When the producer called to give me the address and directions, I didn't need them. I'd been there dozens of times over the last few years. When you are a sound recordist in Houston, you become quickly become familiar with the drive to the Polunsky Unit, home to over 400 inmates awaiting execution on Texas Death Row.

I met the rest of the crew at the prison and headed into the main entrance. The process had become routine to me - leave my cell phone and paper money in the car. In order to avoid confusion with the uniforms the inmates wear, don't wear white clothing. I joked with the guards as they searched through my sound kit looking for prohibited items. The tension I felt the first few times visiting prison was long forgotten.

Wednesday afternoons are the times designated for media interviews, and our crew spent many of them at Polunsky over the next few months. The show focused on three inmates in their final days before their scheduled executions. Each week our escort would lead us to the visitation room - rows of glass and steel enclosed booths in a typically sun-filled room. Methodically, I would set up behind a large black drape that the cameramen used to block the reflections in the glass. I listened to hours of stories from behind that drape, out of the view of inmate and interviewer. As the inmates answered our director's questions, I tried not to think about the horrible crimes they committed or their victims. I tried my best to not sympathize with these men. I just did my job.

Eventually, they were all executed.

The hearse slowly traveled the few short blocks from the death chamber to the funeral home with one of our cameramen inside documenting the ride. There was no procession, no line of cars following behind. I remember being relieved that there wasn't enough room for me to ride inside the cramped rear compartment.

The first time watching family members of the executed mourn the loss of their loved one was uncomfortably difficult. We had spent time with them and knew how painful this was for whole family. It was an incredibly private moment, and we were fortunate that they allowed us to experience it with them.

The dimly lit, wood-paneled funeral home was silent after the family left. No one on the crew made a sound as they speechlessly picked up the last shots. I'm always listening for a sound or ambience to record, but for once in my career, there was nothing to do. Total silence. I slowly found a seat on the front pew of the room and put my microphone across my lap.

I sat there staring at David Martinez's lifeless body and began to think about the next two executions and viewings that we would shoot for the program. I wondered if this, too, would become routine for me.