Three weeks before I left prison I went out on my last Restorative Justice program. R.J. is generally the only time we left the compound. For about two thirds of my stay at the Challenge Incarceration Program, we would go out into the community once per week to do manual labor in the area of Willow River, MN. We did everything from washing windows at a senior citizens home, to shoveling sand off of the highway after a flood, to digging a trench for insulation around a Habitat for Humanity home. Naturally when It was my turn to leave, I was looking forward to a good day. Well I got what I asked for. Nine of us packed all of our gear and headed out to Camp Heartland in Willow River.
It is a very beautiful campground. I didn’t know anything about the place until I got there. We piled out of the van and lined up and stood at attention and received our orders for the day. We weren't allowed to look at people, ar move, at all. We were supposed to stand at a military position of attention until told what to do. It’s almost always some sort of cleaning detail and that is exactly what the plan was for that day. Then an employee told us who goes there, and why. Originally it was set up as a retreat for children with H.I.V. Now it’s for any child with a life threatening illness. We were given a brief tour in which he pointed out the cabins we would be cleaning. They were small but functional and full of dead and living creepy crawly insects. Nearly all of the beds had a ‘waterproof’ sheet which startled me a little because there’s really only one thing you need that for. Enough said. At that point we gathered our supplies and got to work.
As is with all places up north, the ground was infested with river rock. And although I definately did my fair share of work, I spent a good amount of time looking for agates. I went into a few different cabins and mopped, dusted, and cleaned windows. All the while conversing with my fellow squad mates about what we thought was going on at this place.
After a couple cabins, the officer in charge came and got me and said there was a project inside I could do, so I followed him in and I ended up cleaning a huge sort of room with a stage, costumes everywhere, and lots of muddy footprints. Even as I was writing this next part I don't think I knew what an impact it all had on me. To back up a little, on the way down to the basement, covering the walls from top to bottom were drawings and kids’ names and dates when they were there. Each brick in the wall had its own personality. Its own colors, name, and sadly, date. There were thousands of them, and later I would find even more outside. I kept looking at the walls as I cleaned, and I started to notice other things about them. And that’s when shit got real. Next to or on the bricks themselves were little white crosses and dates. I realized what it meant, and I couldn’t believe how many there were. I decided to take a little break and wander around and I just kept seeing more names, more dates. This was the first and only time while at C.I.P. that I openly broke the rules by not adhering to the cleaning detail. I was in shock, yet fascinated at the gravity of it all. So many children left their mark, and never saw their brick again. So many other kids left their mark knowing they may never be able to see theirs. How brave they must be to keep battling their terminal illnesses. I felt emotion for the first time in a while. I couldn’t believe that all of those kids had been here and left not knowing if they would ever make it back.
It was then that I really felt guilty about how much of my life I had wasted when these kids were dying off left and right. How could it possibly be fair that I was out dealing drugs and being completely irresponsible in every situation and never got killed along the way while these kids were literally fighting for their lives? I took some time to read a lot of the writings on the wall. Every one of them was positive about their situation; little kids who truly appreciated whatever time they were with us in this world. It is even making me a little misty-eyed as I type this. I don’t ever pray, and I don’t believe in God, but right there, right then, I said my version of a prayer in my head the words of which only myself and they will ever hear. I continued to clean.
For over five months I had been eating only prison food which sounds and tastes exactly like prison food. That day, the employees that were there (there were no kids there when we went) cooked up a feast for us. All things we hadn’t seen since our sentencing. We sat around a table and for the first time in years I sat at a table with people and ate. I ate three brownies for dessert after eating as many fresh vegetables, slices of garlic bread, and I’m drawing a blank on the rest of it but it was amazing, and we all felt like humans that day.
As we were leaving, I saw even more names. These ones engraved in the sidewalk that circled a water fountain. All of the had two dates, and I had to walk away after I saw the name of a four year old that had died the day before his birthday. At this point I actually took all of the agates out of my pocket that I had found that day and tossed them gently into the memorial garden. It's all I had, and it wasn't much, but I felt good about giving them these beautiful gems that this earth created. I can’t waste any more of my life, it’s just not fair to them.
If you ever are looking for a good organization to donate to, I recommend Camp Heartland. Let them show these kids some fun before they leave us way too soon.
So, I guess I didn't add all that much, but it was pretty powerful to begin with. Someday I would love to go back and do some volunteer work on my own time. There is literally no better cause that I can think of.
