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Essay:
Remembering
Geraldine Lucas
by Terri Harper
State
Correctional
Institute at Muncy PA, June 2015: I went from a citizen and human
being to
prison in 1991. So . . . I asked myself: “At what stage of my
existence am I no
longer a liability? How can I be of value, at least as much value as
the inmate
next to me?”
Today I think of those
questions again, because I have had
the absolute blessing to have spent the last two years engrossed in
caring for
Gealdine Theresa Lucas: my little “Ornery Bird” as I so
lovingly called her.
Right now she is in the care
of strangers, soon to be in the
care of Almighty God. No words can describe the void I feel from the
top of my
head to the soles of my feet. I’m restless, heartbroken,
angry—and full of questions that
begin with the word “why.”
Above every emotion I do not
like to feel, anger sits by
itself. It causes restlessness, loss of appetite, fear, sleeplessness,
isolation, and scrutiny by the Powers. That’s definitely not how
I prefer to do
my time. But I am angrier than ever today, because a totally blind,
83-year-old
helpless lifer, who I love with my heart and soul, has had to suffer
senselessly, for months, because of the sheer indifference of this
institution
which we both came to inhabit.
A psychiatrist who
didn’t talk to her regularly (I’d know,
as I took her to all of her appointments) deemed her competent to say
that she
was afraid of a CAT scan despite clear signs of dementia. So no
diagnosis of
her cancer led to no treatment. She was simply allowed to die: to eat
no solid
food for two months, perhaps longer, except for morsels I was able to
coax her
into taking from time to time. There were no intravenous feedings, just
BOOST
drinks or ginger ale or Pepsi when she felt like sips here and there.
So I
watched her turn to skin and bones, had the medical staff shrug their
shoulders
and give me off-hand comments attributing everything to her old age and
chronic
pancreatitis.
Had Geri been of value to
anyone—expected to work in order
to help take care of this jail or of someone else—she’d
have been strapped
down, diagnosed, coaxed, court-ordered or some facsimile thereof.
Instead they
just pulled the plug. Now she’s at Gateway Nursing Home, taking
her last
breaths, being ravaged by tumors throughout her body, laid out on
life-ending
pain meds and, perhaps (perhaps not?), being soothed by total
strangers—instead
of by the two human beings (Terri Harper and Tameka Flowers)
who’ve loved on,
cared for, and truly done all we could to help Geri, our baby, and
would still for
however many more days God gives her on this earth.
I’m not sad, because
the life cycle is one I have no problem
with. I cannot, however, and will not be another lifer sitting by
quietly and
not asking someone, anyone, to seriously question why the elderly,
disadvantaged, handicapped lifers are being warehoused, at high cost to
every
tasxpayer, as if it’s OK, without every taxpayer going to the
polls and
standing against the neglect being perpetrated by the jailers,
legislators, and
citizens who are unaware of the truth about prison conditions, prison
policies,
prison medical care, and the rate at which useful human beings are
allowed to
become worn, battered, sickly, discarded burdens on our human community.
When are people going to
begin to believe in the truth of
the words behind these walls? We are living, struggling beings,
striving to
overcome what harm we might have brought to others and to society, as
much as
you will allow us to, all the while trying to better our hearts, our
minds, and
our souls. We need two-way communication and true opportunities for
forgiveness, growth, and new beginnings. It starts with me. And it
starts with
you, who have taken the time to read these words. Thanks.
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