PRISONER EXPRESS

I remember being a kid and looking forward to getting older without any real idea of what "getting older" demanded. Death was no stranger to me. On the contrary it was a very real threat that kept me awake with fear on more nights than I care to recall. However, death as a result of the gradual evolution that "getting older" is, was the furthest thought away from my young inexperienced mind. And now I'm sitting here in the penitentiary with a life sentence (after having completed an 8 year sentence), feeling and seeing the changes that occur in my body with each passing year, and realizing that "getting older" isn't such a good thing after all. I'm sure that there are people in the free world that share my sentiments. But being confined to a cell 24/7, year after year, tends to leave the door of the mind open for a little longer than welcome; our thoughts running rampant, focusing on the maladies of mortality that plague us all in one form or another.

Many men and women that have been incarcerated for a long period of time don't always appear as old as they are. I've encountered middle-aged men that could easily pass for men in their 20's. I figure that it's due to the lack of sunlight, drugs and alcohol that we would normally indulge in that contributes to the penitentiary life, preserving our outward appearance -- to some degree -- from the despairing aging process. Internally, on the other hand, our bodies are still subjected to the same methodical deterioration that Father Time so generously bestows upon each of us.

A lot of guys (myself included) adopt rigorous workout regimes to help mend our battered, aging vessels with hopes of sustaining, maintaining, or regaining that once youthful (or something close to it) feeling, as well as appearance, that we had at one point in time. For the last 10 of my 32 years (of age) I have waged a personal war against Father Time and have succeeded in keeping myself in relatively good shape. I'm in the prime of my life. But by the same token, I'm well aware that I'm not getting any younger. Eventually my body and mind will succumb to the forces of nature that we call aging, and ultimately, I will die.

Due to the mandatory parole requirements of my sentence, I will be the ripe old age of 71 by the time I'm eligible for my first parole hearing. I may be mistaken, but I believe that the average life expectancy is between 70 and 80 years of age. That being the case, it's a great possibility that I will grow old and die somewhere within this vast arid wildeness of steel and stone that is our so-called justice system.

Having long overcome any spiritual disillusionment of immortality in some intangible paradise after death, I cherish my life for all that it's worth. Here and now is what I believe in. So I do what I can -- here and now -- to take care of myself and try to hinder, as much as possible, the effects of aging on my body. My one desire is to age graciously and live long enough to be released so that I can die amongst my loved ones in the world. That is my motivating factor each and every waking hour. That, in my opinion, would be paradise.

For that purpose alone I hold self-preservation as the highest law in my small, secluded world. Getting old and dying in prison is a very conceivable course of events that weigh heavily on my mind daily. However, I do not allow those thoughts to overwhelm me to the point that will render me despondent, mired in a perpetual state of melancholy. Instead, I take those negative thoughts, feelings, emotion, and convert them into positive energy that can be used to exercise my mind and body. Guys come to prison with ridiculous sentences and slim-to-none chances of ever being released, and they try to take their own lives. I cannot respect, under any circumstances, the taking (or attempting to take) of one's own life. In spite of my situation, I do not consider my life meaningless, or hopeless. Granted, this is not the most attractive, nor the most ideal life that one would aspire to achieve. It's definitely not a life that I would recommend to anyone. But this is MY LIFE, and due to that unfortunate fact, I must embrace it with open arms. That is not to say that I'm proud of my accomplishments. Or lack thereof, rather. I am, nevertheless, very proud of the man that I have become with age.

Unfortunate as it may be, aging and subsequently death, are prices that we must all inevitably pay for our earthly existence. And depressing as THAT is, I deal with it in the same fashion that I deal with being sentenced to life in prison: I accept it. With age, I've learned the value of acceptance. That (acceptance) is a major element in life that enables me to remain positive under adverse circumstances, and without it I could not continue to progress in my quest to fulfill my one desire: to die amongst my family.

I have focused more on death that the original topic, but then again, isn't aging simply a more genial term to use to define dying? After all what is death but the inescapable conclusion to the dismal story of aging.

Every time I look in the mirror/All these lines in my face getting clearer/The past is gone...Aerosmith "Dream On"