The clanking sound of dangling keys opening the cell doors marks the beginning of another day in Federal prison. A cruel sound on Thanksgiving. Out in the community, many families gather, filling the atmosphere with laughter and the aroma of roasted turkey and pumpkin pie.
Here, the familiar smells of sweat, piss, and disinfectant reminds me of the physical freedom I’ve been brutally denied for the past 10,000 days. The deprivation of human touch and warm embrace from a loved one – leaving me with an aching void inside my heart that no amount of forced cheer can fill.
On holidays like Thanksgiving, I wake up to the same reality of sameness: lights on, get dressed, walk over to get in line with other inmates to wait for one of the washbowl-looking sinks to open up – to wash my face, brush my teeth, and see my reflection staring back at me on a scratched, stainless-steel mirror, which never gives a clear picture.
Each passing holiday, I busy myself inside my eight-by-twelve feet prison cell; cleaning, organizing books, and moving things around to ignore the torturous reel of memories of my family’s festive gatherings. To survive the mental and emotional anguish forcefully inflicted upon me by the relentless, non-ending rules imposed by captors whose authority feels less about rehabilitation and more about oppression; so demeaning that even the Thanksgiving meal is tasteless and non-nutritious.
This day, above all others, is a stark, cold prison experience, not just for the body but for the heart and mind in an inescapable cycle of longing and regret. It reminds me of words from a poem I recently wrote:
This dreadful nightmare keeps me awake
each night a torturous battle, a dreamless state
prison life’s a chain around my neck – hung
from a tree losing my breath.
Sinister hands had their way, took my life without a trace
hands bound, choiceless days, half a life without a
name.
Breathing in silence …
“I wanna die”, my soul cries in vain
longing for home, shackled by pain
Ten thousand days have stolen my breath
hopeless flicker just waiting for death …
Some people say, “Accept rationality of time, never its fairness and morality.” Yes, my life has vividly experienced “the bottom of the barrel” or what you’d call “the end of the rope.” Yet, I have somehow found the resilience to move forward. And I continue to find fragments of light in this prison journey – day by day – clothed with profound appreciation simply for the act of living, regardless of external circumstances.
The utter breakdown of my life has paved a way for the enriched perception in which I see myself not as a victim, but as a conscious warrior grateful for every breath I breathe in; truly grateful for those who still remember me.
Unexpected friendships have blossomed in the harsh confines of my imprisonment – not within these walls but with the kind souls on the outside who reach in offering letters, books, funds, and words of encouragement – a lifeline of human connection that constantly reaffirms my life is worth living.
So, on this Thanksgiving, I’m left with a forceful choice of whether to succumb to a depressive state of mind or to thank life for what has been given to me – these past twenty-eight years of confinement: health, maturity, faith, hope, and renewed friendships. I choose the later. Wouldn’t you?
Edwin Rubis is serving 40 years for a non-violent marijuana crime. He was arrested in 1998. He has been in prison for 28 years. His release date is 2031. His family misses him and wants him to come home.
You can make a donation to help Edwin’s family obtain his release: https://gofund.me/25d30316d
You can send Edwin a personal text message through corrlinks: (256) 982-5828
You can visit his family’s website to learn more about his story: www.istandwithedwinrubis.com
