It is 11 a.m. on a sunny Saturday morning. I have already showered and fixed my hair. I’m standing in my cube, an open cell with concrete-block walls. I’m wearing my green prison uniform and identification badge, brimming with excitement as I wait for the call. 

I try to distract myself by looking outside and talking with my bunkmate, but time seems to slow down as the hour draws nearer. Finally, they announce my name over the speakers with the words I’ve been waiting to hear: “Report to visitation.”

Hugging my family again

I am currently serving an eight-year sentence at the Federal Correctional Institution at Elkton’s low-security satellite prison in Lisbon, Ohio. But I am originally from the Eastern Panhandle of West Virginia, a four-hour drive away. There are a few routes between here and home, but no direct paths. Despite the distance, my family still makes the drive to come visit every month or so.

Our first visit was late in the summer of 2022. We were required to wear masks and remain 6 feet away from each other. Visits were only one hour, one day a week, but my mom made the drive anyway, and we were able to see each other for the first time in three months. The joy I felt from seeing a familiar face brought me out of my apathy. 

Being isolated from my friends and family takes an emotional toll. The only way I can mentally survive inside is to suppress my feelings. That first hour that I spent with my mom brought out my former self. Despite the circumstances, we talked and laughed for the whole visit. We could have been sitting at the dining room table at home, catching each other up on our days. During that visit, I managed to feel normal again.

Now that COVID-19 protocols have been lifted, visits are held on weekends. Visits last up to four hours and vending machines are available. The biggest change is being allowed to hug my family at the start and end of our visit. 

Being able to talk to each other over drinks and snacks helps the backdrop of prison fall away. Our visitation room has four vending machines that offer Coke products, microwavable sandwiches and various snack foods like Doritos, Oreos and even beef jerky. All of these items aren’t available for purchase from the commissary, so they are extra-special treats from the outside world. 

Low-security prisons allow us to sit with family members without a plastic-glass barrier between us. The visitation room atmosphere is often jovial, full of people enjoying each other’s company. 

A visit with my parents

Prior to entering the visitation room, I am processed by the supervising guard. This involves showing my identification badge to confirm that I am the inmate they called and that I have a visit. 

Then, the guard takes a written inventory of everything I am wearing aside from my uniform: glasses, rings, necklaces, watches, religious headwear and shoes. Finally, I am patted down to ensure I am not bringing anything into visitation. 

After I am processed, I am able to enter the room. Once I spot my parents, the visit starts with warm hugs and continues with food and conversation. The small table we sit around during our visit is covered with chocolate, popcorn and Rice Krispie treats. The clock ticks by as we get caught up on what is happening in each other’s worlds. 

Unlike a 15-minute phone call, the four-hour visit allows for an easy flow of conversation. We start by talking about their drive, whether there was any traffic. We move on to family updates. My dad is considering retirement next year. My aunt is buying a house in Florida to become a “snowbird.” 

I no longer feel like an inmate. I am just a son who is spending time with his parents. The labels fall away as we cherish the time we have together.

We are told that visitation is closing for the day and to finish up. We look around, shocked that the four hours have gone by so quickly. I feel the lump in my throat as I get up to hug my parents goodbye. 

After being processed out, I am sent back to my housing unit. The high of the visit helps carry me back to my cube. There is still the longing to be free, but for a while it is pushed to the background. I look around and find others who exude the same happiness from their visits. 

Something so simple can radically change a person’s outlook in prison. Everyone deserves to feel loved and cared about.