What is most unnerving is the silence. The dreamy eerie quietness that follows a heavy snowfall or a blast. People are stunned, zombie-like, suspicious. I walk with permanent goose bumps and feel slightly sick in the stomach. Still, that’s more than the dead can say. A different corner, a day earlier or later, and I could have been there too. In Zaventem or in Maelbeek. This is not close to home. This is home. Such is the inevitability of death, the fragility of life.