In My Pocket

We wear state issued blue button collared shirts.  The shirts come short sleeve or long sleeve.  In this hot weather I’m a short sleeve inmate.  Anyway, I carry a few index cards with me whenever I head out.  The other day Opie saw me looking through the stack.  Opie – being Opie – quickly goes and gets “Live” and two other guys and they circle around me.

“Whatcha lookin at in you pocket Lawrence Old Bag” (this is the respect I get).

So I show them.  One card has scribbled song lyrics. There’s a verse from “No Woman, No Cry”, the great Bob Marley song:

“My fear is my only carriage

So I got to push on through”

There’s John Prine, Bob Dylan and a Van Morrison verse that reminds me so deeply of my feelings for my ex.

There’s a second card with Bible verses I try and remember when things are bad:  A verse from Job 2, words from Habakkuk 3, and these paraphrases:

God works everything for our good according to his purpose (Romans 8:28).

God is in control of everything (Psalm 103:19).

I also keep little reminders, things that have hit me when I’ve been struggling.  There are short things like:

·         Don’t lose heart because you don’t understand why.

·         Don’t make quick judgments; trust; have faith.

·         Have a sense of gratitude even in your despair.

·         Pray continually.

·         Don’t judge another’s actions.  You don’t know what they are feeling.

·         Forgive.

There are things I have experienced and learned during this trial that I’m grateful for.  I realized for one thing I wasn’t living the life God intended me to live. I got way too hung up on pleasing other people and making myself look good than doing what I knew was right.

I also know I wasn’t the best listener or most patient husband and father I could be.  There’s this wonderful imagery in the Bible about losing our life in fact leads us to a more abundant life.  I think about that a good deal.  The most selfless things I’ve ever done have occurred after my arrest.

I wonder sometimes if my ex and my sons know that I loved them so much I didn’t care about my charges, sentence or future.  It’s funny, the guys in here will tell me I was a fool for walking away from everything and pleading out my case, yet they’ve all individually come to me and said “I don’t know if my dad would’ve done that for me.”

My cousin sends me quotes in every letter she sends me.  A good number of them find their way to my locker door or in my stack of note cards.  It may sound trite, but words help.  You realize through another’s words that you aren’t alone.  Somebody else out there has felt what you’re feeling and dealt with it.  There is no exclusivity in loneliness, heartbreak, despair or hope.  We’ve all been there and really, we all can appreciate when someone’s hurting.

Last weekend my three closest home friends came out for a visit.  As I mentioned before, I hadn’t seen them since the beginning of my “winter of discontent”.  At one point I realized I’d been talking almost nonstop for an hour telling them how I was, what goes on in here, how I’ve made it through.  I apologized for dominating the conversation but they preferred to hear what was happening “in here”.  I am, they told me, still part of the old circle.  Their wives still care about me; they worry about me; they’re in tune with what I’m going through.  It was nice.  It reminded me why I tend to be the exuberantly hopeful guy in here.  I know in my heart good will come of this.

At a moment of deep despair a few months back, “Live”, my gang leader friend spoke to me about love and hope.  He said “you can’t ignore how you feel.  The heart feels what it feels, hopes what it hopes, no matter how stupid it sounds to the brain.”  “Live” was right you know.  I put that on a card next to my three main prayers.

Loudon 9:4

I have four favorite recording artists: Bob Dylan; Van Morrison; John Prine; and a little known folk singer named Loudon Wainwright, III. If you’ve ever seen the Sandra Bullock movie “28 days”, you’ve seen him. He played another patient in rehab with Bullock’s character.



The thing I like about these four guys is the lyrics they write. I was in the delivery room when both my sons were born. As I held each, moments after their birth, I leaned down and softly sang Dylan’s “Forever Young” to them.


I danced with my wife on our deck the night our eldest graduated high school. It was dark, the moon was full, and I held her in my arms and danced to Van Morrison’s “Tupelo Honey”. I heard John Prine sing “Angel from Montgomery” close to a thousand times. His words “if dreams were lightin, thunder was desire, this old house would have burned down a long time ago” played over and over in my head.


Loudon’s music was with me since college in 1977. I had his albums (I’m giving my age away!) and heard him sing “Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road” and “Rufus is a Tit Man” (a funny ballad about his son breast feeding). No song of Loudon Wainwright’s resonated more with me than “Unhappy Anniversary”, a ballad he wrote about his divorce.


On September 4th last year the Henrico County Circuit Court entered our final decree for divorce. It was entered exactly 29 years to the day of our first date. It came only 85 days before our 28th wedding anniversary. I was devastated by the divorce. In truth, however, the reasons behind it – my wife deciding to end our relationship because of my crime; her statement “I haven’t loved you for a long time”, my awkward attempts to “make her love me” – revealed more to me about the strength (or lack thereof) of our marriage than I was ever willing to admit.


Still, with the 4th just days away, I miss her terribly, still love her, and yes, wish our marriage hadn’t failed. I’ve learned a great deal this past year about relationships.


First, more than anything, love matters most in those moments of failure, trial or loss. We all screw up; we all hurt each other, and even put ourselves ahead of others. Yes, sometime we commit crimes, or suffer from addictions. But, when you love someone, truly love them; it’s for the long haul.


Second, if you love someone, you forgive them without condition. That doesn’t mean the hurt that person caused you magically goes away. It does mean you forgive, and the bond between you remains, in spite of the hurt.


I believe in true love. I know it exists. I also know it’s not perfect. Sometimes it’s loud and you can’t stand the other person as you argue and bicker. But, you love them anyway.


There is definitely such a thing as soulmates. Without your soulmate you feel a part of you is missing.


The strange thing about these past two years is, I’ve discovered I’m a very good, strong person. Prison can’t break me. I feel better, more alive, more appreciative and empathetic for people than I ever have in my life. But, the pain I feel over the end of my marriage, the loss of my soulmate, the separation from my sons, tears at my innermost core.


My friend, Big S, and I were talking the other day. He asked me what I would do, what would I say, if she ever came for a visit or wrote me. I told him I wasn’t really sure. I’d probably just look at her blue eyes, tell her I love her and hope she’s doing well, and tell her I miss her and I’m sorry, sorry the way we ended.


People sometimes tell me I’m spending too much time grieving the loss of her. I tell them I’ve only spent 2 years locked up, but over 28 with her.


So, I run and recite Isaiah 40 over and over. And, somewhere back in the recesses of my brain I hear Loudon Wainwright sing, and I can’t help but wish things were different.


Unhappy anniversary, one year since we split
I walk and talk and get around
Lie down, stand up and sit
I eat and drink and smoke a lot
And live a little bit
Unhappy anniversary, one year since we split.


Unhappy anniversary, ten years since we met
There is no need to remind you
Or way I could forget
We fell in love and then fell out
Both times there was no net
Unhappy anniversary, ten years since we met.


Unhappy anniversary, I cannot count the days
My mind thinks back to happy times
Before you went away
I tell my mind to forget you
But my heart it disobeys
Unhappy anniversary, I cannot count the days.