Today is Apiril 7, 2021. It is my birthday. Like every other birthday, for the past twenty years, I won't be receiving a party, a card, or a gift from a loved one. I don't even listen at mail call anymore. Why subject myself to the smiles and excitement of others? Doesn't matter anyways-today I am being released. Leaving behind those who have truly supported me and encouraged me and invested in me overwhelms the excitement I feel and creates an odd tension inside my heart and within each thought. My mother is waiting outside. I know she is nervous. We have been through this before. I have been able to hear and feel the shift in our conversations ever since I called to tell her I had made parole. I give God the credit for pulling this off. I think she may be having thoughts that this is the Devils grand finale in my pursuit of freedom from addiction. She liked being able to sleep at night knowing I was safe. For the past six years, a running joke has been that when it's time to leave you have better have already said goodbye because I'm out of here. Now that my day has come I find my steps are slower and leading me from one person to the next for just one more conversation. I know that they have to let me out so I hug and thank those I will miss and even those that I know from in passing. Everyone behind the fence is happy to see me go. They know me as a leader, a teacher, a preacher, and a changed man. I am their hope. It is time...my clothes fit. What a relief. I tie my shoes, stand up, sign my papers and walk right out the front door. It is behind me. I not only survived. I thrived. I give God the glory. My mother doesn't get out of the car. I get in. When I shut the door I have to crack the window because the tension is so thick. I expected this but couldn't prepare for it. My mother and I make small talk. While I was incarcerated I put childish ways behind me and became a man so when she asks if i want to stop for food or the store I feel a strange awakening at the thought of having to let her buy me food or purchase me clothes. Not having money threatens to lessen the importance of the idea that God is enough. A CIU mentor in the prison iniative has asked me to call before I reach Columbia. He wants to meet at Kohl's. He tells me that a few members of his church want to bless me. We meet them and they buy me a few outfits and give me some gift cards for food. I am relieved to receive this assistance. My mom and I get back in the car. I don't have to crack the window as much. The tension isn't as thick now that my mom has seen a few of the volunteers that walked alongside me on my journey through prison. Our conversations are deeper. We talk about my daughter. I look at pictures in her phone. It never rings though and that bothers me. As we pull up to the Jumpstart transitional house we both get out and hug-twice. Neither of us truly know what tomorrow will bring. We both have doubts but right now all that matters is today, this moment. I pray...