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Old 02-22-2005, 02:02 PM
blueeyes97603 blueeyes97603 is offline
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Default Two Weeks In A Super Max Prison With My Dying Brother

In Loving Memory of My Brother
BILLY GENE FRENCH
8/18/52 - 8/3/02




During my first visit to Bill, the guards processing visitors discovered a $100 bill I was carrying in the pocket of my dress. I had taken this money with me for the purpose of buying Lotto tickets in Indiana,
since Ohio, where I live, didn’t have a 5-state Super Lottery, and Indiana did.

Although the money was not folded or wadded up, but just in my dress pocket, I was accused of trying to smuggle the money into the prison, and was told that I could never again visit inside an Indiana prison.

Although I was not guilty of trying to smuggle the money into the prison I had no way to prove this, and since visitors suspected of violating prison visiting rules are considered guilty unless they can prove they’re innocent, I knew of no recourse to this harsh decision.

So it was that my only contact with my brother, Bill for the years following his incarceration in May, 2001 was through phone calls and letters.

In May of 2002 I became aware of the fact that my brother had very little time left to live. Our sister, Diane is chronically ill and resides in a nursing home, and our mother is also in poor health. Diane was
acutely ill at the time, and there was no family member who was able to visit Bill, since I was forbidden to visit in Indiana prisons.

I was devastated that my beloved brother would have to die alone in prison, and one night in the throes of emotional distress over the unbearable situation, I wrote a message to Families of Inmates, one of the Yahoo Groups e-mail lists of which I am a member.

My message said, “Please pray for my brother, Bill French who is dying in prison in Indiana. They won’t let me visit him, and no other member of our family is able to visit him, so he will die alone. Please pray for Bill and our family.”

In reply I received a message from someone named Linda Tant Miller. I had never heard of her before, and thought she was new to the list. It turned out she had been a member for years, but had been sick and offline ever since I joined, and had just come back, so I’’d never “'met'” her before, and I was surprised by her message.

This strange lady was openly furious about the treatment to which Indiana was subjecting Bill and me! She told me not to take anybody’s word that I couldn’t visit my dying brother until I’d talked to everyone all the way up the line to the Governor, if that was what it took. She gave me some tips on who all to contact and what to say in order to get my visitation privileges reinstated, and promised to do all she could to get a massive outpouring of letters from activists to the prison and governor if they hesitated to permit me to visit my dying brother.

Without much real hope, but nothing to lose, I began making contacts with the Indiana prison administration the next day. The day after that I was informed that my visitation privileges had been
restored, so I could begin visiting Bill at the Wabash Valley Correctional Facility regularly.

Bill had signed papers to be admitted to the Hospice Unit on May 1, 2002, and I was told that I would be able to stay with him around the clock in the Hospice Unit during the final hours of his life. I was elated!

I went to visit Bill on Friday, June 7, 2002. This visit took place in the Infirmary. He came out into a room which resembled an ER examination room. There were curtains on each side of us, and a guard sat across the hall.

After about 20 or 30 minutes of normal conversation and mutual crying, Bill talked about Vietnam for most of the rest of our two-hour visit. He talked about different places he’d been and things he’d done there. He went into great details about things I didn’t want to hear.

Because you see, Bill was never in Vietnam. He was in Germany.

He introduced me to everyone who came by. One of those he introduced me to was Kay Aynes - remember that name. She’s the Head Nurse in charge of the Hospice Unit.

He also kept his radio headphones on during most of our visit, and I had to keep asking him to turn it down. It was actually a relief to leave. My nerves were shot from all the talk about Vietnam.

Soon after I returned home following our visit, Bill called me. He was still talking about his experiences in Vietnam. The following day he called me again and asked me if I would be his Campaign Manager. I asked what campaign he wanted me to manage for him, and he told me that he was replacing Ross Perot as Presidential Candidate.

That was when I realized that I wished I’d arranged my visit for early in the week, when some medical authorities would be there, rather than ending my visit around 3:00 p.m. on Friday evening, when Kay and everyone else I could have spoken with had gone home for the weekend.

I called Kay Aynes the following Monday. She said Bill had “gone off” after I left on Friday, and they had to use 4-point restraints on him. She said he literally went out of his head, and flushed his upper
denture plate down the toilet. She remarked that she had realized he was losing it, because he touched her when he introduced us but, “what was I going to do, write him up and give him more time?”

I wondered why she hadn’t given him a sedative BEFORE he “lost it”, if she had realized it was coming, but I didn’t make any comment at that time.

On June 28th I returned to see Bill, after I had received a letter confirming that I was allowed regular visits, plus bedside visits when The Time came. Our Aunt Mary accompanied me on this visit.

Although Kay Aynes had told me that all of our visits would be in the Infirmary because of his meds, this visit took place in the regular Visiting Room. A guard told us which table to sit at. It was right in front of the guard's desk. He had Bill take the chair facing the desk.

I wanted to get a picture of Bill and me, because I knew it would be the last one, but the guards at the desk acted like I was insane when I asked about it. It seems you had to have purchased a photo card in advance. I sent him $20 to buy a card for our next visit, but since it took place in the infirmary, the photo man wasn't there.

I asked if I could bring in my own camera. I was even going to take out the film that was in it, and let them insert a new roll. The reason I wasn't allowed, according to Kay was that I may get a picture of
another inmate!

Bill was in an isolation chamber.

We never got our last photo together. Does anyone know what that photo would have meant to me?

I went to the concession stand and bought Bill a personal-sized pizza, and a Coke. He ate it like there was no tomorrow, wolfing it down with obvious enjoyment. I’ll always be grateful that I was able to provide that to him.

Bill had a tiny scab on the side of his left ear. As we visited, he rubbed it and it began to bleed. I wet a brown paper towel and gave it to him to hold on his bleeding ear.

Within a few minutes I looked down and realized that blood from his ear was dripping onto the floor.

None of the guards seemed concerned about the bleeding man sitting right in front of them. So we sat there, and I kept having Bill wipe the blood from his ear as it continued to flow freely.

It was a nice visit, under the circumstances. The room was brighter, and it had the vending machines. I’m just glad he got the pizza and Coke and enjoyed them so much.

During regular visits in a prison you can buy hot food for visitors and inmates from a machine. Yet the whole time I was there, that one pizza was the only one I was able to get for him.

THE PRISONERS WHO WEREN'T ON THEIR DEATH BEDS WERE ALLOWED HOT FOOD DURING A VISIT.

I am on several prison reform and family support e-mail lists. The one on which I’m most active only has 25 members, and its purpose is to offer emotional support to one another and write cards and letters to incarcerated family and friends of list members. The other group is a prison reform group, but I’m not actively involved in that movement yet - I just mostly want to keep up with what’s being done.

The last letter I ever received from Bill was written by someone else. In it he told me to get out of the groups because the hospice personnel were making his life a living hell. The letter mentioned Kay Aynes 4 times in one paragraph, saying that she was an angel; that she deserved a truck load of hugs and kisses; it praised her as though she was a saint. I found this letter kind of fishy. He had written one thing in his own handwriting, at the bottom:

I love you and Jim & Ayhah & Trea
Love to all
Bill

He always signed his letters this way, but in this one, he spelled Alana’s name wrong. Larry Craig was the inmate who wrote this to me for Bill. I looked Larry’s name up on the P.C., and sent him a thank you card for being Bill’s friend.

This letter was written after I had spoken on the phone with Assistant Superintendent Sevier. I e-mailed him before my June 28th visit, to let him know I was coming. I also asked him to please see to it that Bill had some sort of sedative ordered in advance for after I left, since it was a weekend and there would be no one available to order one after, and I’d received a letter from another inmate telling me Bill was in no condition to endure 4-point restraints!

So I planned to go for my next visit on a Monday. A surprise visit at the beginning of the week. I had always called Kay and let her know I was coming for previous visits, but I thought I’d see what I found if
I didn’t give them advance notice that I was coming.

I wish I had called this time.

It was on Monday, July 15th when Aunt Mary and I went to visit him. When the guard told him he had a visit, Bill became too shaky to go to the Visiting Room for the visit, so we were taken to the Isolation
Room in the Infirmary - the same type of room in which he’d been strapped to the bed in 4-point restraints.

By the time Bill realized it was me coming to visit, the guard said it was too late for him to change his mind and visit in the Visiting Room.

His first words, after hugging me were, “Damn! I wanted some real food”. So, without any supervision or escort, I went to the snack bar down the hall and got him some “real food” - a Zero candy bar, a
Honey Bun and a bag of Cheddar Chips - from the vending machines there.

Bill was very nervous and shaky during the entire visit. He didn’t feel well. I said, “Bill, if you don’t feel good, why don’t you go lay on that bed?”

He made a face, and said, “No way! I don’t have permission!”

I said, “By golly, if you’re sick, what are you supposed to do, pass out on the floor?”

He was very agitated, obviously feeling very ill, and he asked us to leave after about an hour.

Then the real nightmare started.

On Thursday, July 18th I didn’t get to bed until 5:00 am. At 8:00 am the phone upstairs rang. Normally, I would have let it ring, but this morning I woke up and answered it.

It was Kay Aynes. She said Bill was pretty bad, and she didn’t know if I had time to get there before he died. She told me that his respiration was 7 times a minute, and his pupils were non-reactive.

The volunteer prisoner hospice workers had been holding a bedside vigil. Why wasn’t I called then?

I asked Kay if he was in a coma, and she said “yes”.

I asked if he was bleeding out, and she said, “no; with his disease he wouldn’t bleed out”.

Bill had hepatitis C, pancreatic cancer, cirrhosis of the liver, diabetes, and the cancer was spreading to his brain.

I called my husband Jim’s work, and they paged him. I called my mother, and Aunt Mary. Jim called his mom to come and sit with me until he could get there. He must have flown, because he came from
Dayton, and got home in record time.

Throughout the day, I kept calling Kay. She always said that Bill was the same. I didn’t want to travel the 5-1/2 hours to the prison to find him already dead by the time I arrived, so I kept calling her. I knew
she left at 3:00 or 4:00 p.m. our time, so at 4:00 I decided that we were going.

Thanks to the time difference, and the speed Jim drove at, we arrived at the Wabash Valley Correctional Facility about 7:30 or 8:00 p.m.

I've always thought hospice is there to make a patient and the family of a patient comfortable, while going through death. At no time was I ever to be made comfortable.

I was made to feel like a prisoner.

Bill was in an isolation room just like the one our last visit was in, only on the other side of the hall. The bed sits in front of a big, sound-proof glass window, with the Nurses Station across from it. The Nurses Station has the type of glass you can’t see through from the isolation chamber.

Sensory deprivation for when you’ve been a bad boy, and put in isolation, I guess.

Sometimes, in a certain light I could see shadowy movement over there. The Infirmary was one door over.

The room Bill was in - the room in which he died - was the same isolation room in which he'd been placed in 4-point restraints. When I first saw him, his eyes were open, and rolled back in his head. His
breathing was very infrequent and shallow. His eyes were black all around them.

Naturally, I broke down and cried out to him. I told him that I loved him with all my heart and soul, and that if he wanted to die, to go on, because I couldn’t take his pain away, as badly as I would love to. I told him to give Mrs. Doner a big ol’ hug for me when he saw her. After I said that, be began to move a little. He yawned, and pulled at the Depend he had on, and would put his hand on his head like he was smoothing his hair down. He repeated these three things a lot. I didn’t know if that was part of the coma process, or what.

I stepped closer to the bed and said, “Bill? It’s me, Pam.”

He kind of woke up and said, “hi”, and then drifted back out.

I sent Jim to a hotel, because he’s an Early Bird, and I knew it was going to be a very long night.

At about 2:00 am, Bill rose up like he was getting out of bed and said, “I gotta poop!”

Always the macho-man, Bill wouldn’t use the Depend.

I said, “Bill, you can’t walk. Wait!”

I laid him back down, and ran out in the hall. No one was around. No one was in the Nurses Station. No guards or nurses were anywhere to be seen. I looked back in Bill’s window. He was trying to get up
again, so I dashed back in there and made him lay down again.

I ran back out into the hall again, and I guess someone heard me this time, because a nurse and a guard came in. Anytime the nurse entered the room, a guard was tagging along with her. Even when he was in a coma.

I told them he had to use the bathroom, then stood in the hall while they did what they needed to do.

They helped him back to bed, and I went back into his room and we talked a little.

I said, “I love you, Billy Gene”.

He said, “I love you too, Pamela Jane”.

I made him promise that whichever of us got to Heaven first would give Mrs. Doner a hug for the other.

Mrs. Doner was a dear lady who took care of us while Mom worked. Our other brother and our sister didn’t like her, but Bill and I cherished her. She took us to Sunday School every Sunday. Her husband died in 1971, I believe. She couldn’t read, write or drive. She had no teeth, and she was almost deaf.

A few years after her husband died, someone sent her name into a Lonely Hearts Club, and a little Irish man came down from New York, swept her off her feet and took her to Holly, New York. A drunk driver ran them off the road, and both were decapitated in the crash. There was a small closed-casket service for her. She always loved us, no matter what. She was the biggest influence on both of us in our lives. I still can’t go to her grave.

So that was our promise, to give her a hug.

Every time he woke up I would say, “I love you, Billy Gene”, and he would say, “I love you too, Pamela Jane”.

I would ask him, “Do you remember your promise?”, and he would say, “yes, ma’am”.

Jim returned about 5:00 am. Bill said, “how ya’ doing Jim?”

Jim was shocked to see him awake.

They brought him a breakfast tray at 6:30. The guard said, “Here’s the slop!”

And surprise! It really WAS slop! The corn flakes weren’t in as much as one of those small variety boxes, but were just dumped into one of the compartments of the divided tray. I got Bill to eat the cornflakes, and half an orange I peeled for him.

I was shaking from the temperature of the room and from nervous exhaustion, so when I was feeding him I would sometimes poke his raw lips with those sharp, pointy things no matter how hard I tried not to.

At 10:30 they brought lunch. Bill refused to eat any of it, but Jim had stocked us up on snacks. Bill was getting very paranoid about eating the snacks that came from the machine, but he ate several bags of
Lay’s Cheddar potato chips, and I had bought a pack of Juicy Fruit gum. He chewed it until the sugar was gone, then got another piece, so I kept him stocked up with it.

I stayed with him all day, but I made Jim leave about noon. I didn’t want him to burn out too soon, plus I had a plan to get Bill a little pizza from the vending machine. On his way out, Jim had a guard escort him to he lobby area, where he got one and brought it back, along with a Coke. I wanted to make up for the surprise visit when I couldn’t get him one.

Bill ate it and loved it.

At about 7:00 p.m., Jim called the nurses station and the nurse came and got me. I hadn’t really eaten anything since I had been to visit him on Monday, so Jim asked if I wanted to eat in the Lobby.

I asked the nurse if the guard could escort him to the vending machine when he got there from the hotel.

She said, “Since he’s down in Vincennse, let him stop at a restaurant”.

I told Jim to get me a cheeseburger from Wendy’s, and get Bill a salad, because he was weak and needed vitamins. The guard recommended the BLT salad, and then called the front desk, and had it OK’d.

Jim came with the food. It was the first real food Bill had had in 4 years. He ate the cheeseburger. It was all over his face and hands. Then he went for the salad. We were on video all this time, and he was afraid they would take it away from him, so even though he was stuffed, he kept trying to eat all of it before they came to take it from him. It felt good to watch him eating some real food and enjoying it so much.

Finally, about 9 p.m., I told Bill we were going to go get a room, so I could shower and sleep for a while, and he could get some rest.

I asked Becky, the nurse to try to get him to eat the rest of the salad. She said, “OK”. I thought that would ease his mind. I called later to see if he had eaten it. She said he didn’t want any more of it.

Bill went for days with no food, and if I hadn't been there, he would have gone even longer. How would he have gotten to his tray, all the way across the room, and who would have coaxed him to eat?

Speaking of food, there was no sick food in this hospice unit. All they got was the slop the guards brought in. They had 20 minutes to eat it, before it was picked up.

When I toured several community hospice units here in Ohio, they had kitchens full of sick food for the patients, including broth, mashed potatoes and other soft comfort foods. Actually, these community hospices provided anything the patients wanted. THEY ARE DYING!

While visiting the prison, you’re allowed to have in your possession $6.00 in change. I had put mine in a little cup, on the bathroom ledge. It had stayed there for 2-3 days. I also had my locker key in the cup.

When we left that night, we got all the way to the place where we could walk the rest of the way unescorted before I remembered my key. There were several guards there, so Jim had one him back to Bill’s room to get my locker key.
of them
escort

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Old 02-22-2005, 03:03 PM
lovenomore lovenomore is offline
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Very sad! I was in tears at one point. My brother is a lifer so I realized I never want to go through that! I am sorry this happen to you this way and I hope where ever he is now he is happier!

Is this the end or is there more? Did he pass? It seems to me the post dropped off...
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Old 02-22-2005, 07:25 PM
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So sad. What a miserable system we live with. Makes me want to scream . Animals treat each other better than humans do!
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Old 02-22-2005, 09:20 PM
Zapatista Zapatista is offline
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Default Yes, we need a better system

This story is so incredibly sad. It also infuriates me coming from people who always consider ourselves better and more humane than others around the world. If there were only a way for us to own our own tv channel so we could put this stuff on the news!
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Old 02-22-2005, 09:37 PM
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(((hugs))) but that doesn't seem to cover what you all went thru... Our inhumane system...

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Old 05-08-2006, 09:30 AM
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I was so touched by your story. Knowing he is in a MUCH better place conforts you i'm sure. hugs and love to you and your family. Was that the end of the story? It seemed to be cut off.
Kim
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Old 05-08-2006, 09:58 AM
prdrmewf prdrmewf is offline
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What a sad story that know one deserves to go through.
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Old 05-08-2006, 11:05 AM
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Wow, I wish he had a better last few months than that. Its sad how we treat prisoners. Im sorry! I know people that treat there aminals better than that.
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Old 05-08-2006, 11:40 AM
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So sorry to hear your story, I'm heartbroken at the fact that it's true what the above posts say, even animals treat eachother better......He is better off where he is now and because of situations like these makes us appreciate and value life even more, thank you for sharing.
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Old 05-08-2006, 02:43 PM
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I am so sorry for you loss and both you and your brother’s treatment.
I truly can not fathom such treatment. I was a hospice care nurse and the care you described is infuriating to me. Even calling the environment your brother was in a "hospice" is a bastardization of the word.

These stories need to find their way to the hospice activist community, so this tragedy isn’t continued.
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Old 05-09-2006, 02:43 PM
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Oh my God you have me in tears here. I am sorry you had to go through so much along with your brother. Breaks my heart to know that even though he was dying they couldn't be more civil to him and help him go through such a difficult and painful time. I am sure though that he felt so much better knowing you were there. May God bless you and your family. I hope that knowing he is in a better place makes you feel better.
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Old 06-01-2006, 10:24 AM
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no person should have to go through that. (((hugs)))
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Old 10-09-2007, 02:47 AM
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Oh sweetie pie, I am so sorry for what you went through. I'm from OH, (Toledo), send me a special message if you know how and lets talk and let me know were in OH. I really need someone to help me get through these issues with my 2 sons in GA. sounds as though you found a way around the red tape. I feel really bad for you and your family. I am brought to tears. I fear this could happen to my sons. One of my son's just had lung biopsy. He'd been filing sick complaints since 2004, he sent me copies. In all of them he was asking to be moved out of a smoking cell. He doesnt smoke but his cell mate does. They are to lazy (the guards) to take them out to the smoking area so they just let em smoke where they want. My son has asthma and at one time was coughing up blood, passing out, having shortness of breath etc. Now getting back to these copies he was submitting, at the end of everyone of them he would say "HELP ME", SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME, "I NEED HELP" and HELP. This went on and on. Now I'm really in tears. I sent a copy to as many activest as I could think of. Every organization that you see on t.v., but if it's not a high profile case no one hears about it. If someone isn't getting rich no one hears about it. If someone isn't trying to get elected then no one hears about it. Finally I sent a copy to his Warden, It say's, "IS ANYTHING BEING DONE ABOUT THIS AND IF NOT WHY"? (talking about these forms) Then all of a sudden they come after my visit in Aug., rushed him off to Atanta and cut him and took part of his lung and did a biopsy on him. He say's they found nothing but his white bld. cells are attackig his red bld.cells. I asked if he had cancer. He say's no, but this is something, leukemia or something? He just doen't want to upset me but not knowing upsets me more. I'm almost affraid to ask a professional and /or check it out on the net. He has no access to a phone, no stamps/envelopes for over a month. When we got back home I was wondering why I hadn't heard from him. I had written him several times. I let him know we had made it home safely, that his brother had surgery in Augusta (around the same time as his), that my heart cath. went ok, no blockages, that my husband was in remission (he has cancer) and that the floods we had in Findlay OH didn't come near us. All this time he wanted to know the answer to all these questions, all this time he was worried about us but no one gave a hoot. The mail was going to Folkston where he was no longer at but in Buford GA where they sent him after his surgery. I finally got a letter from him, it was the first I heard about a surgery. The first things he had written was how did all the above things came out. My jaws dropped to the floor. I didn't know he hadn't gotten any of the reports I had sent him. He told me about the surgery and that he wish he had never let them cut on him. I immediately started making calls to GA to find out what was going on with my son. No one would tell me anything. I finally got someone in medical who was very quiet and soft spoken, (by design), whispering, and sneaky acting. She was very caring and concerned, telling me, she couldn't loose her job and the phones may be tapped. Well that really got me worried. She did said "there is something I want to tell you and something I want to ask you. I said well tell me, well ask me. She whispered as I could hear others talking in the background. She said, well this is what I'll do. Just start talking. I got the impression that her way of telling me what was going on was to let me talk and tell her. So I started talkilng 50 mph. When she found that I knew where he was, she said I know now that your who you said you are and I know you have some knowlege of whats going on. But I didn't, I was just trying to find some knowlege of what was going on. She gave me a number and ext. and told me that if I got a machine to leave a message and speak slowly, calmly and clearly when giving my phone no. and that someone would get back to me, she guaranteed me. But no one did, it was the weekend so I had to wait until Mon. of course. Everyone I talked to took great pride in telling me I had to wait till mon. That Mon. someone called and tried tell me where he was but by then I already been on the internet, had the address, from his envelope, got the phone no., called some friends and Family in GA. to see if someone was close enough and could go check on him. But later that Mon. They let him call me. But as I said, I could tell someone was standing over him and he wanted to talk but couldn't. I have not heard back from him since. I have written him, sent him money to buy stamps/envelopes and knick knacks but still haven't heard from him. On the internet it told of the unexplained deaths, the suicides, the hangings (unexplained), the creul and unusual punishment, the unerstaffing and the inexperience help. I knew all this when he called and wanted him to tell me about it but he couldn't because someone was standing there listening to his every word. Probably plugged into our call and heard every word I said. I ran copies of what I had gotten of the net and told him to be careful and watch his back.To stay of the way and not bring attention to himself. I later found out it was some sort of max security assain assylm. I had posted this before, I'm posting it again because I read your story. I know when they do anything to the lungs, they cut you from butt hole to appitite. Excuse my language. This I'm not sure they did to him but he did say he wish he'd not let them cut on him. When the do surgery now they do a lot of it through small wholes they insert tools through, so cutting isn't as prevalent as it used to be. I can't get intouch with the doctor that did the surgery, don't know who she is just that she's a she in Atlanta. they only let us talk for less than 5 mins. so I couldnt ask who she was. I can relate and am a little affraid. I was a lot affraid till one night I was meditating and praying. Something spoke to my spirit, saying "FEAR AND FAITH CANNOT ABIDE IN THE SAME BODY, SO CHOOSE ONE OR THE OTHER? I chose faith. Again I'm so sorry for what happened to you and your brother and may Yahwheh keep a band of healing angles around my sons and any of you guys loved ones and relatives that may be going through what our loved ones are and had to endure at the hads of the gate keeper. They are the biggest thugs ever. Your sentance stopped abruptly and I was waiting on you to say that when you went back to get your key and money, they were gone. I can believe it because someone in pelham (Autry) stole 40.00 from my son and it was never returned. Seems you give them a badge, gun and uniform and they transform overnight. This is somesthing that I do. Maybe someone might think of doing the same thing. My sons were arrested together about eight years ago. What I have been doing from the first letter I ever wrote them was to put a dap of healing (blessed) oil in one of the corners of every envelope and pray that everyone that touches that letter will recieve a blessing. The guards and all. I need for them to be anoited as well, for the protection of all of our loved ones. I pray for Yahweh to prick the hearts of them all in the Holy and Sacred Name of Yahshua. Do you know how many people touch one piece of mail, one letter? Stop and think about it. You touch it, the folks in the post office touch it, the guy that drives the truck touches it, the person that takes em out of the big blue boxes touch them. The person that loads the plane, the pilot has them in the belly of his plane, the person that drives the truck all over the country delivering mail, AND FINALLY THE GUARDS IN THE MAIL ROOM AND THE ONE THAT HANDS OUT THE MAIL TO OUR LOVED ONES. Just a thought and a blessing going out to folks that don't even know they have touched the blessed/healing oil thus recieving a blessing HalleluYAH.....Try it, it caused many to get a blessing and it causes many to pass on the blessings by passing on that one envelope. Also do the same thing to your bills. Much Love and Be Blessed INDEED!!!!!
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