This holiday season, PJP editors asked formerly incarcerated writers how the holidays have changed for them since they left prison. Read the other perspectives here.
You know how certain smells can trigger memories of people and places? That principle also holds true in a maximum security prison, where I spent a large part of my existence.
During the holidays on the inside, volunteers delivered perfume-scented body washes, soaps and lotions. Each of us received only one bottle — a precious gift. The items smelled of humanity; they filled me with gratitude for all the care and energy that went into bringing those products into the prison. To many of us inside, the scents were harbingers of hope. These simple hygiene products had magical, life-affirming powers. They represented a restoration of femininity in what felt to us like a war zone.
But more than any one item, I most remember the empathic and compassionate volunteers who delivered these coveted products. They lifted the morale of thousands of captive souls with broken hearts and provided a momentary escape from the house of horrors that engulfed us.
Six years after captivity, I still find solace in those fragrant products. So my gift in memoriam is donating the pretty scents of healing and hope to local prisons during holiday drives. I splurge on a few of them for myself too.
