SIXTEEN by Eric Blackmon
15 years, 7 months, 4 weeks, 1 day, 16 hours, and 33 minutes to be exact.
5,724 dreadful days, 137,416 and a half hours, 8,244,993 miserable minutes.
And I won’t forget a second of it.
I missed 66 of my kid’s birthdays, 337 holidays, 16 vacations, 14 graduations, 11 funerals,
First steps, first words, all of my 20s, half of my 30s, most of my life.
I lost everything.
Every dime I had, four appeals, friends, family, my fiancé, my relationship with my kids.
At times I lost faith,
Other times I lost hope,
A few times I ever lost myself,
But I survived.
I survived the conditions. I survived the ornery, tyrannical officers; some wolfish, vulturous inmates.
A stabbing, being jumped, two black eyes, two busted lips, one chipped tooth, a busted head, 6 stitches, 1 broken nose, 1 fractured arm, 1 concussion.
The suffering, the pain, the loss.
But I overcame.
By never hearing, never seeing, never speaking, never caring, never feeling, never loving, never resting, never giving up.
For 15 years 7 months 4 weeks 1 day 16 hours and 33 minutes to be exact
5724 dreadful days
137416 and 1/2 hours
8,244,993 miserable minutes.
All for a crime I didn’t commit.
And I can’t forget a second of it.
But who’s counting?
Eric Blackmon is a former PNAP student. He currently works as a paralegal at the MacArthur Justice Center and is studying to become a lawyer.