That is the word that summarizes all of the suffering that comes with serving a life sentence without parole. It’s not knowing what tomorrow may bring, not knowing when the endless suspense of life will ever end.
The cruelest part is having faith to believe that something will change without the patience to wait for it to actually occur. It’s having a love of the ocean and not being able to swim in it or wade in it’s shallows. Not being able to smell the salty air, or look at the moon’s reflection off of its surface at night. It’s not being able to hear the laughter of a woman, not being able to sit across from her and enjoy a nice drink and some profound conversation. It’s the inability to hold her hands and walk along the shoreline at night talking about everything and nothing at all.Not being able to dance with a woman and celebrate the joyous moment when the music causes her to lose inhibition, and cross the threshold into careless rhythmic swaying to Latin Caribbean music. It’s watching her throw her head back in laughter, or raising her eyebrows at her amazement of my dance moves. It’s never knowing when I will walk a dog again, wash a car, ride a bike, or watch child laugh in glee as he or she is pushed on a swing or a merry go-around. Not knowing when the next time will be when I’ll taste some neck bones, or curry chicken, legume, jerk pork, or other Caribbean dish which I miss so fervently.
When I was sentenced to life without parole, they didn’t take only my freedom, but the essence of life itself.