. In the last month, I’ve been able to get two guys their hab’s granted and one guy’s pardon request has now moved to the parole board for final processing. My own case, nothing.


I knew then what the platypus feels like going through life. I knew I was the punch line of God’s joke. “Did you hear the one about the lawyer who got everyone he met a new chance in court, except himself?”


Fortunately, Big S and the “Old Heads” (the three convicted murderers I’m tight with) made me realize I had to keep fighting. “You can’t give up. Do you know how many guys are optimistic now because you’re optimistic? You got to fight these bastards.”


Which got me thinking about Job. A close friend in here gave me some advice that I’m trying to take to heart. Funny thing is, it’s the same advice two therapists gave me. Simply put, they all said I needed to quit being so hard on myself and remain patient and hopeful.


I wrote my ex this week. First time in a year. I wrote her because it was 30 years to the day that I found the courage to tell her “I love you” for the first time. In the letter I told her I was sorry the way things ended, sorry she hadn’t been happy and didn’t love me, sorry for letting her down. I also told her I’d always love her.


My friend said “you have nothing. You gave everything to her; you went against your own self-interest with your case to protect your wife and kids. You acted more noble and compassionately than anyone I know. Isn’t it possible her behaviors wrong? Isn’t it possible she’s just about her own selfish interests?”


And then this. “You can’t change people and you’re not responsible for everyone’s actions. Yeah, you screwed up. Good people do that. You’re a good guy and it’s not all your fault.”


I took what he said to heart. I’ve been dealt a lousy hand, no doubt. But, I’ve realized along this path I’m a pretty decent guy. I don’t know why God’s letting all this happen to me. But, I know this; I’m going to get through it.


One of the toughest lessons I’ve had to learn in here is knowing what I can control. I can’t make my ex love me, can’t make her admit she was wrong to divorce me. I’m not responsible for our marriage failing.


I can’t make guys in here decide they need to focus their lives and change. So many guys do their bids, run their hustles in here, get out, screw up again, and come right back. I can’t make them “learn” from their experiences.


So, here’s the “Job” part: I’m not sure why I had to lose everything. In my mind, it just isn’t fair. I’m not sure why I keep getting smacked in the face on my own case while I find it so easy to help other guys get another chance. But, I’ve learned I’m more resilient, kind and loving than I ever thought. I am a good guy, not perfect, but a guy who deserves better than he’s getting.


This isn’t the way I’d play this out if I was “in charge”. But, I’m not. And neither is DOC, or my ex, or the Governor. Ultimately, God’s in charge and I have confidence He’ll see me through this.


There’s a wonderful message about justice in David’s 9th Psalm. It says, in part:


“The Lord also will be a stronghold for the oppressed,
A stronghold in times of trouble;
And those who know Your name will put their trust in You,
For You, O Lord, have not forsaken those who seek You.”


I’ve had a couple of lousy weeks. I may have more. But, I finally realized, no matter what others may think, the platypus is happy being a platypus. My life may suck right now, but I’m OK with that. At least I know who’s in control.

Frustration

I’m going on a tirade. Simply put, people near and dear to me piss me off. They frustrate me. It’s been building and it came to a head with my parent’s visit this weekend. Should I address these things directly in a letter to them, or anyone else who “doesn’t quite get it”? I could. But I’ve discovered people read into personal letters what they want. They miss the point.



My folks are lovely people. Don’t get me wrong, they are by most definitions “good members of society”. Yet, the more they visit, the more they say hurtful, hateful things, the more I feel my blood pressure shoot through my skull.


In the span of the first fifteen minutes, I heard: 1) how “bitter” they were over various decisions made at their church; 2) how many recent murders occurred in their community and all the “criminals” are guilty – ironically, I’m the only person in the history of the U.S. Justice system who’s ever been mistreated; 3) how screwed up everyone else’s family is; 4) why certain people aren’t communicating with them.


I just sit there, biting my tongue, trying to eat a microwavable sandwich and get the three hour visit to pass without having a stroke. As I’ve told my cousin (who, along with her husband, has done more for me throughout this process than I can ever begin to repay), it takes more self-control and composure, more mental discipline to survive a visit than prison itself.


So, in order:


1) Hey Mom and Dad, it’s church. You’re not supposed to be “bitter” with your fellow believers. Quit being so melodramatic. In the great scheme of things, does it really matter who’s on a particular committee?


2) No, my sentence wasn’t fair, but neither are the vast majority of sentences. And, as “USA Today” pointed out in a page 1 cover story this week, hundreds perhaps thousands, of inmates are wrongly convicted each year due to prosecutorial misconduct. You want to be angry, do something about the “lockem up” mentality that pervades “good citizens”. You don’t solve drug abuse, mental illness, or the vast majority of nonviolent felonies, with prison. Even the Federal Courts are beginning to realize there’s no such thing as “rehabilitation” in prison (see Judge Wald’s dissent in Amatel v Reno - http://cl.bna.com/cl/19981007/975293.htm).


And here’s another thing that drives me nuts. A guy from my town butchered four people, including a woman that worked at the same college as my ex. This week he pled guilty to the four murders to avoid the death penalty. My ex emails my Mom to tell her “. . . was in the courtroom. He’ll be killed by other inmates.” Really? The people making these pronouncements have exactly how many days of prison time experience? Oh yeah, none. Fact is, that sick bastard will go to Virginia’s super max facility. The likelihood anyone gets their hands on him is remote at best. And, when did it become “decent” to wish death and suffering to someone. How do you sit in church praising the prince of peace in one Moment and the other hoping for death for someone in the other?


As for families, yeah there’s a lot of dysfunction floating around. But how about a little more empathy and a little less condemnation. Your 51 year-old son is in prison. You can’t even discuss that with your friends, yet you’re telling me how screwed up everyone else is.


I read a short story recently by an author named Rodriguez (no relation to the crazy Rodriguez in here) who wrote about the dysfunction in his family and then said “though my mother refuses to read anything I write. She won’t look inward at the why’s in life . . .” Wow. I didn’t know I had a half brother out there! My Mom and Dad refuse to read the blog; refuse to read anything I write. They bury their head in the sand and don’t evaluate, don’t analyze, don’t consider their behavior, their actions in the drama that is our family’s life.


Case in point, the exact same behavior they’ve used with me and my brother is being repeated with my brother’s youngest daughter. “She has to listen. I’m a disciplinarian.” How about trying love and praise?


My brother and I have had a very strained relationship most of our lives. He clearly has demons. But he’s always been the “second-class citizen” in our family. That doesn’t mean things were easy for me. I was expected to succeed. When I did, it was met with a “ho hum, you should have done that well”.


My brother has had a tough life, no doubt. He’s had cancer. Now, he sits home while his wife and daughters go on with life. He doesn’t even take care of himself.


I want to tell him to pull his head out of his butt. Get over it. You’ve been given a new lease on life. Lose weight, eat healthy, get exercise, and change your negative attitude! Realize how blessed you are having your wife and daughters. Treat them with kindness and decency. Be loving. And for God’s sake, and your sanity, get over the bitterness with Mom and Dad. They’re never going to admit they weren’t great parents. Know what – they weren’t perfect; they screwed us up in a lot of ways, but we weren’t perfect sons either. Forgive Bro, and lead a joyful life.


Finally, to two of my aunts, who quit writing my Mom because, well frankly, Mom says mean hurtful things (remember I have a “Top 10 Sweet Remarks list by my Mom”), tell her straight up how what she says hurts. If she doesn’t get it, move on.


I could write pages how my ex’s behavior sends me into orbit. She has no contact with me and completely cut me off from our kids. I could write a lot, but I won’t. See, I’m most frustrated with myself. I hurt the woman I love, the woman who was my best friend, my soul mate. I wish she’d see the remorse and sorrow I feel, but I have no one to blame but myself. And, at the end of the day, the loss of that amazing woman is the most frustrating thought I live with.