Picture Day at Polunsky Prison

I hadn’t seen my dad’s face or heard his voice since I was a kid

Photo by Hédi Benyounes on Unsplash

But our family broke and fell to pieces.

My parents, Trudy and Doug
Left: The day I was born — Right: My brother Cliff and me

When I was eleven, mom cried as she told me that my dad would be spending the rest of his life in prison. He had shot a man to death.

And somehow, right there in the middle of all that pain, I felt held and loved and protected. Everything seemed more vivid and sacred. My soul began to heal.

We hadn’t seen his face or heard his voice in over fifteen years.

When our eyes met, my dad gave a hesitant smile. I found myself jumping out of my seat as he sped his steps. We threw our arms around each other.

These are some photos I took of my dad’s artwork

He said it was the best visit ever, and that he felt like “a free man, outside of the fences.”

I wish my mom was here to see this photo.

Me, my dad and brother Cliff- taken at Polunsky Prison



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Amber Hunter

Sonoran Desert Dweller | Storyteller here at Medium | Songwriter at youtube.com/amberhuntermusic | Twin Mama | Spiritual Director | I write to grow.