I'm coming up fast on a visit for Christmas. I have not seen him in almost two months and I can't wait. I've got my outfits all picked out; shoes, clothing, accessories, even my underwear. Which is not as easy as it sounds. Prison regulations for what a visitor can wear are nearly Puritanical. Nothing snug fitting, no underwire bras, nothing low cut, must have at least short sleeves, must be to at least the knee be it a skirt or pants, nothing sheer. When it's written down it doesn't look so bad, but I challenge you women to go out and find something sexy/cute that fits all of those criteria without ending up looking as if you are a sixty year old math teacher. Or even worse, you're forced to wear baggy jeans or sweat pants.
Luckily where my man is, they are relatively (and I do mean relatively) lax, and I've been able to wear some really cute outfits to see him that would not get through at other prisons.
Then of course there are the other preparations. Double check reservations, get my eyelashes tinted, manicure and pedicure, pack my bag, arrange for my cat to be cared for, get a haircut, make sure all my toiletries are packed, self tanner the day before I travel... the list goes on and on. I like to be perfectly manicured for him when I see him. He deserves it. Every single time when I see him smile walking towards me, it's worth all the effort.
But visits have their bitter side as well. It being Christmas, I miss him being home especially now. I go to Christmas parties and see other couples together, and wish with all my might he was there with me, where he should be. I bake cookies, decorate the tree and wrap presents alone. It's a lonely time of year. And the worst part is when the visits are over and it's time to go home. My holiday is done, and I have to leave him there behind barbed wire to go back to my little life hundreds of miles away from him, alone. That last goodbye kiss is always a heartwrencher.
Still, I try to just look forward to being in his arms again and hearing him laugh for those two precious days. It refills me- regenerates me- keeps me going. He is my rock as much as I am his, possibly even more so. He comforts me, encourages me, pushes me to excel in all possible ways, listens to my worries, hopes, and fears, and somehow always manages to make everything right by the end of our conversation be it in person or on the phone. In return I calm him when he's angry, make him laugh when I know he's frustrated or down, and touch his big ferocious heart with my tenderness and vulnerability. I'm convinced inmates need that kind of connection with someone outside and I pity those who do not have it. I think the ones without it become little more than hardened animals for lack of any softness or emotion in their lives. No wonder there are so many reoffenders.
But that's a whole other tangent I am not prepared to dive into. For now, what is important is it's Christmas. And I am just seven days from seeing my love. I'm so excited I can barely stand it. Merry Christmas, and I hope your holiday is just as love-drenched as mine is!
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