Lack of Physical Connections-Amy Black

In this question I would like to attempt to answer question # 1. Which reads:  

How has the lack of physical connections with friends and family affected you over the last year?

Personally, in a word ”painfully!!” in 3 words: Unbelievably incomprehensibly suffocating.

After losing my mother unexpectedly and very suddenly in October of 2016, I was sure my life couldn’t go on. Every thing I saw, heard, smelled, touched, imagined or I sensed with one of my senses reminded me of a memory of her that was fresh & new & had never floated through my mind before as fas as I remember.  

I was sitting on the side of the walk way inside these prison fences after having multiple seizures on the cement in front of dozens of people who, when I opened my eyes all looked like big alien bug eyed creatures I didn’t recognize. Sizing me up as if I were about to be served on a golden trimmed silver platter as every ones Sunday special! Special what? I’m not sure exactly. When I looked past them I was still in a slightly seated position and looking to the grass beyond the monsters (them) I saw a million dandelion’s in the grass and it sparked up this flash of memory that showed my little brother and myself picking every single yellow dandilion in the back yard of the trailer we lived in with the man named Larry Schoonbeck whom my mother had left her 2nd husband, (Raymond Thompson), an extreamly sadistic, physically abusive, heroin addict. In Larry she found security for herself and her children.  

Raymond ultimately lived up to his full potential and all the statistics society¿ { delivers/(piles) } ¿upon those of us who have ever struggled with that powerful soul sucking addiction and and physical war of mind and flesh against heroin . I know today that he expected that syringe to contain that one hit to end all his sorrows and internal pain which comprised all the many parts that probably made him the creature with no conscious or heart, he had become. He expected a few fleeting moments. He got what was his destiny determined he would have. Death!! At that young age I was just glad he was dead because then I was sure he wouldn’t kill my mom, my brother or me. I can’t say I was too terribly upset, when my mom asked me did I want to go to his funeral I declined, telling mom , only if I can pee on his grave!!! Even at 6\7 years old I always wanted to protect my mom and my brother. 

I wonder today what ever gave me (that little girl in me) the courage to feel like I was the one to protect people in my life.  

I can’t give you an exact number count of ppl who have reached back to me throughout these 31 years I have been incarcerated to let me know how I touched their lives in some type of positive or helpful way. 

From big to small things depending on what you value most in life I guess. Ranging from fighting off bullies for people not quite ready to deal with that ugly part of life yet, to buying Benzes for ppl I knew couldnt care less about me but stayimg true to myself i give it any way because in my heart I believe its GOD’S will for me to do this and so I do it unto My heavenly father. To helping mothers pay for cast’s after their childs athletic injuries. It would seem the simplest things go a long long (life time) kinda long way. 

Such as, believe it or not I have had ppl reach back into the prison upon going home just to thank me for the kind words or a smile and little bit of encouragement I offered them as a stranger in a new scarey place like maximum custody Where the most troubled and unmanageable prisoners are generally housed.  

When ppl remind me of each incident, I’m lucky if I can even remember what they look like, each person’s individuals memories they have of brief encounters with me. I don’t remember because I am not ever doing any thing for the mere recognition of man alone. Although it is warming to my heart to know that i was able to make such positive impression on ppl every now and then . I do all- I do Unto the glory of GOD. 

My daddy came to visit me last in 2018 . He came up to visit me so he could tell me face to face that he had Lung Cancer and it was terminal. On this Visit I had brought several photo tickets with me to the visit because since my mom had passed away I knew whoever was here was likely a family member. My father unfortunately was in a condition that I had never seen him in before. He was frail and skinny. His clothes hung off of him in a way that was unaccustomed to his normal very neat and dapper style. His beer belly was gone. the skin on his for arms was wrinkled up and had shrunken the mighty colorful bald eagle that once stood tall and strong on his right arm. A tattoo he got to symbolize his patriotism to the united states army where he served in the Vietnam war. And finally his hair had turned gray. 
that only took until he was like 75,76 years old and be going through chemotherapy.  

I was happy I had brought several photo tickets with me & asked the officer to call the prisoner photographer which he did do several times. No one ever came. My daddy couldn’t sit there any longer and he had said what he came to say. Watching me cry has never been one of the top ten things he liked to do. And I couldn’t stop crying. I have zero pictures of me and my daddy together and as I watched him walk out that door that time GOD let me know in my spirit that I wouldn’t see him alive again. I couldn’t hug him tight like I normally would because he was just that small and soft. I didn’t want to hurt him. However I was consciously aware right then that I would probably never hug my father again. And as it appeared I wouldn’t have any pictures of us together to remember this last visit either.