It Wouldn’t Die

I tried to kill hope.

I told you about George in the post immediately preceding this one. George was in my family* during one of the four-day Christian retreats I participated in at Torres**.  Those retreats are lots of fun for the volunteers and the participants.  By Saturday, people are moving around the room, singing, dancing.  I noticed that George disappeared every time spontaneity broke out.

George and I bonded that weekend. He became one of the men I had the privilege of meeting with one-on-one for an hour once a month.  I learned that he had killed a man when he was fifteen years old—a man he said was a good man who was trying to help but George didn’t know it.  George spent 8 ½ years in solitary confinement.  When we met, he had been in prison for more than 20 years.

Both of his parents and his younger, only brother, died while George was in prison.  He was not permitted to attend any of those services.

One day we were talking about hope.  George said “I tried to kill hope.  It wouldn’t die.”

*At the retreat, we sat at tables of nine, called families, in assigned seats for the duration of the retreat.

**The Torres Unit is a Texas State Prison located near Hondo, Texas.