Category: Haven

I wasn’t ready for it to be over.

If I love the book I’m reading, I won’t allow it to end. In my head, the characters will keep having adventures long after I’ve finished reading, because it always hits me hard when things change. I don’t like the idea of things ending.

The second half of the book was equally hard-hitting as the first half, but for different reasons. By the halfway point, I had become not exactly desensitized, but maybe used to the gut-wrenching situations in which these men lived. But I had also formed a connection with each of them – I felt like I knew them, a little bit. And then the stories started becoming darker, more serious, more illegal, more dangerous. And it made me feel something, to be completely powerless to do anything, or even mean anything, in their story. I don’t ever feel that way when I’m reading fiction. I guess it’s just different when I know it’s real.

I waited with a mix of morbid curiosity and dread for their crimes to be revealed. And when they were, I felt mixed emotions. First, relief: I was glad that none of them were serial killers. Second, a different kind of relief: the knowledge that their arrests would eventually lead them to the prison chapel with Dr. Coogan, and their lives would change for the better. And third, a kind of dread: the looming threat of their impending release or transfer – that either way, their involvement in the project was about to end. And I don’t like things ending.

I don’t like things ending, but I think I’d rather read a happily-ever-after than watch characters – people – drift apart due to time and circumstance. The first nine chapters of the book followed a fairly straightforward format: Dr. Coogan meets with the men in the jail, and they write, discuss, and discover things about themselves and each other, forming bonds with each other and with Dr. Coogan. The second half of the book couldn’t follow that format, because the real world wasn’t content to let the story play out without interference. People transferred, people stopped writing, and eventually, the project became something very different than it had been in the early days. I wonder if that change in and of itself could be seen as a representation of the injustice of the justice system – it takes a good possibility (rehabilitation), and prevents it from happening easily or in its own due course. But the book, and all the stories, eventually were published. So in the metaphor, rehabilitation could technically be possible, although not easy or natural, in the current system (which, of course, is more focused on locking people up than letting them learn/grow).

It was hard to watch some things end unhappily , although I guess that’s just how life goes sometimes. There’s a reason a happily-ever-after is called a fairytale ending.

A few very distinct thoughts have struck me as I’ve read the first part of this book.

First, how normal the men seemed. Because the book included their words and actions while they were in the room with Dr. Coogan, as well as their stories of how each of them got to that point, I was able to become invested in them very early on. The stories they told were about their past, but their interactions with Dr. Coogan and each other kind of gave me a sense for the people that those experiences built in the present. It was remarkable to me that they were able to be funny, to consistently have profound and deep insights, when all of them had experienced what 90% of the people I grew up with would label “trauma,” or “abuse.” This brings me to my second thought…

Second, how different their lives were than mine. I know that if any of those experiences (finding their dead mother, being abandoned at a young age, growing up in a single-parent household, an abusive household, or both) had happened to me, I would not have been able to handle it. All of those men lived in a completely different world than the one I grew up in. And when all of those gut-wrenching (to me) events happened, those men were only children. And yet, they survived. They carved out lives for themselves, and yes – more often than not they were centered around illegal or dangerous activity. Yes – those paths eventually landed all of them in prison. But their resilience, and the way they responded and adapted to harrowing events, and so much abuse and uncertainty, made me respect them so much. I’m not saying I approve of all of their choices, but frankly, I am in awe of the fact that they endured so much – and thought they hadn’t dealt with much out of the ordinary. They casually mentioned events that would have been some of the most traumatic in my (fairly sheltered) life.

A quick sidenote: It could be interesting to connect the Memory article to these men and their childhoods. I wonder which “stories” (not necessarily happily-ever-after stories, but just the ideas they were taught in general) they were told as young children? I remember multiple said that it wasn’t an option not to love/support/be proud of/almost worship their mother (it seemed like a no-brainer to them), even though at least one was physically abusive and multiple neglected their children. I bet we could look at how those self-stories could have impacted the creation of their identities.

And third (fourth?), how prepared and observant Dr. Coogan was. It seemed like he was almost watching the conversation like a therapist, waiting for someone to say something that hinted at a deeper meaning, and then instantly seizing on it and digging deep into it to help the men really reflect on themselves, their experiences, and their lives as a whole. His purpose was to help them understand themselves and their lives. That purpose was adopted and absorbed by the men in the class, and that meant that they wouldn’t let their comments be misunderstood either. That prompted them to further try to explain their thoughts/feelings, and eventually, that process would lead to somebody saying a sentence that just struck a chord with all of them, or maybe got to the root of everything they were discussing. Once again, it was remarkable to read about, but I don’t know if those realizations would have occurred without Dr. Coogan creating an environment conducive to self-exploration and reflection.

My high school friends and I had talked about taking a trip to see a concrete arrow for months. The group of us bonded over our love for our AP US History class, and we knew that if we made it to a concrete arrow (used for aviation purposes after WWI, before GPS), our teacher would put the picture in his PowerPoint presentation and we would be immortalized forever in high school history lore! Eventually, we decided to go to an arrow that was two hours north of us. We found a clear Saturday and packed into my friend’s car, building the perfect playlist as we went. But when we arrived at the spot, we found that the arrow was in the middle of a military base, and there was no way for us to access it. So we drove home, continuing our playlist-building, and vowed to plan a trip to southern Utah, where we knew there was an arrow open to the public. But a month into the summer, we hadn’t actually done anything to accomplish our goal. Then, out of the blue, one person started taking control of things and started asking questions about the logistics of the trip – when everyone was available, who had a car that could fit us all, etc. We followed his lead, and started actively planning the trip. It required a sacrifice from all of us; Tyler had to settle for only one day of hiking, Mauree and Emily had to deal with cramped sleeping conditions, Sam had the job of keeping me occupied on the road, Alli missed an event back home, and I drove eleven hours in two days to get there and back. We each gave up something good – convenience, good beds, etc. – in order to have an even better total experience, one we had dreamed of for so long. And if somehow we grow apart now that we’re all scattered across the world, at least we’ll always be together in the picture our teacher will show his APUSH classes every year, and beyond that, we’ll always have the memories that we made with each other in southern Utah.