Today, as with most mornings, Ubaldo T. is helping people. He volunteers in the prison hospice, where he sits amid monitors and tubes and wires and ensures that imprisoned people who are dying have someone by their side.
To earn his right to sit vigil with the dying, he was required to watch 89 training videos, a course of study that took three months. Vigil shifts are eight hours, during which he pays close attention and logs every observation.
“I volunteer in pastoral care services doing vigils so that no patient dies alone,” Ubaldo said. “A lot of patients have no family or friends, as many have outlived their loved ones.”
Four people have passed away during his vigils.
“Four persons, whose names I’ll never forget,” he said. “Each one humbled me greatly.”
When I met Ubaldo, he and I were both committed to a gang, and with it the violence as well as the drug sales and abuse that are inherent in the enterprise. Gangs and drug sales often go hand in hand as one helps finance the other. Many gang members are also products of broken or abusive homes, which can normalize drug dependency. That leads to a cruel situation in which the business of selling drugs to our own friends seems both lucrative and sensible.
Both Ubaldo and I shared that warped notion prior to our aha moments of change.
For Ubaldo, his first aha moment occurred in 2010, when his beloved cousin was killed in a drug deal gone bad. Ubaldo said he had encouraged his cousin’s involvement in that lifestyle. When the man died, Ubaldo felt terrible guilt.
“The day I found out he was killed is the day I began changing my values,” he said. “Instead of gangs and drugs, I now value my family without concern for the approval of opinions or others.”
Ubaldo further snubbed the gang mentality when he began attending self-enrichment groups, where he learned about his emotional triggers, empathy for others, and the understanding that, like our past crimes, we aren’t defined solely by our past bad choices. With these learned lessons, Ubaldo gained hope.
But more loss followed, including the death of his father to alcoholism.
“I was an angry alcoholic and drug abuser who had no hope, no God, and as a result violence was a walk in the park for me,” Ubaldo said. “I was hurting because I never dealt with traumas.”
Today, Ubaldo shuns drugs, alcohol and conflict of any sort. His transformation has been an inspiration to many of us who know him.
Richard F., known here as “Sarge” because of his military background, hosts a video progam in my facility called “Yes You Can,” which focuses on the positive impacts of various staff and residents.
“Violence is the language of street respect and Ubaldo has been fluent in it,” he said. “To see how humble and peaceful he now is is to literally see a completely different person.”
I recently sought Ubaldo’s advice after being offended by someone who wasn’t showing me respect. Ubaldo asked me why I took it so personally. I explained that I prioritized treating everyone respectfully, so when it wasn’t reciprocated, it bothered me.
Ubaldo understood my point but also asked me to consider that fear may be the real source of my anger.
Sarge had said something similar.
“Ubaldo’s transformation is only possible because he let go of old fears that many of us cling to. The fear of not being accepted by others … is powerful and had to be rejected for him to move forward,” Sarge said.
Years ago, Ubaldo took a poetry class. He was initially resistant, believing he knew nothing of poetry. But through encouragement from the class facilitator, he went on to publish a book of poems and essays titled “Niño Inmigrante,” about his journey from a childhood in Guatemala to a jail in California. (The book is available on Amazon, and all proceeds go to Right to Write Press, which helps imprisoned writers get published.)
“[Life without parole] numbed me,” Ubaldo said. “But poetry healed me. I revisited, confronted and overcame my painful past while writing poems.”
Topete G. met Ubaldo during a college class.
“Ubaldo read my writing and told me that he saw potential and offered advice, which inspired me,” Topete said. “I never thought in a million years that I could write poetry, but with Ubaldo’s support I’ve had poems, essays and drawings published, and I’m on track for a college degree soon.”
On the majority of days, Ubaldo, who will soon earn his third college degree, can be found guiding blind people down the halls, pushing guys in wheelchairs to their destinations, going to and from the hospice, and both giving and seeking encouragement to and from others. Today, I saw him in our American sign language class, another skill that will add to his mindset of service.
“We feed off each other,” Ubaldo said. “So I remind you to love yourselves. It is the only way we can love others.”
