...I wanted to send a wee message with a wreath. In the end I had written the first poem in my life. Photo: Photo: Dwayne Bent / flickr CC.
How it began
Eddie MacDonald reflects on death, prison and poetry
by Eddie MacDonald
15th November 2013
On 11 July 2000 the prison vicar broke the dreadful news to me: ‘Your brother Daniel has died. He took his own life.’
I sat in the office in pure silence, trying to absorb what I was told.
‘You’ve got it wrong,’ I said. ‘I’m waiting to see Daniel when I move from here. We’re meeting for the first time. It’s going to be great.’
I walked back to my lonely prison cell, shut the door and just stared, standing by the window, silent tears slipping down my face. I felt numb. I couldn’t understand why this had happened.
