Dylan

I'm the third of four children.  For the first fifteen years of my life I shared a bedroom with my older brother, Dylan, while my two sisters shared a bedroom together.  When I was fifteen Dylan joined the army.  He travelled the world, he made great friends and he loved to be outdoors, keeping fit and exploring wherever he was.  After leaving the army he moved to Australia and took holidays in Oceania.  He had fond memories and described it as "paradise".

He moved back to the UK in early 2005.  Six months later he killed himself.  I'd been busy with exams and setting up my life after university, so I didn't see Dylan in person between his return and his death.  I still remember my last conversation with him, on the phone.  I was trying to reach my dad and Dylan answered the phone.  I invited them both to see me in Oxford a month later when I'd no longer be busy.  Within two weeks of the call he was dead.

Dylan loved being active, he loved Australia, he loved his friends and family and he loved life.  His death came as a surprise to everyone.  At his funeral the church was at full capacity, and afterwards his voicemail was full of messages from grievers.  There are dozens of photographs of Dylan in Australia, and that's how I choose to picture him, so full of energy and joy.  Whatever his reasons for his death, at least he had some glorious years in the sun, enjoying the beaches.