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.
Before incarceration, holidays were filled with intense anxiety and unfulfilled desires due to family dysfunction. We all put on a brave face and tried to fake it to make it through the season. But nothing could keep the arguments and resentment at bay.
During the course of my 20 years in and out of prison, however, I developed a healthy idea of what family looks like. Inside, around the holidays, all ill feelings and discontent were set aside to navigate a meal. Everyone would pitch in and make a plate to share with others; we would congregate at the end of the night to break bread together.
This routine happened no matter what. We ate, talked, laughed and reminisced on past events and traditions with our families. It was good to practice love and share memories, to come together despite our disagreements. (To be sure, this was an exception to the normal political drama that dominated daily prison life.)
Now that I am out, I wonder what the holidays will look like. This year, I am traveling to see family to grieve the death of my stepdad and mother, who passed away in 2009 and 2019, respectively, and to collect my mother’s ashes.
I do not know whether future holidays will hold the same camaraderie of love that I experienced with prison celebrations. As I think back on those years, and reflect on those to come, I can say that I miss my incarcerated fellows, and I wish they were here with me.
