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You were only waiting for this moment to arrive

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February 23, 2018 UPDATE: Many thanks to all of you for supporting Thomas and his family (and me) through this very stressful time.  Last night was a good night and I love that so many of you were celebrating with us.  I am so grateful for you guys!  So many have asked about writing to Thomas and about where he will be - here's what I know:  Before he was granted clemency, he speculated that if it happened, he would be sent to a medical unit for evaluation and then possibly moved a few times before being assigned a new permanent unit.  999522 will be retired and he will be given a new TDCJ #.  He said he wouldn't be able to write until he has his property (for stamps and envelopes) and he wasn't sure how long that might take, so he said it might be a while before we hear from him.  I promise to post his new contact info as soon as I have it.  Thomas has also promised to write about this experience for MB6 and to make MB6 writing a priority again as soon as he is able.  He is aware of all your support and is he very grateful to all of you and wants to thank you himself as soon as he can.  Thank you again so very much for being a part of this miracle and for your love and support.  You all helped make this happen and it wouldn't have happened without you xx Dina


Taking Flight
Artist: Thomas Bartlett Whitaker
Be like the bird, pausing in his flight
On the limb too slight
Feels it give way, yet sings
Knowing he has wings
- Victor Hugo
Thomas Bartlett Whitaker was granted clemency tonight instead of being executed.  There are so many people deserving of thanks who worked tirelessly to make this happen and Thomas plans to do this directly once he is settled into his new unit.  Please know we are so very grateful to all of you who wrote letters supporting clemency and faxed and called the Governor and the Board of Pardons and Paroles.  To the many amazing people who reached out with kind words of support during this stressful time, your gestures have meant the world to Thomas and to all of us who care for him.  We thank you from the bottoms of our hearts tonight.  Because of you, Thomas will continue to write.  And breathe. Our love and gratitude goes out to all of you.  Please check back soon for more updates XO

Thomas Bartlett Whitaker

Thomas shared this poem with me when we began exchanging letters a decade ago 
and now it reminds me of him

Birches
By Robert Frost

When I see birches bend to left and right 
Across the lines of straighter darker trees, 
I like to think some boy's been swinging them. 
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay 
As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them 
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning 
After a rain. They click upon themselves 
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored 
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. 
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells 
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust— 
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away 
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. 
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, 
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed 
So low for long, they never right themselves: 
You may see their trunks arching in the woods 
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground 
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair 
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun. 
But I was going to say when Truth broke in 
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm 
I should prefer to have some boy bend them 
As he went out and in to fetch the cows— 
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, 
Whose only play was what he found himself, 
Summer or winter, and could play alone. 
One by one he subdued his father's trees 
By riding them down over and over again 
Until he took the stiffness out of them, 
And not one but hung limp, not one was left 
For him to conquer. He learned all there was 
To learn about not launching out too soon 
And so not carrying the tree away 
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise 
To the top branches, climbing carefully 
With the same pains you use to fill a cup 
Up to the brim, and even above the brim. 
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, 
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. 
So was I once myself a swinger of birches. 
And so I dream of going back to be. 
It's when I'm weary of considerations, 
And life is too much like a pathless wood 
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs 
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping 
From a twig's having lashed across it open. 
I'd like to get away from earth awhile 
And then come back to it and begin over. 
May no fate willfully misunderstand me 
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away 
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: 
I don't know where it's likely to go better. 
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, 
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk 
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, 
But dipped its top and set me down again. 
That would be good both going and coming back. 
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches. 



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