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Come find us. Talk to us. Most importantly, remember us.

Before this time in my life, I was and still am a son, brother, nephew, cousin, husband, father, and grandfather. And in five months, I will become a great-grandfather for the first time. I am only 60 years old. My joy is found in reading books, watching movies, and laughing at funny jokes. I enjoy eating a lot of vegetables. So here’s my point: people my age are, for the most part, are very much ignored. We are like fading souls who receive every blow the rest of the population gets, through no fault of our own. We carry a lot of knowledge but can only share it with those who truly want to hear it. We seldom get into trouble. Most of us just want to be left in peace. But it’s in those very quiet moments when we think the world is asleep that tears travel through the gray hairs on our faces. It’s because our youth has vanished, and even our mature years feel out of reach. It’s a heavy feeling, and the loneliness is almost certain. Visits are few and far between, with rules and correctional officers simply doing their jobs. Letters come less often, and are shorter and shakier. Technology has nearly buried mail altogether just like time itself, plucking each of us off one by one, without warning. So I say to all who truly care about this:
Come find us. Talk to us. Most importantly, remember us.

I am just one of many.
We still love and care.

Thank you

📬

These stories arrive by mail.

Every month, a physical envelope arrives at your door, postmarked from San Quentin Village, California. Inside, you will find original artwork, writing, and recipes from real contributors, along with a personal letter from me, Diane Kahn, founder of Humans of San Quentin, about the people who made them. You read it. You keep it.

Every piece comes from someone serving a sentence. Every piece reminds you they are so much more than that.

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