Dying in a maximum security correctional facility is not a proposition that anyone looks forward to, but it happens way too often here at New Jersey State Prison. And when one person passes away, the death in prison directly impacts others, from their close friends and neighbors, to the officers and medical staff who have to handle their body.

Adding to the collective stress is how little we prisoners know about what’s happening in real time. When you’re locked in a cell, you have to rely on obstructed views, surrounding sounds and chatter to fill in the gaps. The same way I’ve trained myself to guess which correctional officer is on duty by the rhythm of his keys jangling, I’ve learned to interpret signs of a death.

I relied on this situational awareness on Sunday last September when a man passed away right below me. Here’s what happened: At about 5:00 a.m., the pounding of heavy boots ripped me out of my dreams. Adrenaline surged through my body, and pure instinct had me lacing up my sneakers. I had to be ready for anything — a raid, a cell search, a move or some other disruption.

I heard a sergeant yell, “Crack the gate!” Then came the sound of officers opening a single cell. This meant it wasn’t a unit-wide raid, and a wave of relief washed over me. It didn’t last though due to the stress of a death in prison.

Our wing is four tiers high and 32 cells long. Some guys say it looks like the dog kennels on “Pit Bulls and Parolees.” Others say it looks like the storage units from “Storage Wars.” I think the setup is more like “Hollywood Squares.” Looking down through the bars in my door at an angle, I was able to watch correctional officers gather in front of the cell directly below mine. I thought about who was housed there and realized that it was Dale — a guy I had been locked up with for about 23 years and had come to think of as a friend.

Read the full article about the stress of deaths in prison by Thomas Koskovich at The Marshall Project.