Arriving at long last in New York’s Penn Station, I took the subway down to the Staten Island Ferry terminal and, after calling my Dad to let him know I had arrived, I boarded the next ferry and found him waiting for me. 

This was the first time I’d seen my Dad in his car – a little Hyundai Accent.  Until he’d bought this, his Parkinson’s and severe Diabetes had greatly limited his mobility.  But with the Hyundai, he had achieved a small degree of freedom.  Walking was still a real ordeal for him; he would shuffle along like Tim Conway’s “Old Man” character, moving inches at a time.  But in the driver’s seat, my father was like anybody else on the road.  I know this made him feel like less of a burden on his wife Barbara, and we all dreaded the way when he would no longer be able to safely drive around.

While we drove back to their house, Dad lectured me on what a great value the Hyundai had been, and how I should buy myself one.  “I don’t think I’ll be needing a car anytime soon Dad” I replied with a subdued laugh.  Things got quiet for a few minutes after that, but I tried my best to appear in a generally good mood.  I didn’t want to make things any harder on him than absolutely necessary.

We arrived at their house, and after a quick call to Heather to let her know I’d made it in one piece I ran to the shower to clean off.  Two long days on the train had left me feeling terribly dirty and greasy.  I made it a point to relax in the shower, taking my sweet time, using all the hot water I could.  I really had no idea what the showers would be like in prison, and I recognized that this would be my second-to-last shower as a free man (the last one being the one I’d take the next morning).  It felt good to get clean, to shave, and to put fresh clothes on. 

When planning this little detour on the way to prison, I’d been offered the choice of either going out to dinner on my final night, or eating at home.  I’d selected staying in.  I wanted to be as comfortable as possible, spend time with a few family members, and drink a little more wine than necessary.  Plus, because we would be leaving the next morning, I didn’t want my father to get all tired and worn out trying to play the host.  By staying home, he was free to pass out in his armchair whenever he felt like it. 

Dinner was a bit more upbeat than I expected.  Maybe we were trying to force it somewhat, but I did my best to joke and laugh and not to focus too much on what might be coming.  Five or six glasses of good wine helped keep my spirits up too.  That was the last time I’ve tasted alcohol; it has been over four years now!

Before going to sleep I called Heather one last time.  She sounded very sad and lonely, but she didn’t want to let on how much it hurt to say goodbye.  When we hung up the phone, I lay in the dark thinking about how amazing it was to have known Heather for less than a year, but to feel so connected to her.  But I had to shake my head too; why had I only found this magical feeling a few months before discovering I’d be spending years as an inmate?  Still, I was not worried about whether the relationship could survive our time apart.  In a logical sense, I knew that if Heather chose not to wait for me after all, there had been no guarantee we would have stayed together if I hadn’t gone to prison.  On an emotional level, I never doubted for an instant that Heather would stand behind me.  Oh, I wasn’t sure about how she would react when I first told her, but once she’d told me that she would be there for me, there was no hesitation in my heart.  We were meant to be together, and this was simply another obstacle our love would overcome.  As I fell asleep for the last time as a free man, I made a mental commitment to spend every available moment reminding Heather (through letters mostly, I assumed) that I cherished her, loved her for who she was, and would never take her for granted.

I hope she knows that I still feel that way today, only more so.

(watch in the netx week or so for Part Five)