Eye Contact

The first days back at Dowty were difficult, mainly because of the inability of most of my colleagues to make eye contact, or act remotely normal around me. I know I was walking my own little tightrope between the hours, managing to hold off the tears while somehow attempting to focus on the mundane.

John Jeffries came to talk to me, and I don't know why, or ever asked for that matter, but I could just see in his eyes that he understood my pain. I had held my composure quite well until he came to chat that Monday or Tuesday, however, once I looked into his eyes I lost it completely.

It was a good thing.

It seemed from that moment on things started to be better, perhaps only in tiny steps, but my life started to work it's way back to the "new" normal and I was able to focus on work once more.

In the month that followed, things settled down at work, and at home. 

Those that have lost a brother, sister or parent for that matter, may know of a strange positive consequence of the loss, and the equally strange feeling of guilt associated with that effect.

I found myself enjoying life more and realised certain things that had been taken for granted were important again. This was a broad, sweeping appreciation of most of life's pleasures, food, drink, sex, driving with the window down, almost anything to do with life became focused, as though it was all new and special again.

I realised that all of this was down to the fact that my brother had been killed, that I was somehow benefiting from the loss, which mixed this new found lust for life with a growing feeling of guilt and almost an inability to look myself in the eyes in a mirror.

It was another stage of grief.

I concluded that to honour my brother and to make some good consequence out of his tragic death, I should attempt to live my life to the fullest. I knew that I could not blame myself, however indirectly, for his death and that each new day of my continuing life, was an extension of his.

It was time to move on.