It's 7:00AM. I overslept.

My plan had been to get up and stay up at the 3:00AM breakfast call, but the combination of my drowsiness, the sweltering heat, and my thoughts of four executions in the next four days overpowered me.

The new day didn't seem to hold much promise. After eating breakfast, I allowed depression to drive me back to my bed. I was awakened by a correctional officer banging on the security flap that covers the bean hole on my door.

I awoke in a stupor trying to remember the dream which was instantly lost from my memory. The officer asked me if I wanted to see Drinkard. Ricky Drinkard, a long-time friend, brother, a man who will be dead before the sun goes down.

Texas Death Row houses approximately 450 men on eight different wings at the Ellis Unit, all wthin a quarter-mile radius. Prison segregation design prevents many of the men from having contact with one another for years on end.

As I walked from one end of Death Row to the other to meet with Ricky, my mind was consumed with thoughts of how this meeting would go.

I hadn't laid eyes on Ricky for about five years and I was a bit overtaken by his request to see me. I was placed in the cage in which the two of us would be meeting and I waited for the officers to bring Ricky.

When I saw Ricky, I could sense his apprehension, that's when I realized I had a bad dose of anxiety myself.

At first, words were difficult and hard to come by. The many years of separation made the moment awkward, especially at such an extreme moment in time.

Ricky and I stammered through our hellos, looking each other in the eyes. That look for the both of us spoke more words than our mouths could speak in a thousand lifetimes.

Many claim the eyes are the gateway to man's soul. If thre was ever a doubt in my mind about that saying, that doubt has been forever erased.

Ricky's humanity in that instant was laid bare to me, one man to another. I could feel all the painful years of Ricky's life. I could see the marks left on his soul from the experiences.

In that same momment, I could also feel his relief, knowing that he would soon be free from his body of death, and in the presence of Jesus, to share in an eternity of blessings and happiness. Ricky had prepared well to meet his Maker and he was ready.

Small talk consumed us. We laughed, cried, and then we prayed together.

Ricky thanked me for being his friend in his early years on the Row, and for pulling him to the side and explaining life on Death Row to him. I was the first man Ricky met when arriving on the Row, he wanted me to be one of the last in such a meeting before leaving.

Primarily Ricky wanted to thank me for making such an impression on his life. Ricky then shared things with me I never knew.

I went to meet Rick feeling helpless and lost, knowing I had no answers for him, but hew knew and understood that.

Rick wasn't looking for answers or for someone to hold his hand, we were just friends, saying our goodbyes.

I have spent the last several years of my life struggling with all my might to make a difference in the lives of the men and women on Death Row.

I have worked hard for The Lamp of Hope Project, and in building a personal relationship with my Lord Jesus. There have been many times along the way, I have fallen into pits of despiar, desiring to quit my endeavors, often wondering and asking myself why I was even trying. No one really seemed to care or to be affected by my efforts.

I came away from the meeting with Ricky renewed in strength, knowing that I made a difference in at least one man's life. A difference so profound, he just had to share it with me before passing on to the other side.

The day has ended. Ricky was executed a short while ago. A day that began with what seemed to hold empty promises, ended with praises to God.

My friends is at peace, and I with a renewed desire to carry on.

Michael Sharp (#740) was executed on November 19, 1997.