It's Christmas!!! Yay!

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!

What Does Love Look Like?

Recently someone commented on my blog and asked me what love looks like in my eyes.

Honestly that's a tough question. Love is unique to each person- we all define it in slightly different ways. I don't think a woman who loves an inmate has a hugely different view on love than the rest of humanity. I think we're just better able to maintain that love despite huge obstacles that most people would walk away from. We are extremely loyal and determined to uphold our relationships through their bids, however long they be.

However we are not just "waiting". If you just put your life on hold and wait, that's not going to work long term. What we do is find a way to co-exist with our partners despite the distance. We adjust to the circumstances. I don't think I'm just sitting around until the day he comes home, I am living my life with him. He's as much a part of my life as if he was right beside me every moment. We make decisions together. We share our thoughts, hopes, and fears. We plan for the future. We support each other emotionally and mentally.  So when people tell me "you're wasting your life waiting for him, why don't you find someone who can give you a real relationship and a real home?" I get mad. I have a real relationship. And I have a real home. That I created. So what if I was the one who provided it instead of him?

And that brings me to another point. An inmate's woman walks a very, very fine line. In many ways the old ingrained dynamic of the man wearing the pants in the family has been turned on it's head by his incarceration. Now I am the breadwinner. I go to work every day and bust my ass because I know I have to bring home a paycheck to take care of us both. And I know it's a blow to his pride. When he's already enduring so many humiliations behind bars, with every move monitored and controlled, the last thing he needs is to feel like less of a man because he's unable to support me financially. So I'm very careful to make sure he knows he's still the Boss in our relationship.  I go to him for guidance in all things. I lean on his strength and I accept his final decision on every issue.  He, in turn, takes very good care of me.

One more point. Most people think an inmate's woman has no boundaries or limits, and that she will accept any behavior or abuse from her man. This is untrue. I do have boundaries and limits. If I succeed in getting his butt out of there and he goes back to his old ways, he's on his own. And he knows it. I cannot control him and I have no wish to. But I am involved with him and am putting everything I have and everything I am on the line for him because I believe in our future together. If he goes back to a life of crime, that future will be compromised and I will walk away. I will love him forever and nothing will change that. But I do not want to be around to watch him destroy himself and possibly take me with him. Everyone has their line of self preservation that they will not cross, and that is mine.

So, that is what love looks like to me. Not so very strange, is it?