You've probably seen on TV, movies and such how it is to visit someone in jail. You see the touching scene of hands held through bars as a guard keeps close eye one the situation. You've seen the black and white stripes that they wear as identification. Or worse still...orange. Now being a Georgia Gal you know I won't do anything that would cause me to have to wear orange. That's one of the reasons I've never been in jail! I don't do orange.

Let me tell you how it really is to visit someone you love who has been unfortunately incarcerated.

You go into the building and tell the guard who you are there to see. After a few weeks you become so familiar they no longer ask. You give your picture ID and they ask how you and your family are doing. I smile and say we are doing just fine. That will always be my answer! One female guard and I chat about people we know in common (from my days of working the Emergency Room where some of her guests have also been!).

Since Bonehead was a former officer, he is not allowed visitation with the general population. That is just fine with us. It is better to have a one-on-one visit without all the commotion.

I go in and sit on a cold metal stool in front of a shelf which is backed by Plexiglass about 3 inches thick. There is a phone on the left wall of the cubicle. I always have sanitizer and use it to clean the phone before I put it anywhere near my head! In a few minutes he is standing on the other side of the world...and takes a seat on the cold metal stool and picks up the phone on his side. Before he puts it to his ear, he wipes it on his shirt and gives me that smile that I need to see. He is wearing navy blue shirt and pants. He looks good. He hates the food. He mentioned that he is sure they feed them "kangaroo-helper" and the eggs come from the ostrich farm just down the road.

There is always the reminder that the conversation "may" be recorded. I don't care. I'm not going to say anything I would not care to shout from the roof. We talk about what is happening in our family, the pets, the books he is reading and other things that would seem meaningless to anyone else. It's not what we talk about that matters. It is the fact I can put my hand up to the glass and he can put his hand up to match mine and we remind each other of the love we share.

He knows I'm there for him. He knows he can see me for 15 minutes every week. He gets cards and letters of encouragement. He knows he is not forgotten. He knows he is loved. That, my friend, is what matters.

I look at some of the other people who are waiting to visit or have just come out of the visitation area. Oh my. What a melting pot of humanity. Some are loud and vulgar, some are carrying small children, some walk away with eyes downcast so as not to have to make eye contact with anyone. I walk away with my head held high, wave to the guard and smile as I say, "See ya next week!".

As I started to leave today a lady stopped me. "I know who you are here to see", she said. "And I just want you to tell him thank you for being so nice to my son who is in there with him." She went on to tell me of the many times her son had been arrested and how meth has just gotten him into so much trouble. He is here to prepare for release in just a few weeks. He has been in "The Big House" for five years. She told me how much he has enjoyed talking to Bonehead and how many questions he has helped him answer. They have talked about life and he gave the young man some tips on how to avoid a return trip. I hope it does him some good.

I thanked her for sharing with me. I mentally asked for Devine Guidance for her and her son.

What the future holds for my brother, I don't know. All I do know is I love him and will always be there for him. I will sit on that cold metal stool and look through the glass at his clear blue eyes and hope he understands there are people who care for him. He knows. He also knows Baby Brother will be there on the next scheduled visit. They probably will tell jail jokes and make fun of the food and compare this to the time they spent on Paris Island learning how to be good little Marines. Brothers and Sisters...how different we are, yet how much alike we are. I guess it's that bond that formed years ago when we were young and free and had not a worry in the world!

Bonehead's sister, Mz Scarlett...lovin' her brothers.