"Do you know people who pop over to visit when you are just sitting down to a family meal? Who arrive uninvited and unexpected? What about the people you invite for dinner who show up an hour and half late?

Then there are those who come when expected, arrive promptly, but who will not leave in spite of every hint and indication that the welcome mat has not only been withdrawn, it has been hidden in the basement. And so it is with people who decide to visit their friend or loved one in prison.

There are the people who promise week after week that they will come and who never show up. It is not just a question of waiting and the humiliation of being stood up, but we have to wear a slightly modified version of our uniform for visitation–I can’t go outside to walking recreation (a once a week pleasure) or satisfy my dog-sitting responsibilities because I am wearing my visitation clothes and shoes (and am freshly showered!). So the day passes in empty frustration and futility in uncomfortable shoes and hot clothes. Not only don’t I get a visit, I don’t get to participate in the other activities that enrich and balance my life.

Then there are the people who just decide to drop by. And while this sounds like a lovely surprise, since we are only allowed one visit per visiting day and family members may come a considerable distance to visit, it a horrible surprise for them not to be able to get in because some other person, without invitation, has visited. Technically, when our visitor signs in and the staff calls for us on our living units, they inform us who our visitor is so if we are expecting someone else later, we can refuse the visit.

However, when things get busy, inmates arrive at the visitation room expecting to see their children or parents and are devastated when it is a friend from high school who has decided to surprise them with a pop in. With only about four to six visiting opportunities a month, every visit is precious.

I am deeply grateful for the people who give up so much time and energy and effort to come and see me. I love my visits. I am also deeply grateful that most of my visitors have sufficient respect for me and have taken the trouble to appraise themselves of the nuances of my circumstances, to appreciate that visitation is a special treat and that it also has certain responsibilities.

Aside from showing up and arriving on time, feeding me succulent junk food delicacies from the vending machine is a critical part of the visiting experience. Usually the first question we inmates ask each other after a visit is not, “How was the visit?” but “What did you eat?” My visitors know, as they hug me on arrival, to whisper in my ear, “I brought lots of change–hope you’re hungry.”

I’m not really exaggerating. I realized how strongly I had become fixated on food when some of the absolutely adorable and brave ladies from my church came to visit and on meeting me for the first time announced that they had had a pre-visit briefing session on my favorite foods. Each of them wanted to check with me, even before sitting down, that I had not had any changes in taste (cheese, salt, chocolate, Fanta). As each one greeted me, she assured me of her contribution to the junk food fest. More embarrassingly, my young cousin sent her pocket money to make double sure I had a really good visit. (I would truly rather have seen her!)

Not every visitor is so considerate or genuinely thoughtful. Some visitors describe the luncheon they will enjoy after our visit (we get no lunch on weekends, but are fed a brunch and dinner), but who never offer a snack. Nor do I quite understand the visitors who come and ask me what I would like to eat and then who say, “No, that’s too fattening. What about…” Since I don’t want to spend my visit arguing over vending machine food, I agree and eat their choice of cardboard.

Then there was a visitor who would not leave. They refused every hint, indication, suggestion and even a blunt request to go. Because my visitation time had expired, the officer was forced to intervene and insist that the visitor depart. Only dire threats seem to make the visitor understand that the prison officer had authority and power over them. An ugly scene might have ensued, but the personnel involved were compassionate and had a good sense of humor.

And then there was the visitor who, on arrival in the visiting room, decided to shout at the officer on desk duty. I was lucky in both of these cases. The officers could have terminated my visitation privileges for six months or longer if they had chosen to punish me for my visitor’s behavior.

I can tell a lot about a person by their attitude towards visitation. Rudeness, a lack of boundaries, insensitivity or unreliability stand out as warning flares. Signs I have learned to heed.

On the other hand, my church ladies are full of love and adventure and sprightly humor. Their joyful generosity overwhelms me and teaches me. In the end, it always comes back to the very few faithful who make visitation a joy and a treat with their presence." (Elizabeth Haysom, Fluvanna Review, July 5, 2007)

An index to Elizabeth Haysom's columns may be found at Glimpses from Inside.