July 11th, 2026
She called us this morning. I answered the phone and got the usual recorded spiel from the monopoly that provides telephone service to inmates at the prison. The young woman who called can usually talk with us once day for ten minutes. Before she was connected to us, a female voice explained that “this call will be monitored and may be recorded”. Then the person in the recording said cheerfully, “Thank you for using ICSolutions.” It should be noted that every phone call she makes costs money and that money comes from a source outside of the prison, that source being me. It should also be noted that I cannot call the young woman. I don’t think anyone on the outside can. She has to initiate all communication.
The first thing she did after saying “Hello” was to ask if her five-year-old son was in the room. He was. She asked him how he was. He told her that he was okay. The boy was in good spirits this morning and he was happy to converse with his mama. Sometimes when she calls, he is in a foul mood, and flat out refuses to talk with her. On those occasions, I urge him to say something, anything, to his mother. She needs to hear his voice. These brief calls are a lifeline for her, and I am not sure that her son understands that.
She also wanted to talk with me. She only does that when there are serious issues to discuss. It’s a little like in The Godfather when Michael Corleone tells his brother, “It’s not personal, Sonny. It’s strictly business.” In any case, she wanted to explain to me that it might take a while before we can visit her at the prison. We had to fill out forms in order to see her. I had to even fill out an application for her little boy. The young woman wanted me to know that it can take up to three weeks for these requests to be approved, because the DOC only has one person working parttime to process them. That did not surprise me at all. The Department of Corrections does things in its own way on its own schedule. The young woman wanted to be certain that we had filled out every space and checked every box on the forms. I told her that we had. She was very anxious and she kept asking if I was sure. It almost got to the point where I wasn’t sure, but I told her the paperwork was done right.
The young woman badly wants to see her little boy. She told him on the phone that she hadn’t seen him in four months. I was momentarily shocked that it has been so long, but she’s right. For her, four months is an eternity. She asked the boy if he wanted to see her. He gave her an enthusiastic “Yes”. Thank God for that. Once we get permission to visit her, whenever that happens, we will make an appointment to see her. The prison is a two-hour drive from our house. My wife and I visited that place when the woman was incarcerated there back in 2019. It will be different now with her son coming along us. We have no idea how he will react to that environment. He might freak out. We won’t know until we get there.
Ten minutes is not a long time for a phone call. The young woman asked her son, “Do you love me?”, more than once. He told her that he did. She told him repeatedly how much she loved him, how he was the best thing that ever happened in her life. He kind of laughed about that. I guess he didn’t realize that she meant it. The boy really is the best thing that has ever happened to her. He is the best thing that has happened for any of us.
As time ran out, she told him one last time, “I love you.” Then the phone went dead and the call was over. She isn’t that far away, but she can’t be with him, and he can’t be with her. She might as well be on the dark side of the moon.
Frank is Emptiness 