Monthly Archives: June 2014

Words for sale

I joke with my husband a lot when we talk about people selling his letters. I tell  him that I would never buy his letters and that, in fact, I would gladly pay someone to take them all away in boxes. He laughs at this joke every time. Not a “this joke is getting old” laugh, but a genuine belly laugh. He is thoroughly amused, each and every time, by my playfulness and my love for him.

On occasion I`ll do a search online, seeing what letters from him to former fake pen pals, are still floating around. Most of them are old and remain unsold and have remained unsold for years. Mostly, though, Jeremy has become a fake pen pal detector of a sort and these days we discuss each and every person who has written him out of the blue and whether or not it is worth his time to reply.

I know I started off as a pen pal a really long time ago, but my intention was never to create a fake name, pen a ridiculous fake letter, and hope for a response so I could sell the letter to make a few dollars. I understand the business venture behind these actions but my husband’s letters have remained a stale sale on the websites that sell these types of true crime items, so I`m not sure why people continue to write with that agenda.

Recently someone wrote him, feigning interest in being friends, only the red flag went up when my husband was able to unscramble the faux last name to reveal the word “detective”. I think it’s amusing in a weird way that people go through such trouble.

Besides the kooks and the letter collections/sellers, the influx of any hate mail has been minimal over the years. In fact, Jeremy receives more random mail of support than the world might think. There are people who write to say that they read about his case and do not believe the overblown media frenzy and that maybe, just maybe, all is not as it appears.

Image

Advertisements

All Who Remain

You know that moment when you have it all figured out and everything is cut and dry? When everything is prefect? Neither do I. No one does. I wrote this entry as a “note” on my iPhone because I had zero reception while I was on a weekend getaway. I hesitate to use the word “vacation”, because I`m never quite sure what that means. The concept of a vacation is not one I understand, especially when my mind is going a million miles per hours in hasty blur. Through my not quite vacation, yet lovely time away, I saw one person’s face constantly: my husband. My love. My everything. My reason for living and wanting to die, interchangeably, on a second by second basis.

I went to Yosemite and it was one of the most beautiful places I had ever been to and I was in love instantly. Just like with Jeremy, I fell fast and I fell hard, yet it felt like home from the very beginning. I thought nonstop about Jeremy from the moment I arrived and I tried, at times nonsensically, to weave him, and the thoughts and memories of him, into many conversations on my trip. I was with his parents, whom I felt safe with, and I felt a strong urge to find ways to honor my husband, to preserve his love and hard work, and to just feel close to him. His family allowed me to do that by sharing in my wishing he was there, and telling me stories about when he was younger to delight me.

There is a song by a band called “Beware of Darkness” called “All who Remain” and it epitomizes how I feel about my husband, how I think of him, and I can state honestly that it transports me each and every time . It is the man I know now and the little boy I could only have hoped to love all those years ago.

This song, it makes me think and think and then think some more. It makes me think of the goodness of my partner, of the goodness that people possess, but it also makes me think of the evil, and how sometimes the evil overshadows the good. I mean in people, I mean in life, I mean in general.

Jeremy has spent the last 16 years of his life in prison for a crime he isn`t even sure he committed. At the beginning of this entry, I asked if you knew that moment when everything made sense, when everything in life was cut and dry and you could attest to that with absolute truth? Well, do you? Do you know it all? Do you believe in your concrete judgements 100%? I know that I don`t. Life has a funny way of wearing many masks and the “truth”, as it is presented in an altered light, is usually nothing more than a cluster of “maybes” and uncertainties.

My vacation forced me to think a lot since I didn`t have my phone to mess around on late at night. I thought about life and the reasons for it, the reasons we rejoice and suffer like we do. I  thought about my life and how I could thrive at it or make it end and my thoughts turned back to my husband as my focal point.

The last 18 months have been hard. That is an understatement. I’ve had limited contact with my husband via phone and visits for well over a year because someone decided to take their small brain and get big ideas about a fabricated “truth”. I am angry, yes, but more so I want to spread the word about the actual truth and how wonderful my husband is to this person and to others who think they may have it all figured out. Whether or not the world will be receptive to my thoughts is up to them. The entire universe is a collection of opinions and thoughts. People who know me and know my husband have been unbelievably supportive and that is what matters. To the Nevada Department of Corrections staff who have chosen, so cowardly, to betray your oaths as state officials in order to satiate your hate: I am sorry for you. I am sorry that your ignorance lights the path in your hearts and that your lies fuel your life’s fire.  I wish you could know the person I know. I wish you could see this person for who he is and not who you think he is, or what you think he has done. I wish you could think beyond your own sheltered, ignorant existence and find yourself in a meadow of truth and understanding.

Until the day when people open their minds more than they open their mouths, I will continue to support my husband and I will not be weary in the face of spitefulness.

Love-through-prison-bars