A Grave Mistake

I’ve been on death row for 29 years now. 29 years of appeals and waiting. And you say to me, “it all must be a bucket of suffering,” like you understand. You don’t and you should know I’ve grown. You might ask how, but it’s because I’ve emptied that big, fat, ugly "bucket" of all contents except for one. The suffering is not in the regret for killing her, and the suffering isn’t in my fear of death that is only two months away. It’s not in the childhood dreams that went unrealized, or the family gatherings I missed out on. It’s not in the confinement of a cell which is the only thing I’ve come to know, or the prison culture that is a beating in itself. The only suffering is in the lack of forgiveness I have for myself regardless of how I’ve finally become the person I always wanted to be. Yes. You heard it. I’ve become the person I have always wanted to be. I read amazing books, amazing books! I never would have read any of these books but it was one of the few things I could do, and Hemingway taught me “ There is no friend more loyal than a book.” Suddenly, I wasn't lonely anymore. Knowledge was my companion. Then my new found loyal “friends” showed me who Gandhi was- not the Gandhi we all learn in class but Gandhi through his own words and I learned, “The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is an attribute of the strong.” But I’m weak, I’m soft, I’m hurt- from all the parts of myself that brought me here. Then her family contacted me and said they were praying for me, that God forgives me. So I read, yes, I went to my loyal friends and they brought me to Dean Ornish who said “Awareness is the first step in healing.” So I took notice of my remnants of self hate, but they wouldn’t change. 29 years here and they still haven’t changed. And I have many “loyal friends” that have filled my life with years of love but none of them ever taught me how to let go of the fact that someone so naive and so young could make such a grave mistake.