It’s unusual to say the least to include my voice here. I type up and post David’s blog but do it without any changes or edits.

But I have made an exception, as I had the privilege of going to visit David in Mayo CI 2 weeks ago. It’s quite the thing, and I’ll try to paint a picture.

We (my daughter and I) got there at 8.30 and the weather was already incredibly hot and humid. We waited in line with maybe 50 other people, all of whom were welcoming to us as “first timers” and many of whom clearly knew each other well from regular visits. Babies cried, elderly people took time to sit away from the line in the shade – and many people joked that as Brits we were great at waiting in line!

After at least an hour, we were gradually allowed in, with totally understandable high security. We finally entered the “visitation park”, a large canteen-like room with folding tables, vending machines, a small “canteen” with microwaveable fast food, a few board games – and a palpable atmosphere of every imaginable emotion – anticipation, sadness, joy, love, misery. I watched a small girl silently crying, tears streaming down her face without making a sound. I also watched a baby walk for the first time to his daddy – and the whole room erupted into applause. And we waited. And waited.

Despite repeatedly asking the guards where David was, and getting reassurances that he was on his way, nothing happened. We began to wonder if he’d had second thoughts. Began to doubt we’d recognise him and maybe he’d come in, not seen us and left. And really worried that he’d think we’d “stood him up”.

After about 2 hours, there was “count”, when everyone had to go back to their dorms. Count wasn’t complete so had to be re-done, so the whole thing took about an hour. All in all, from joining the line outside, we waited 5 hours until David appeared. I’m not going to criticise the guards, who were always courteous to this old British woman. And I’m not going to dwell on the wait (although as a smoker – which David hates – I was climbing the walls at this point!)

When David finally arrived, we of course knew him immediately! It was hugely emotional – although he told me very sternly not to cry! You have to understand that this is someone I have had in my life for over 8 years. First of all by handwritten letters (and he always complained about the smell of smoke!) Then it was typed letters, every fortnight. Then emails. Once he moved to Mayo after the resentencing, we could talk on the phone (and I’m sorry D how many times I miss your calls!) And now to meet, and hug.

I know we were both very nervous. What if we found nothing to say? What if it was just too awkward? But very soon it settled into the same easy communication we’ve had through so many mediums. As D put it “it’s so easy to vibe with you”.

If you’re a regular reader of this, maybe you need me to describe David. Open face. Amazing eye contact. Gentlemanly. Funny. Very able to  be teased. So so easy to talk to. Not someone who takes advantage (we were allowed to bring in around $20 for snacks and I watched other inmates understandably buy everything the canteen could provide. D just took a sandwich and a bottle of water, and was more concerned that we had had something).

And it went so quickly. We talked football (soccer). About his legal representation. About our great American road trip. Just stuff, the stuff you chat to a friend about. I can’t give you any major revelations. I met the same guy I’d “met” through letters, emails and latterly phone calls already. I certainly got a greater insight into where he’s living. The time flew, and after just under 1 ½ hours, time was called. And we said our goodbyes. The hardest thing is that what I wanted to say was “see you soon”. But I live 4133 miles away (yes, I looked it up!)

Finally, I’m aware that not everyone reading this will share my views on the death penalty, on rehabilitation and second chances. And I respect that – particularly for families of victims. I am not writing to explain or excuse, to challenge or minimise. I am simply writing to tell you about my friend, and the huge privilege it was to meet him face to face.

Karen Chandler