Thanks shabs. I thought I would post the eulogy I gave at his funeral, since it expresses a lot of what I would want to say about who he was, about our relationship and all the things I have lost:
"I don?t have to tell you what kind of man Simon was. The fact that you are here means that you knew him, and if you knew him, then you loved him. So I thought I would tell you a bit about what he was like as a brother, because no one knows that but me.
Simon was the constant star in my world. Of course I loved all of my family, but Simon was the one I looked to for friendship, equality, allegiance and of course fun. My grandma has often told us about when Mum brought me home from the hospital as a newborn; Simon was apparently so proud to have a sister, he wouldn?t let anyone else hold me. He always involved me in everything he did, and I was well into my teens before I realised that not all little sisters are this lucky.
As kids we played together around the flat where we grew up: launching fleets of paper planes out of the bedroom window and then leaving them to go soggy in the rain; making toy crossbows and catapults out of odds and ends of wood so that we could play wargames; spending one particularly hot and idle day boring holes in the wall of our block of flats, which our parents were not too happy about! On rainy days we would paint, draw, play with his vast collection of Star Wars figures, or make silly recordings of ourselves to laugh over later.
As we got older, Simon of course got more interested in music, girls and parties, but he never shut me out. I was the annoying 12 year old hanging around his oh-so-grown-up 15 year old friends. Once I hit the teenage years, I would spend long hours sitting in his room after our folks had gone to bed, as he excitedly introduced me to whatever new music he?d lately discovered. Connecting with each other through music remained a key part of our relationship.
Our mum?s sudden death hit everyone hard; I was 14 and wounded, but Simon was 18, almost a man, and I sometimes think he put his own grief aside to be strong for me. He shielded me from his anger and pain, to allow my own feelings a clear space. That was typical of him ? always more concerned for the feelings of those he loved, than his own. I hope he knew that in those endless late nights spent sharing our dreams, our days and our interests, he saved me from despair and helped me back towards a happy future.
Simon was a dreamer, a talented musician, an intelligent and perceptive thinker, and a gentle, loving soul. This you all know. The things he wanted most in life were things of the soul: a happy life, in a place he could call home, a circle of genuine, loyal friends with whom he could share his passions ? music, football and really silly jokes. Most of all, he wanted someone he could love and who would love him for who he was. He looked for these things for many years, sometimes getting his heart broken in the process, but ultimately he found his place and with it, fulfilment.
I?ll never forget the day I realised that this had happened. It was a little while after he and N had started seeing each other. Simon always liked girls with dark hair and pale skin, and in the past had expressed casual admiration for a friend of mine who fit the bill. This friend had just become single again, and I was teasing him about it, saying ?By the way, so-and-so is on the market again?. Ordinarily Simon would join in the spirit of things, but this time he looked at me very seriously and quietly said ?That?s great for her, but I don?t need to know - I?ve got N?. That was when I knew that he had found everything he?d ever wanted. The love they shared illuminated us all, and I am so grateful for that.
I know that I will never get over losing Simon. The pain will never go away. But I hope that I will be able to make a place for it alongside all the strong and positive aspects of life, and I would not be able to do this if I had never known the love, courage and strength he gave to me. He is my hero, and I am very proud to be his sister."
here is a picture of us together when my mum first brought me home from the hospital And here is the last picture taken of us together, at Christmas in 2006. He was already terminally ill by that stage and in a wheelchair, but still so much himself