Entering the patient’s hospital room, I was met by two prison guards. The guards are usually tense and uptight when a visitor comes in, but they were relaxed. The patient, an elderly man, lay weak and helpless in the bed. The guards fetched me a chair and pulled a curtain across his bed so we could have privacy. This was not usual. They treated the patient like he was their grandfather. At first the patient would not make eye contact. Eventually he began to talk. About prison. He mentioned that he had joined the prison Quaker service on Sundays in order to survive the harsh conditions. I mentioned my Quaker background, and his eyes lit up. My close listening did something to him—he began to talk about his life. Sentenced decades ago, now with a failing heart and failing kidneys, his greatest fear was coming true, the fear of dying in prison. I sat with that, feeling the weight of his words.

He turned to look at me. “You should come to the prison. You could do so much good there. We need someone like you.”

His was a face of great dignity and wisdom. There was a ring of truth in his words. I felt an inner resistance, and gave voice to it. “It also scares me.”

“You would be safe,” he replied, “no one would harm you.”

I shook my head no. “I’m scared of feeling the tremendous pain there.”

He nodded ... we sat in silence...

dying in prison 
his fear 
my fear 

Bio: Stephen W. Leslie