You can never be prepared for the orange jumpsuit

 I love the color orange.  So many delightful things come in this happy, bright color.  Pumpkins, flowers, some birds, orange juice....

I've learned it also is the color of County Jail outfits.  Nothing can prepare you for seeing your loved one in an orange jumpsuit.  Such a happy color given to such a sad institution.  We visited Toby one time while he was in county jail...well the first time.  I had never visited a person behind bars.  Would I get to hug him?  Would I get to at least sit by him?  Can we bring him things?  Will I get yelled at for not following the rules?  Will we get down there (2 hour drive) and they will tell us we can't see him?  How long do we get to visit?  Will it be long enough?  Too long?

We faced a weird glass window/mirror when we walked in.  The deputy behind the glass could see us but we couldn't see him.  It felt very wizard behind the curtain.  I voice came out of the ether asking us who we were there to see and if we had an appointment.  There was no feeling, no compassion from the voice.  He was just doing his job.  We had to hand over our ID's and were allowed to buy him socks and underwear but they had to be unopened and directly from the store.  We put all our items including our cellphones in a little metal box that would open on the deputies side as well.  We were instructed to go through a door and pick a cubicle to sit at.  There would be no physical contact or even being in the same room.  He entered a minute later on the other side of the glass wearing the orange jumpsuit and orange sandals.  He looked extremely tired and depressed.  He had just spent a month in a psych hospital with people yelling and screaming and not being able to control their emotions. Now he was in a cement box, a cage, silent, orderly, controlled.  He could do nothing without asking permission.  He had specific times to eat, shower, go to bed, get up.  My heart instantly shattered looking at him. My baby boy.  My beautiful baby boy. 

We each had a phone on the side of the wall to talk to each other as if we were having a long distance chat.  It is surreal and upsetting.  Half the time the phone didn't work very well and one could not hear half of what the other person said.  I was angry again at the police, the jail, the city.  This was our only contact with our loved one and they couldn't even get decent working phones.  What a load of shit.  What bastards I thought.  My beloved son is nothing to these fuckers.  He is just a case number on a page, on his jumpsuit.

I'm sure to many it doesn't matter because they committed a crime, like my son, some horrendous crimes.  What many don't realize though is that these visits are not just for the "criminal".  It's for the families too, to try and hold on to some dignity, some...any connection. Jail is a cold unfeeling place for families to go and talk through a glass partition.  I don't even want to imagine what it feels like for the inmate on their side.

We were allowed an hour visit but with the crappy phone connection and our son's attitude, a half hour was plenty.  I left feeling worse than when I went in.  I left with no answers on why he did what he did.  I left with more questions, more confusion, and more sadness.

We never visited him again.  A few weeks later his grandparents bonded him out.