One of the things that people don’t consider about what inmates suffer during incarceration is the separation from beloved pets. When I got arrested, my best friend was a Heeler/Lab cross, all black with a white star on his chest, white on his toes, belly, and the tip of his tail. He was smarter than some people I know. His name was Aero.
Aero got me through some dark times. He entered our family when I was 19, at the very start of my legal troubles, and he’s been with me through every step of this journey. He was always waiting just inside the door when I’d come home, and his frenzied greetings were a huge part of feeling home and safe. He was one of the most friendly animals I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting – there was only ever one person he didn’t love unabashedly, and that person was renting our neighbor’s basement and tried to burn down the house with them inside, so I’m going to go ahead and cut him some slack on that one.
Over the years of treatment and mistreatment, all the ups and downs, in and out of jail, Aero was the kind of constant loving presence that keeps a person stable and whole.
But, Advent before last, my family discovered that he had an incredibly aggressive cancer, and he was gone within a couple of weeks.
I haven’t seen Aero since I was standing with him on my parents’ deck, surrounded by FBI (the same ones who drew a handgun on my Mother, because fear is their first name.), shin-deep in April snow – Aero must’ve had a stray Husky gene somewhere, because that boy loved the snow. I was more scared than I’d been in a long time, and he was right there, leaning against my leg, reminding me that he was there, he would protect me, he would keep us safe.
That Christmas was incredibly difficult for me. Christmas is already a pretty painful time of year for inmates. The few token acts of forced ‘goodwill’ from the staff shrink and get more regimented every year, we’re no longer allowed to have any decorations anywhere in the prison for fear of offending other religions (I wish we could decorate for everyone’s holidays, but that’s me), I’ve spent more of my Christmases inside locked down than otherwise, and we don’t even get to have Christmas Mass until several days later. I would like to point out that we’re in the middle of Ramadan, and it seems that the Muslim community has been given the necessary concessions to follow their religious observances, and my only question is why aren’t we, as Catholics, as good at advocate for our Church members behind bars as the Muslim community??? Because they do an outstanding job! As much as I appreciate our priest – Fr. Mike Andrejic – he’s one man. Where is the rest of the Church who is told every year to ‘visit the imprisoned’ and that ‘what [we] have done for the least of men [such as inmates], [we] have done unto [Christ]’. Sorry, that’s a personal annoyance of mine.
But it’s not random, either.
News flash:
PRISON IS HARD
I know.
Shocking.
But you have no idea how hard until you’re here.
Take Christmas for example – the entire world is being preached to care for the poor, the sick, the lonely, the prisoner.
No one actually cares for the prisoner though.
So we sit here, listening to the world praise itself for how it cares for the lowly, how the Church does, how our families do, knowing that it’s not true, and what little goodwill is being shown will evaporate quicker than the last drops of milk after Santa’s left.
If you’re reading this, ask yourself:
What have YOU done to show someone in prison that they are loved, that they aren’t forgotten, that they are still human?
And, as you answer, remember – the vast majority of those in prison will be coming back to your city. We could be your next neighbor, your employee, your landscaper, your sibling’s next significant other, your co-worker, a member of your parish, family, friend group, workplace, neighborhood, town or state. In many cases, we’ll be voters.
And we’ve been forgotten.
We have a bone to pick.
It doesn’t have to be that way.
We don’t have to be completely separated from the community, from our families and friends and even our pets.
There is a better way.
The local public radio (WBEZ out of Chicago) does a show called Prison Cast once a month, and this month – this Sunday in fact, they’re featuring the system in Finland. I encourage anyone interested in doing things a different way, one in which our citizens return healed and welcomed rather than further traumatized and stigmatized, to listen.
I’ll always miss Aero, and Christmas will never be the same for me, but I hope that what I’ve learned through it is to appreciate what I do have, to truly value the connections with the ones I love in whatever way I can get them, rather than shouting into the void about what I don’t have; while at the same time, aspiring and fighting for a future where all people are recognized as human, cherished, and given a fair shot.
