I recently had an amazing visit with my two-year-old grandson and was given a beautiful gift. I would like to share how I was feeling and the impact of the time we spent together. This is how it went…

I walk into the prison’s visiting center, not knowing what to expect. It’s been a few months since I saw him last and I wonder if he’ll remember me. I spot them in the back of the room and make my way down the aisle. When I see that precious little boy his smile instantly melts my heart. He runs to me with his arms out yelling, “Papa!” I am overwhelmed with emotions. I instantly flash back to 20 years ago when his mother, my daughter, just a little girl herself, ran into my arms in a prison visiting center not much different from this one. I scoop him up, this little package of pure love, as his giggles of joy fill the room. I am transported to a place far from the misery of my incarceration. While in that moment I am set free, free to be who I am in my heart—just a simple man spending time with his grandchild.

He sits in my lap and I read to him; his tiny fingers hold my hand as we turn the pages together. He knows his colors and points them out for me. He likes red. While we are coloring I notice he’s using his left hand. I think he is going to be a lefty. Elmo is his favorite character in the Sesame Street coloring book. He pronounces it, “Melmo.” I’m in heaven.

I sing “Baby Shark,” and he shows me how he can dance. He wiggles his skinny, little bum, shaking it back and forth; he turns it up a notch when he sees that he’s making me laugh. His smiles and giggles are absolutely infectious.

I actually get lost in these moments and forget where I am as we spend the next hour singing, reading books, and coloring. He is magical. My heart is bursting with his love. He’s pure joy to be with.

He points to an unseen boo boo on the back of his small hand. I ask him if he wants me to kiss it with a magic Papa kiss. He nods enthusiastically. The look of sincerity in his face tells me how serious this process truly is. I make a big production of giving multiple, magic kisses to make it better. He smiles with approval.

I ask him if he wants to take a picture with his Papa. He leads the way dragging me along, his tiny hand grasping mine, while insisting, “c’mon, Papa.” I pick him up and as we wait for the “click” I tell him, “Say cheeeese.” He’s a natural and clearly has done this before. Priceless. I will cherish it forever.

We get goodies from the vending machine. He shares his chewy fruit snacks with me, then his nimble, little fingers continue stuffing the tasty treats into his mouth. I give him sips of my soda and he scrunches up his tiny face in an adorable grimace. I can tell the bubbles tickle his nose. I can’t stop smiling. I am flooded with memories of visits with his mother, many, many years ago.

I’m amazed at how well behaved the little guy is. He’s so sweet, affectionate and sensitive. He has such an outgoing personality and is talkative, happy and fun to be with. How can he be so perfect? Well, his mother, my baby, was perfect, too. I’m filled with pride for his parents; they’ve created an incredible little human being. I search for some little part of me in his tiny features. I think he has my chin…

All too soon the prison guards call an end to the visit. I am holding my grandson in my arms as we say our goodbyes. He gives me a big hug and sloppy, wet kiss. I hand him back and he blows me kisses and yells, “bye Papa” as they leave through the large metal door. I’m left standing there still floating on clouds.

Then, a mere moment later, I am violently snapped back to reality. A guard escorts me into a small room to be strip searched before being returned to my cellblock–a degrading and humiliating end to every visit. It doesn’t seem real. What has happened? My mind, in a whirl, struggles to make sense of the immense change of emotions.

After I re-dress, I walk down the long hallway from the visiting center back into the depths of the prison. It’s surreal and unbearable. My heart is breaking. I walk through the check points with large, barred gates slamming behind me. My insides jump at the sound of each cold, steal mechanism locking, isolating me from the immense joy I felt only moments ago. My grandson is gone and I’m alone again. Although I’ve become accustom to the sadness and pain, I’m not calloused by it. It’s still a raw nerve. I feel deeply the loss. The emptiness is unbearable. I miss him already.

I return to my prison cell and for hours I struggle with my feelings. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, my heart and mind reconcile the contradiction of emotions. I suddenly realize what I must take away from this raging conflict in my soul. The fog lifts and it all becomes clear. Message received. I understand. I must draw strength from the pain. What better motivation is there then the unconditional love of a child? I remember what I am fighting for. It’s not only my exoneration and my freedom; it’s my family and my grandson. I must remain strong and continue to fight. Thank you for the reminder, my beautiful little boy. Papa loves you.

This is the year of dreams. I will dream of a life filled with happiness, of spending every moment I can with my family, my partner, and my precious grandson, as a free man. I must stay focused and remain positive. With life there is hope, and every day that I am alive to fight and to dream of a better tomorrow will bring me One Day Closer…