It’s Flashback Friday. Enjoy this blog from 2019 by Susan Taylor

The Journey or the Destination?

They say that life is about the journey not the destination. Quite frankly, I don’t know who “they” is but maybe that burning question will be answered as I write this. The journey can and sometimes does outweigh the fun of the destination. The challenges, the disappointments, the unexpected twists and turns, the people you meet, the ones you lose, the unexpected stops and even the direction changes along the way make the journey an adventure.

I’m not sure if it was the journey or the destination that made this particular trip more memorable. The last week in July, I boarded a plane for Los Angeles. My final destination: Centinela State Prison.

Let me digress for a moment. I had missed my friend more than I can put into simple words. Since January, our communication was limited to writing letters. I am not complaining, I appreciate every letter, but I am still trying to adjust to life post-August 9, 2017.

Before the events of that fated day, we talked and texted every day. As most of you know, I live in Ohio and he lives in California, which leaves us with a three-hour time difference. A fact that never bothered or phased either one of us because we would call or text at all hours of the day and night!

Sometimes, we would start the day with a simple “Good Morning, have a great day” text. Other times, it was an early morning phone call that would end with a bible reading and prayer together. In the evenings, the calls were much longer. They would last anywhere from 30 minutes to 3 or 4 hours. On a few occasions, we talked all night long. (I should point out he had the advantage with those calls as he could sleep for a few hours whereas I had to go immediately to work or church.J) Was I tired after these calls? Never. Quite the contrary. I was energized and ready for the day. Yes, I would crash a couple of days later, but I would not have changed anything. And again, most of our calls would end with a bible reading and prayer together.

Our texts and calls ran the gamut from silly to pointless to mundane to funny to serious. I remember one 3:30 am text I received that read, “What do you think would happen if I swallowed a black widow spider in your sleep? Would the poison have an effect?”

“What?” “How do you know it was a black widow spider you swallowed?” “Do you have a black widow spider problem in your house?”

These were the thoughts that ran through my mind when I read that text. These are the types of texts we would send to each other in the middle of the night. I picked up the phone and called him to make sure he was ok. If you are curious, Google said the poison would have no effect on your body. Moreover, I am pretty sure it wasn’t a black widow spider he swallowed.

Another text I received one Sunday morning, “The Evangelist read a quote this morning that said the only words that are as great as I love you are I’m here for you. I’m here for you Susan.”  Little did either of us know how much that text would come to mean as two weeks later our lives were forever changed. Talk about foreshadowing!

I’ve taken you on a little journey through our past so let me jump back to July and my journey to Centinela. Those of you that know me know that I can be a little bit of a control freak. I wanted the visit to be perfect. All I looked at was the destination. The visit had to be perfect!

I will give away the ending. The visit was perfect; the journey was…ummm…memorable!

My Saturday appointment was set for 11:30 am. I was staying in Glendora so I left around 7:45 am to begin the 3-hour plus drive. The drive was uneventful. I was prepared with a cooler of cold drinks and fruit and I stopped at Starbucks for a latte.

I arrived at 11:00 am, checked myself in the car mirror and started walking toward visitor check-in. After a short 10-minute wait in the 115° temperatures, I was moved inside and told to take a seat. Although still hot, there were some fans blowing around air and I could use the restroom and wipe the sweat off my face.

After about 20 minutes of waiting, the guards took a lunch break. On the plus side, they didn’t take an hour, only 15 minutes or so. I was getting antsy. It was now past my 11:30 visiting time. “Oh man, it is so hot in here. How much longer? I want to get inside and see him.”  These are the thoughts that kept running out of control in my mind during this wait.

Finally, they called up my row to go stand in line and meet with the guards and start the check-in process.  “Whew, we’re making progress”!! Of course, I was last in line and had to wait about 15 more minutes. Finally, my turn. The guard takes one look at me and says, “I can see your bra through that dress. You have to go change.”  “Nooooooooooooo”, I wanted to scream, but I knew I had to be respectful. I am following the rules, black clothes, nothing low cut, and dress is past my knees.  Oh man, it is so hot outside. I have no choice. Fortunately, I had my luggage in the car so this wasn’t going to be an issue. I make the trek back to my car and rifle through my luggage. I was going to have to change all of my clothes. As I look around, I quickly realize there was no way I was going to walk back to reception bathroom, change clothes and then walk back to my car to deposit my old clothes. Remember . . . it is still 115°!!  I want this visit to start now!!!!

I settle on a long black skirt and t-shirt and I am just going to change in the parking lot. It is too hot and I am too inpatient! All changed, I check myself in the car mirror. Sweat is pouring off my face and my cheeks are bright red and my once tamed curly hair is flat. This was not the look I was going for, but it will have to be.

I walk back to reception. That line has grown by about 15 people. You’ve got to be kidding me! So, I wait! After another 20 minutes or so, it is my turn. The guard looks at me and I can tell he is sizing up my outfit. “Please, God, let this be ok.” It was not. He called another guard over. “What do you think of her shirt?” he asks. “Too much green. You need to go change the shirt.”

I exhale the breath I had been holding for what seemed like minutes and start the trek back to my car. Panic is starting to set in and I can feel my eyes starting to well with tears. Will this visit happen? What is going on?

I reach my car and rifle thru the luggage that is now just spread all over the trunk. I find a purple shirt. I hold it up. I can’t see through it; it’s not low-cut. Why didn’t I pick this shirt to begin with . . .  eeesssh? This has to be ok. I change right there outside behind the car; I don’t care who is watching. I am only focused on passing the requirements to visit.

Oh man, I think it is getting hotter. Is that even possible? I start the walk back to reception and this is when I get the pebble in my shoe. (See prior blog, “It’s just a Little Pebble”.)  If you can believe it, that visiting line has gotten even longer. How is that even possible? I have not seen anyone walk by me in the parking lot. Back to the end of the line I go. Again, more time has passed. By this time, I am beyond frazzled and a single word is going to break open the dam of tears I am trying to hold back.

It is FINALLY my turn…again! The guard looks me over; I turn around. The process begins. Oh, thank goodness! I finally pass the clothing inspection. I take off my jewelry, glasses, and shoes, inventory my plastic bag of money, key, and driver’s license. So far, so good. It is time for the metal detector walk.

I set it off. No, no, no, no, no. I have no metal on me. The male guard has to get a female guard to take me into a room for a private search. After she closes the door, the tears let loose. “You have to pass me, please. I came from Ohio. I have to visit. Please,” I cry to her. She was very kind to me. “You passed. You are fine. Just take a deep breath.”  It is too late to relax. I am already wound up and anxious. It is now getting close to 2:00 pm. If you will recall, I arrived at 11:00 am.

I get my final stamp and visitor pass and walk toward the visitor building. I have to walk slowly and with a limp because that darn pebble has ripped a hole in the bottom of my foot. I am so close; the tears have all but stopped and the excitement is building. Just a few minutes. I check at the visitor desk and pop into the restroom. Oh man, I look a mess. Crazy, flat hair due to the heat, red cheeks from the heat and bloodshot, red eyes from crying. Pretty!

I go to my assigned table and wait. I only have to wait about 5 minutes before he arrives. It was worth the wait! We embrace tightly and this time I have to fight back happy tears.

I had all kinds of things I wanted to share, but after the morning adventures and seeing him for the first time in months, all of those thoughts were gone and it did not matter. We got to visit and spend time together and that is all that mattered.

To add to the clothing adventures, after my visit I returned to my car and turned the A/C on super max and grabbed my Chap Stick. As you will recall, it was hot there and even hotter in the car. Chap Stick and heat do not go together. When I opened the lid, the now liquid Chap Stick blew all over my only prison-approved top and proceeded to dry white. Oh, no! There is no way I am going to pass the visiting inspection for my Sunday visit.

I start Googling clothing stores in the desert. As it turns out, there is a Kohl’s about 15 miles or so from the prison. Shopping wasn’t on the planned agenda, but I just roll with the punches. I made quick work out of the shopping. I was not looking for style; my only requirements were black or white or pink, non-see through and not low-cut. I’m sure the customers thought I was a little weird. Every top I picked up I held high above my head toward the light making sure it wasn’t see through. I bought two tops just in case – better safe than sorry

All during the time I was walking back and forth to my car or standing in line, I kept open communication with God asking for his help and asking if the visit can happen. He did provide for me, as He always does, I just had to let go and do it His way. I remember a few years ago I met a woman who told me her motto in life was “Let go, let God.” I kept thinking about that while praying. I will make that my motto as well.

Sunday’s visit was great! The guards were very kind and let us visit for 6 hours. God is good!!

“The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me.” –Psalm 28:7