by Keith Erickson, Pleasant Valley State Prison in Coalinga, CA
Last night I called my wife, something I do each and every night before we both turn in for the evening and we went through our extensive prayer list. Just five minutes later while checking the messages on the contact’s list of my inmate issued tablet, I was alarmed by a message left from my wife to call home again, as it was urgent.
I listened to the words of my wife as she cried, “Please sit down, Keith,” and her words pierced right through me as she read the Instagram post announcing the loss of David Inocencio, founder of The Beat Within. My heart tightened in my chest, tears began to formulate in my eyes, and I thought about our last phone conversation just weeks prior. I had not talked to David much this year, unaware that he had been battling with cancer, and hearing his voice was uplifting as ever.
He was sitting on his patio, his loving soulmate Lisa cooking him one of his favorite breakfasts, and the sunshine was extra beautifully bright that day. I never imagined that it would be the last time that we talked and yet I look back now at that conversation, seeing it for what it may have been.
David, a man that came into my life as a stranger nearly ten years ago, became more than just a mentor to me in time of personal soul searching and waiting to be more than what I had been much of my life. He became like a brother to me and someone that I admired with every bit of who he was in the community and the world around him. I wrote a letter to The Beat Within ten years ago after reading an issue of The Beat Within, not expecting much other than giving a positive “shout out” for the outstanding work that they do throughout California. David replied to my letter with personal recognition and praise for the work that I had shared with him regarding my own struggles and successes while incarcerated.
I was touched by the fact that this man took the time to read my story, give me feedback and encouragement, but more importantly see me as a human being who had lived through a tough life rather than just someone who had lived life committing crimes and making bad choices.
I began sharing more of my story with David all those years ago, dedicating time and effort into providing artwork to The Beat Within, and before long I became a recognized feature amongst the teens who would flip throughout the pages of The Beat Within. David would tell me how the teens would ask about me and when I was going to do another drawing every time, he would visit the juvenile facilities throughout the country, and it made me feel like what I was doing was bigger than just the time and effort of me putting my talents on paper.
“Keith,” he said, “Your artwork inspires these kids to sit down and see possibilities that they never considered having before.”
I had never seen the significance in what my art was doing until he said those words to me. I wanted to give others something from me that was from the heart, and yet, I was missing the bigger picture all along. David, my brother and friend, taught me how to see the bigger picture.
I spent years of my own life incarcerated in the local juvenile hall, and eventually the California Youth Authority at the age of fifteen, and I could relate to the teens that would write their own stories/artwork in the pages of TBW publications. These teens, in every sense, were just like me and needed to be heard.
David, with no doubt whatsoever, gave them a voice.
“Thank you for everything that you have done all of these years, Keith,” he told me that morning we last talked, “I love you my brother, and I am so happy that I get to hear your voice.”
Perhaps he knew something that I didn’t know that day and wanted me to know how much he loved and appreciated me. Despite all our initial conversations this one felt more heartfelt and sentimentally sound than any other. David always talked of me coming home one day, attending TBW workshops with him and Lisa, and I promised him that we would have a nice barbecue once I earned that freedom that I have been fighting for all these years.
“David,” I told him that morning, “You too have been a great part of my journey and I love you and appreciate all the confidence you have had in me.”
There is never enough time to say goodbye and regardless if I would have known it would be our last call or not, I would have never said “goodbye” to a man that would forever be present in my life, despite his passing. I grew to love this man with the better parts of me that he helped bring out over the years.
Earlier this year I was referred to the courts for “resentencing consideration,” based on my accomplishments and positive changes to my life. David wrote a letter of support to the judge who will be making the final decision on my cases at any given date. I do not know what the outcome will be, however, I do know that it was just another act of compassion from a man that had grown to believe in me, and I am forever grateful to him for this.
I will walk out of these gates one day soon. I believe this wholeheartedly and in spirit that the man that gave me a voice all those years ago—as he had thousands of other individuals in his lifetime—will be watching over me as I embrace my freedom for the first time in over three decades once again.
Until then, I will continue to be the man that David taught me to be through his own life’s legacy. My brother, my friend, I love you and I will miss you.