In the year two thousand and two, I worked as a production Supervisor in the automotive industry here in London.
I had the best crew. A group of thirty hardworking and caring people. Four good Team Leaders and the best maintenance Millwright. I am going to call him Tom to protect his identity.
I still picture Tom walking down the hallway with a cup of coffee in one hand, his tool belt in the other, either whistling or humming a tune. It didn’t matter how busy he was; he kept singing like a robin. I used to tell him he was a born cheerleader.
There were days when multiple machines broke down all at once. The disarray of the breakdown could not burn the passion Tom had for his job. Never once lost his cool. He assessed the problem with a big grin on his face, prioritized it according to our schedule.
He never missed a day of work or refused overtime. When my department wasn’t running during the weekend, Tom usually volunteered to help the other departments in the plant.
Tom and the area team leader Angela had a good working relationship. When Angela became frustrated with a machine set up, she would go and ask Tom for advice. In multiple occasions I saw Tom training Angela while struggling with new set ups and breakdowns. Tom was not afraid or jealous in sharing his knowledge, he did it voluntarily and pleasantly. They made a powerful team, the department was thriving
Things were good until Tom and Angela became romantically involved. The romance between them both blossomed, to the point that Tom asked Angela to move in with him in his respectful little house. They seemed to be a beautiful couple, complementing each other in every way.
The good times and the happiness did not last very long.
During working hours, I noticed a change in their behaviour. Angela was constantly nagging Tom. The jolly Tom was no longer cheery. Upon returning from lunching together Tom expression reflected a different personality, as though something was weighing him down.
Little arguments were noticeable between Tom and Angela. I assumed it was work-related. With time even my team began question their arguments, the expression on their faces and body language come across as being personal.
As the months passed since they moved in together Tom showed more and more sign of stress and fatigue. His eyes sunk into his skull, and dark circles were noticeably from a distance. It was as though a cloudy sky had swallowed him, draining the light from his eyes and smile. The jolly robin wasn’t singing anymore.
First there were late days which turned into missing days.
Work became a battlefield without Tom. No one knew the job as well as he did. I missed his knowledge and his patience, to the point of regretting going to work. Without saying it out loud, I blamed the woman in his life. I asked myself in search of clarity. “What did you do to Tom, Angela.”
A few weeks passed with Tom not reporting for work. I got a call from the Human Resource department to give me a heads up. “Tom is going on an extended sick leave,” she said. At this point, it was me who changed colour. I went from hopeful to bitter disappointment, nauseated and unprepared for the negative news.
The H.R. department and the maintenance manager assigned me a new Millwright replacement. He was a trainee. My stress level went over the roof in the following weeks. I exploded like a volcano, resenting my job even more. The department downtime was outrageous.
Most of my department employees were wondering about Tom’s wellbeing and when his return would be. On the other side of the production plant rumours were floating from person to person, saying that Tom had hepatitis C. The news shocked us all, leaving everyone with an opinion of their own, assuming the worst. It seemed that the same people that once loved and respected Tom created a criminal case against him.
One Sunday afternoon, I received a call from Michela, my other team leader and Angela’s best friend.
“Tom is dead,” she said abruptly.
My jaw dropped. I think that for a second, my heart stopped beating. The news left me numb and speechless. Regaining my composure, I asked what happened.
” He shot himself,” she said.
I was in shock and disbelief that Tom, our jolly robin, was capable of doing that horrible act to himself. My friend had just taken his own life.
Michela asked if she and Angela could come over to my house while the cleaning crew was picking parts of my friend’s brain off the walls and couch. The visit from the girls explained the arguments Tom and Angela were having. The missing days, most of all, the sadness.
Tom was at his best while injecting heroin.
During the time of Angela and Tom living together, Angela discovered the real Tom, the addict. She loved and cared for him deeply, pleading with Tom to stop using.
Angela was unaware of how many demons Tom was fighting. The addiction, the pain from hepatitis C. The loss of respect from all his peers and his own family. The heartache he had caused Angela while living together.
Unable to cope with his guilt, Tom retrieved his gun from its hiding place, sat on the sofa, placed the barrel in his mouth. One-click. Boom.
The shot vibrating each room of the tiny house. Blood and brain are all over the couch, pillows and walls. It is like a clip out of a horror movie. Has the devil recruited a new servant?
Today I just hope and pray that Tom has found peace in the heavens, and he is still singing and whistling like a robin.
R.I.P., my friend.