No room for tears

An ex-offender describes experiencing the death of a loved one while in prison

No room for tears? | Photo: Photo: Megyarsh/flickr CCBY

A knock on the cell door. A clunk of the key. A kindly face of a prison officer and a request that I go with him to see the duty chaplain. This establishment of grey and gruel had been my home for just a couple of weeks as I progressed through the system from holding to long term gaol after receiving a four-year sentence some months previously. I wondered at the request. Was something special in store for me? Had I already been singled out as a potential chapel orderly or maybe this was all part of my new home’s induction programme for the new guest? We walked from the wing out into the sparkling fresh air and across the emerald green of the playing field to the Citadel’s Victorian chapel.  Whatever were my preconceptions of the of the purposes for this visit I was wrong, oh so totally wrong. We entered the chapel and my guide showed me to the office of the Methodist minister. I was invited to take a seat on the opposite side of his desk and the officer discreetly left. One minute later my life was turned upside down more than even when that phrase was used in court: ‘Take him down.’ ‘There’s no easy way to say this,’ said the chaplain. ‘Your mother died last night.’ My body took me over. A guttural sound exploded from my mouth. My stomach had given way to an eruption from the very pit of my being. Life had been extinguished. The final blow had been struck. My freedom had been taken away from me and now my life could be nothing but ashes.

There was a man present, however, who had the faith and wit to help put me back together. In a calm and disciplined way, with no paraphernalia of the religious cloak, the minister took charge. Not with sympathy, not with sweet tea, not with understanding or soft compassion but with a clear and simple practical strategy of what I needed to do next. I had to be strong and in control of myself for the sake of those who cared for me outside the razor-jewelled walls of my captivity. I had to draw on the deepest of my inner resources and survive. My role became clear, to rise above my present suffering and show that I was able to cope in bereavement with my physically isolated position. I had to remain receptive to the love and light being sent to me from my family, my friends and my family of Friends on the other side of the prison gates. The divine spirit of love knows not the artificial walls I found myself within. I am returned to the wing by my escort. Curiosity on why I have been singled out for such a visit was evident. My fellow resident of the little space I inhabit hardened by many years of institutional life was sympathetic but as firm and as practical as that aforementioned man of faith. ‘There’s no room for tears in prison.’ Yes, so true. Shed those tears in silence, in secret, but no outward show of grief allowed in the little restricted world of the captive.

Times soon comes for the funeral. The prison authorities acquiesce to the request that I should be allowed, albeit securely manacled, to go to the cremation service. I arrive on the appointed day to be processed by security. Two officers are to accompany me by taxi on the fifty mile journey. I wait. The minutes go by. I wait. The quarter hour passes, the half. The hour goes by. We are very late. I know that we are not going to get there in time to the service. Two officers have to accompany me to the event, but one has gone to lunch. Eventually we proceed. We arrive at the little chapel as the coffin drops down to the furnace and my heart burns away with it. No excuses, human beings all make mistakes. My consolation was to be permitted to attend a Memorial Meeting organised by my parent’s Local Meeting. This time still those silver bracelets but a relaxed day to truly celebrate the life of my dear loved one. The poor officer chained to me may have experienced some surprise when I discovered the need to rise and minister during that wonderful and loving occasion among Friends. I was indeed fortunate. I had been offered and received the food of the human spirit from so many. I was on the mend.

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