Although Walter died only a few days ago, a thick pall of sadness remains in the atmosphere...
I felt it as soon as I walked through the doors of the E-North cell block. I could see the sadness in the faces of the men. Prison is a close-knit community. It's a lot like living in a small town where everyone knows each other.
Walter was also a resident of E-North for many years. So, he's missed. Furthermore, his death came as a shock because he was only in his early forties. No one was expecting him to die.
As part of my job description, however, I have to walk along the tiers and peek in at the men to see how they're doing. This is a regular routine for me. But now, especially with so many of them mourning for Walter, I have to be very careful to look for any who may seem to be unusually depressed.
And then I came upon Walter's former cell. It was empty. As per the procedures, shortly after Walter's demise, one or two correction officers went into the cell and gathered all his belongings. They were required to put everything into what's known in the New York State prison system as "pack-up bags." These are merely large plastic sacks that are light-weight, but strong. They're about the same size as common burlap sacks used for hauling potatoes. And each pack-up bag gets stuffed with as much of an inmate's property as would fit. It then gets tied at the top with a piece of string, and a deceased man's property gets taken to the processing area of the facility to be inventoried and then stored to await the claiming of it by a man's family, if he has family. Walter, though, was poor. So he didn't own very many things.
Nevertheless, whatever personal property Walter had, went into those bags. In, therefore, went his tobacco, writing materials, books, soap and shampoo, a partially used roll of toilet paper, a small AM/FM portable radio, and all his smoke-scented clothing. And I don't believe the total weight of his belongings was more than ten pounds. Into the bags was everything Walter owned at the time of his death.
Now, however, the cell which once held Walter was vacant. Yet, I felt compelled to stand in front of it for several minutes to quietly reflect on the dozens of conversations he and I had over the years. I thought about the times Walter and I walked together in the recreation yard, and the times I told him about a Savior who loved him.
But at this moment, as I peered into what was once his living space, all that remained were a few plastic storage containers which were left behind, a state issued laundry bag that an inmate uses to store his dirty clothing in until it gets washed, and a lot of loose tobacco that was clearly visible all across the floor. Walter, you see, bought the cheaper "roll your own" cigarettes from the prison's commissary. The fancier brands like Marlboro and Newport were not his style, nor were they in his price range.
And I definitely felt the loss as I stared into the stark cell. I asked God to have mercy upon him, and I said goodbye. It was a somber moment indeed. But within a short time, another man will be going into Walter's cell. Then every reminder of him will be gone.
Walter's dead. It's hard for me to believe it, but he is.
D.B.
Walter was also a resident of E-North for many years. So, he's missed. Furthermore, his death came as a shock because he was only in his early forties. No one was expecting him to die.
As part of my job description, however, I have to walk along the tiers and peek in at the men to see how they're doing. This is a regular routine for me. But now, especially with so many of them mourning for Walter, I have to be very careful to look for any who may seem to be unusually depressed.
And then I came upon Walter's former cell. It was empty. As per the procedures, shortly after Walter's demise, one or two correction officers went into the cell and gathered all his belongings. They were required to put everything into what's known in the New York State prison system as "pack-up bags." These are merely large plastic sacks that are light-weight, but strong. They're about the same size as common burlap sacks used for hauling potatoes. And each pack-up bag gets stuffed with as much of an inmate's property as would fit. It then gets tied at the top with a piece of string, and a deceased man's property gets taken to the processing area of the facility to be inventoried and then stored to await the claiming of it by a man's family, if he has family. Walter, though, was poor. So he didn't own very many things.
Nevertheless, whatever personal property Walter had, went into those bags. In, therefore, went his tobacco, writing materials, books, soap and shampoo, a partially used roll of toilet paper, a small AM/FM portable radio, and all his smoke-scented clothing. And I don't believe the total weight of his belongings was more than ten pounds. Into the bags was everything Walter owned at the time of his death.
Now, however, the cell which once held Walter was vacant. Yet, I felt compelled to stand in front of it for several minutes to quietly reflect on the dozens of conversations he and I had over the years. I thought about the times Walter and I walked together in the recreation yard, and the times I told him about a Savior who loved him.
But at this moment, as I peered into what was once his living space, all that remained were a few plastic storage containers which were left behind, a state issued laundry bag that an inmate uses to store his dirty clothing in until it gets washed, and a lot of loose tobacco that was clearly visible all across the floor. Walter, you see, bought the cheaper "roll your own" cigarettes from the prison's commissary. The fancier brands like Marlboro and Newport were not his style, nor were they in his price range.
And I definitely felt the loss as I stared into the stark cell. I asked God to have mercy upon him, and I said goodbye. It was a somber moment indeed. But within a short time, another man will be going into Walter's cell. Then every reminder of him will be gone.
Walter's dead. It's hard for me to believe it, but he is.
D.B.
