Whether one is in prison or living on the outside, friendships form...
Some are of short duration, while others last for years, even decades. For me and Ron, our friendship spanned seventeen years. It would've lasted even longer had he not passed away the week before.
I first met Ron when I was at Sullivan Correctional Facility. He transferred there from another prison and ended up in the cell block I was living in. Like me, he was a "lifer." He was doing a sentence of 50 years to life and was two years younger than I was. We had both become Christians while incarcerated, but at different times.
Ron and I went to the chapel's services and Bible studies regularly. We listened to the same Christian programs on our radios, and we'd go to the recreation yard to meet with our other friends. I also got to meet and know Ron's wife from seeing her with Ron in the visiting room, and whenever we'd gather for our Christian Family Day events.
However, I don't believe it was a coincidence that, after I transferred from Sullivan to where I am now, that several years later Ron would show up at Shawangunk. Not only this, but he once again ended up in the same cell block as me which allowed us a surprise reunion.
Ron was also in good physical shape. In years past I would see him playing basketball, often for hours as a time. He loved to play chess too, and he was active in sharing his faith. But a couple of years after I left Sullivan, I had heard that Ron developed cancer. I was shocked.
Then when Ron arrived at Shawangunk, I asked about his health. He told me that he was receiving treatment. He said he felt tired at times, but otherwise was okay. Yet within a year after arriving here his health began to deteriorate. It was noticeable.
Ron's condition began to worsen. He became short of breath and was losing weight. He started spitting up blood, too. When, after a time in this condition, he was then taken out of general population and placed in the prison's Infirmary. That was the last I saw of him.
Weeks later Ron went from our Infirmary to a correctional facility which has a Regional Medical Unit on its grounds. I had written two recent journal entries about this. How what we prisoner's call the "Misery Wagon," showed up one day to collect my friend's belongings and carried them away.
The Wagon's presence was an omen. Seeing Ron's property getting carted off left me sad. I already knew what the outcome was going to be. Of no surprise, word came within a few weeks of his transfer, that he died.
I will see my friend again, and I'm already looking forward to our reunion. In the forty-five years I have been
incarcerated, I've seen other friends die as well. I doubt he will be the last.
D. B.
Note: Ron is not his real name.
I first met Ron when I was at Sullivan Correctional Facility. He transferred there from another prison and ended up in the cell block I was living in. Like me, he was a "lifer." He was doing a sentence of 50 years to life and was two years younger than I was. We had both become Christians while incarcerated, but at different times.
Ron and I went to the chapel's services and Bible studies regularly. We listened to the same Christian programs on our radios, and we'd go to the recreation yard to meet with our other friends. I also got to meet and know Ron's wife from seeing her with Ron in the visiting room, and whenever we'd gather for our Christian Family Day events.
However, I don't believe it was a coincidence that, after I transferred from Sullivan to where I am now, that several years later Ron would show up at Shawangunk. Not only this, but he once again ended up in the same cell block as me which allowed us a surprise reunion.
Ron was also in good physical shape. In years past I would see him playing basketball, often for hours as a time. He loved to play chess too, and he was active in sharing his faith. But a couple of years after I left Sullivan, I had heard that Ron developed cancer. I was shocked.
Then when Ron arrived at Shawangunk, I asked about his health. He told me that he was receiving treatment. He said he felt tired at times, but otherwise was okay. Yet within a year after arriving here his health began to deteriorate. It was noticeable.
Ron's condition began to worsen. He became short of breath and was losing weight. He started spitting up blood, too. When, after a time in this condition, he was then taken out of general population and placed in the prison's Infirmary. That was the last I saw of him.
Weeks later Ron went from our Infirmary to a correctional facility which has a Regional Medical Unit on its grounds. I had written two recent journal entries about this. How what we prisoner's call the "Misery Wagon," showed up one day to collect my friend's belongings and carried them away.
The Wagon's presence was an omen. Seeing Ron's property getting carted off left me sad. I already knew what the outcome was going to be. Of no surprise, word came within a few weeks of his transfer, that he died.
I will see my friend again, and I'm already looking forward to our reunion. In the forty-five years I have been
incarcerated, I've seen other friends die as well. I doubt he will be the last.
D. B.
Note: Ron is not his real name.
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