This is how I remember her. She spoke always in a voice that never rose beyond a mildly raised tone, even when angry. She fit the same sized prison uniform, never gaining or losing significant weight. I’d been visiting her for several years and her weight, skin tone, the way she tied up her hair, her walk, had all remained constant. Sure, as the years ticked by, I noticed the gradual increase in the grey strands in her hair. And, when I sat opposite her under the sodium light of the visitors’ room, her crow’s feet grew more noticeable each year. She was serving a life sentence. I knew why but what got her into prison is not important for this conversation.