A new kind of stalking.

Anyone who knows me really well knows that I am sort of a stalker.  I google people I don’t know well, perform random facebook searches and have been known to check the email of a few ex boyfriends.  But this week I took the stalking to a whole new level. 

I was driving to good ole BCS and was running about an hour ahead of schedule for my appointments.  I got to Navasota and saw the sign for the Wallace Pack Unit.  Well, I couldn’t resist so I just followed the signs all the way to the unit.  For those of you who don’t know, the Wallace Pack Unit is a prison in the middle of Texas.  I think it’s low to moderate security and it’s not famous or well known like the one in Huntsville.  You’d have to be looking for it to find it or recognize the sign and what it signifies.

As for me, it is always mind-blowing to come across any sort of memorabilia that reminds me of Oatmeal’s nearly 3 year stay at that unit.  Sometimes we’ll be joking around and he’ll say, “Well one time when I was in prison….” and I barely hear his story because the shock of my sweet, moral, respectful Oatmeal in that situation distracts me for a few seconds. 

I think I really proved to myself how selfish I can be when I thought to myself one day how I am actually thankful that he has had that experience. I know, how could I think that, right?  It’s awful, I’m awful.  But the best I can explain it is to say that because he went through that, I know what he’s made of.  I absolutely know that my husband owns up to his mistakes even when it’s hard, really really hard, to do so.  He’s not afraid to face consequences. He does everything he can to make it up to everyone he affected in a negative way.  He could have hidden behind a crafty lawyer, or bargained for probation.  But… he didn’t.  He needed to attempt to heal and pay what he’d done.  He knew that by owning up to it, those who he had touched would have a better chance at healing as well.  I am in awe of him and his ability to heal himself and pay for such a grave mistake as best he could.  Without counseling, without pills, without whining, without blaming, without pointing fingers, without making excuses.  He is absolutely the strongest person I know. Thinking about him overcoming those years of his life makes me absolutely positive I love him more than anything.

So I wanted to see the prison, even though he drove me by it once before.  It’s actually on fairly beautiful land, and I know they spent a lot of time planting and picking many acres of squash and other veggies while there, so I was kind of hoping I’d see some other inmates doing the same.  But nada, no one was outside, so I had to imagine it for myself.  I love that he spent his time there really trying to make himself better, learning new skills, and converting everyone to Aggie fans and Republicans… ha.  When I first met him I asked him if there was anything he missed about that place.  He thought about it for a moment and told me he supposed he missed the amount of time he had to himself, just to think.  He said he rarely made a decision without giving it hours, days, weeks or months of thought.  Now he’s back in the “real world” as he terms it, and is forced to make decisions in seconds.  I thought that was a really interesting answer and I often think about what I may do differently if I had that much time to consider my options. I’m sure I’d be better at my job, more respected by my friends and have many many less foot in mouth moments. 

So, I stalked my husband’s old prison.  Check that off the list.  I guess I’m kind of a loon.

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