And here's a part I actually like, minus the references to "cell" and "hospital":
Our visits were long ones, long enough that the guard had to tell us that our time was up, which never ceased to surprise and then in turn embarrass my mother. She would say, “I’m really sorry about this. I thought we had a few more minutes.” Every time, the same thing. “I’m very sorry, I thought we had an additional five minutes or so.” And every time the guard would say, “No, no you don’t.”
I was sad to see my mother leave every time they made her, with me heading back to my cell to wait until they took me to the hospital. I was sad because I knew what she was thinking. She was thinking, “You are my daughter and you’ve disappointed me in a way that I could never have imagined,” but she never said so.
We talked mostly about my sister and my niece. Sometimes we talked about Joe making his birdhouses. “Big ones, now,” she told me. “Bird mansions, with six-car garages and an indoor heated pool. I swear it.”
“I can’t imagine,” I’d say.