This is my story and it has chapters. Lots of chapters. Some of those chapters I`m still stuck on, I can’t move on, I`m just trying to get back to a page that feels comfortable and normal. You can’t really go back, though, only forward because when you try to turn back to re-read what has come before, even just as a reference or to have a good cry(or a good laugh), you realize that the pages have been torn out and someone has burned them.
My life is a lot of change, constant change. Not just of circumstances but changes in how I feel about love, life, and my level of hope. It is all changes, all the time, yet somehow manages to feel still, and I can barely get settled on feeling one way or another before the rug is pulled from under my feet and I`m flat on my ass again, excited and stunned over the ever changing nature of being married to someone in prison. Not just anyone in prison though, but being married to Jeremy. If you knew my husband, his love, the way he moves and speaks, you would understand why he became part of my life book, how no matter how many chapters are burned, he remains. I do often wonder if I`m crazy, if I started crazy or if participating in years of visits, thousands of letters, and countless calls from a correctional center has made me crazy. I don`t think I`ll ever know, especially not since the chapters seem to burn and write themselves these days, and I feel like I`m being pulled along for some wild, exciting, happy, sad, insane ride most days and it hardly feels like this is my life sometimes. You know that feeling where you feel like you’re on the outside looking in? Yeah.
“Isn`t it weird?”, I’ve asked many times before, and even though I have asked this before he still asks “Isn`t what weird?”. I can’t tell if he is indulging me or he doesn’t remember this question or if he wants to know if I`ll ask something different this time.
“Isn’t it weird that we have never even held hands outside in the sunshine? Isn`t it weird how we have built this love, this connection, all from never having held hands outside in the sunshine?”.
Sometimes he is quiet for a moment, thinking. Sometimes he sighs before he responds. Sometimes he responds right away. My favorite answer, the page that I hope never burns, is the one where he reminds me how special our love is, how only we could have built what we have under these circumstances, and how we have to have hope.