Harry’s story
George and Harry
Harry shares his story about the death of his older brother George, and the ways he now honours his memory.
My older brother, George, died in 2012 when he was 22. I was 13 at the time.
George had been living at home due to illness while I was still in school, which meant we spent a lot of time together- perhaps more than most brothers with a nine-year age gap. Our sister, Sophie, was away at university or living in London for much of my school life, but whenever she came home, she made it exciting. She was 24 when George died.
George was extremely intelligent and tech-savvy. He had briefly studied computer science at Plymouth University before his illness became too much. He was diagnosed with type 2 neurofibromatosis at 18, a genetic condition that causes hearing problems and imbalance due to tumours growing along the nerves.
It was George’s inability to stay on his feet- whether playing football or having a drink- that led my parents to get him checked out. Our dad had a different variant of NF that was successfully removed years before, so when George was diagnosed, he prepared to undergo the same operation. Unfortunately, his surgery did not have the same outcome. While the tumour was removed, he lost most of his mobility.
Memories of George’s time in the hospital are blurry to me, either because I was kept away or because I’ve blocked them out. Once he was home, we all had to adjust to a new way of life. It feels selfish to say that, though- George was the one truly adapting to a completely different version of ‘normal.’ I was still able to go to school, play sports on the weekends, and continue my life in ways that he no longer could.
Memories of George’s time in the hospital are blurry to me, either because I was kept away or because I’ve blocked them out.
Despite the changes, George and I bonded over tech. He loved it, and I loved learning from him. We spent hours together on his sofa, being the younger brother, I got to watch TV shows and films that I shouldn’t have been watching, and we watched a lot of them!
With his newfound time, George created ‘MovieDrive.’ He filled hard drives with around 2,000 films and TV shows, distributing them to friends and family. He even set up a return postage system to update the collection with the latest releases- I remember thinking it was some sort of absolutely genius idea, and apparently so did Netflix!
He introduced our parents to smartphones; I thought it was so cool that he was the one keeping them up to date with technology. Looking back, I think he was ahead of his time with smart home setups too, using little-known hardware and software to stream films from my iPod touch anywhere in the house, or play music across multiple speakers. This was 2010, long before smart homes became mainstream. He controlled everything from his laptop using a modified mouse and keyboard, activated by breath and a sensor on his glasses. The patience he must have had!
Although George had been living with his condition for about three years, I wasn’t fully aware of how much he was deteriorating. One night, he became very ill with a chest infection, paralysed people are often susceptible to these. My parents had me stay at my cousin’s house. I remember finding it odd, but deep down, I think I knew what was happening. I had learned to live with unknowns, assuming I wouldn’t understand or want to hear the answers even if I did ask questions.
When I came home the next day, I walked straight to George’s end of the house. That’s when my Mum told me George had died.
I don’t remember processing it immediately. I just stood there, emotionless, not knowing what to think. I didn’t cry. I just sat with Mum and Dad, waiting for Sophie to arrive. That night, we had a curry, George’s favourite meal. I saved some of mine for him, not really thinking about why. When Dad tried to clear my plate, I got upset. The reality hit later when the undertakers arrived. You can’t prepare for that moment, sitting alone with your sibling, saying goodbye forever when the night before, you had said ‘see you tomorrow’.
At 13, I didn’t fully understand how life would change. Everything just happened around me. My family and friends made sure I kept going, encouraging me to do normal things. Looking back, it felt like I was in autopilot. Nothing else mattered apart from George being gone.
You can’t prepare for that moment, sitting alone with your sibling, saying goodbye forever when the night before, you had said ‘see you tomorrow’.
Returning to school was difficult. My year group had been informed about George’s passing, so I felt like an outsider. Classmates who were just trying to be nice asked how I was, but I shrugged them off. I had no idea how to act around people, so I just didn’t.
A school counsellor became my only outlet. My immediate family were grieving in their own ways, and my friends were too young to understand. The weekly sessions gave me an hour to say whatever I wanted, or just cry if I needed to. I wasn’t making sense of my grief; I was just allowing myself to feel it.
For most of my teenage years, I avoided my grief. Around the same time, my parents separated. Strangely, I felt nothing about that, George passing was the overarching subject of my life that I was getting through, everything else was subsidiary and I had no room for extra feelings. We lost some of the closeness we once had as a family. Everything became more surface-level.
At 18, I found an escape in going out, drinking, and partying. It became my way of keeping my mind busy. But when I turned 22 - the age George was when he died - it all hit me. I could no longer distract myself. I finally had to face my grief.
George passing was the overarching subject of my life that I was getting through, everything else was subsidiary and I had no room for extra feelings.
I started therapy and unlocked a chaotic chasm of tears, laughter, regret, and a whole host of other emotions. I began talking to my family, revealing some emotion to them and hugged my parents for the first time in around 7 years. I don’t want to paint a picture that our family weren’t connected and available for each other, we were, I just didn’t know how to go about accessing support from them - it was just being honest and saying I needed it, turned out they did too.
I had to grow up very quickly and I gained a lot of empathy at a young age, first going through the illness period with George and then his death. When it happened, I was definitely thinking about how it affected me, but as I got older my attention turned to how tragic it was what he had lost - the opportunity of finding a partner, getting a house, having kids, it’s all stuff that I had understandably never really thought about before, being so young.
I also realised I had spent years unconsciously trying to live for both George and myself, pursuing interests he had, trying to be like him in ways that didn’t truly fit me. I carried the unnecessary weight of being the only uncle to my niece and nephew, sometimes avoiding important events that are normally family orientated, like Christmas’. But through therapy and honesty, I’ve finally let go of those pressures, and now I feel a lot happier getting stuck in with them, it’s almost rewarding when they’re not screaming and crying!
I also realised I had spent years unconsciously trying to live for both George and myself, pursuing interests he had, trying to be like him in ways that didn’t truly fit me.
Now, I focus on honouring George in my own way. In recent years, I have run a Christmas quiz, fundraising for the hospice that looked after George, a well worthy cause. The most recent one however, I chose to donate the takings to Sibling Support, they will now be my charity of choice - I love their mission, in what really is a neglected space. Sibling Support has a direct resonation with me, and the fundraising I do for them will be all about George and my relationship with him.
This year, I’m also running the Brighton Marathon in his memory and to fundraise for the charity. I like that this way of honouring him isn’t shared with anyone else, just him and I - and of course all of the other siblings who are helped by the charity.
Grief changes over time. I used to find having this much empathy quite hard, I would avoid feeling it and learnt to block it out. In reality, it’s a great thing to have empathy, I love being able to use my experience to try and understand situations people are going through and hopefully help them more than I would be able to without it. I am more open to talking about George now, reassuring people that it’s okay to ask about him. You never know, sometimes, the person you’re talking might have lost a sibling too.
To anyone going through something similar: grief doesn’t follow a timeline. However long it takes, what you feel is absolutely justified. Be honest with yourself and those around you. It gets easier when you stop carrying unnecessary burdens and allow yourself to just be. Do what feels natural to you and just know that if it feels really difficult, exhausting or confusing at any point, you’ll have clarity on it soon.
