Jamie’s guilt and grief after losing ‘perfect’ sister Leonie to breast cancer at just 29

Jamie shares his experiences of supporting his sister Leonie through her breast cancer diagnosis and treatment, and dealing with the immense grief he felt after she passed. He openly shares their experiences of witnessing the ‘worst of the NHS’ and how this has only strengthened his commitment to advocate for earlier detection and improved therapies through awareness and fundraising. Jamie describes his grieving process, men’s mental health and the importance of self-care whilst caring for others.

Adventurous. Loving. Diva. Unique. Funny. Inspiring. Kind. Courageous. Inspirational. Small. Loud. Giggly. Sassy. Heart-warming. Charismatic. Irreplaceable. Vivacious. Sarcastic. Blunt. Kind. Witty. Filthy. Caring. Fun. Little. Bubbly. Trustworthy. Strong. Stubborn. Attitude. Brave. Short. Stunning. Fearless. Loving. Loyal. Thoughtful. Honest (brutally). Joyful. Magnetic. Hilarious. Feisty. Beautiful.

These are just a few words that describe Leonie from friends and family. The only word that is missing is perfect. The perfect Daughter. The perfect Sister. The perfect Auntie. The perfect Girlfriend

I was closer to my sister Leonie than I am with any of my siblings. She was really on my level with a wicked sense of humour, and we got closer and closer as we got older. Like most siblings, we argued, we grew apart, but then grew closer and ultimately, I wouldn’t have changed that for the world.

Leonie was just 27 when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She originally found a lump in her breast in 2022, but was advised that the lump was fibrous breast tissue. She was also denied a mammogram because she was ‘too young’ to have breast cancer, only to be told eight months later, in February 2023, that she had breast cancer.

Two months after that, we found out it was Stage 4, and it was already in her liver. It felt like any hope we had was immediately taken away from us. It was like we were 10-0 down in a football match, but had only just been told the match had kicked off.

The entire experience for all of us was horrific from start to finish. We saw the absolute worst of the disease and the worst of the NHS from start to end, from the original misdiagnosis to poor treatment and the feeling of being given up on.

It seemed like Leonie was treated as a lost cause by oncologists, many of whom we felt lacked empathy. We watched her take hundreds of injections. She had blood clots and lymphedema and experienced incorrect medication, late medication, delayed chemo treatments, cancelled appointments and poor communication.

Having said that, some excellent nurses really looked after her day in, day out, who just don’t get enough credit for the job they do. I’m still in contact with many of them now.

We all felt helpless as a family. We did everything we could, and it felt like at every turn the door was just slammed in our face. You can only imagine the experience for Leonie. I know she was terrified. Even if she’d put on a brave face, you can only imagine what runs through someone’s head when they’re constantly told bad news, and ultimately that they’re going to die. It was just horrible watching her go through it, knowing she’s petrified of what may happen.

A lot of people take what the NHS says as gospel, but we had no choice but to go down every rabbit hole. We looked for treatments at home and abroad to find any hope, and what we hoped would be a cure.

Leonie tried all sorts of things. It got to the point where we set up a GoFundMe page to try and get her out to Mexico for treatment. We raised over £120,000 over a period of months. She got out to Mexico in February 2024, but she got a blood clot while she was out there. She still received the initial treatment, but was also admitted to a private hospital where costs spiralled out of control. She then returned home and was able to continue treatment after her youngest brother, Tim, collected medication from Mexico. She remained in hospital until she died, with the exception of some day release home during Easter.

There was a hurt, a numbness and a helplessness that I’ve never felt before. I still feel it now. There’s guilt as well. What did she do to deserve this? If any of our siblings got it, why wasn’t it me? I was also angry the whole time, but trying not to show that to anyone else. Since she’s passed, and the longer time goes on, the anger and rage just build up more and more.

The first few weeks after Leonie’s death, I was OK, but I was in survival mode, trying to make sure that the rest of the family were OK. Then the funeral happened, and after it’s like everyone just returns to their lives and the world just keeps spinning, but for us, it just feels like everything’s stopped.

The grief just gets deeper, heavier and more painful. Nothing’s the same. Every birthday, Easter, Christmas and holiday, they’re all sombre events as we know someone we love isn’t there to enjoy them.

I’m not a talker. I’ll just get up and go about my business, struggling alone. That’s just how I am. Personally, I find my own way to cope with my problems, and more often than not, that is just going to the gym or some form of intense training. I find I’m exercising more, and it’s the only time I feel I can switch off.

Leonie’s diagnosis and death identified to me the fragility of life and was a stark reminder that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. One day she was here and now she’s not, it’s certainly shaped relationships I’ve had with people, and will have with people going forward. There are people that I have known for years who haven’t checked in or given an ounce of support. There are people that I would expect to be there that haven’t, and there are people that I wouldn’t expect to be there that have. It’s really opened my eyes up to who is in your corner, and as a result, I’m very selective on who I invest time in. Sadly, my marriage has broken down as a result, so there’s more loss to process on top of losing Leonie.

I take the attitude now that life is short, book it, do that thing, take that trip, get that tattoo. But then I find these things come around, and I’m just riddled with the guilt that I get to do these things. I find I’m not present in the moment and can’t enjoy it. Survivor’s guilt is a real thing.

I think, from my experience, you just need to be present. It’s imperative not to let your own emotions get in the way; their emotions should be paramount over yours, and how you react will have a bearing on their emotions and their fight. I remained positive and upbeat around Leonie all the time, and sometimes that did rub off, and it was nice to see, but often it didn’t. I feel it’s important not to bring any negativity or sadness around your loved one during those situations, as it is already consumed by so much of it.

You should help with daily bits and bobs like daily tasks and financial matters, anything that will lighten the load and stress for them. Assist with their appointments, whether that’s being there with them or doing the legwork. As a family, we went to all the appointments, sometimes all six of us turned up and the oncologists didn’t particularly like that, but Leonie wasn’t good at taking in all the information or understanding it so we’re all there to absorb it. It’s important to be present, patient, understanding, acknowledge their fears and concerns, respect their privacy and boundaries and put their needs and emotions ahead of yours.

Don’t forget to prioritise your own care too, because it is draining and it’s stressful. Get good sleep, have a healthy diet and engage in physical activity. Connect with others, surround yourself with great like-minded and supportive people.

I think everyone’s going to cope with this differently, so I’d say just try ten things before you find something that works. For me, it’s fitness, and for others, it might be therapy.

Even through her own fight, Leonie became a huge advocate for spreading awareness to ensure that other young women shouldn’t have to go through what she was going through. She still found the energy to spread the word and the importance of early detection and not taking no for an answer.

Her hopes and dreams were shattered, and her goals focused on getting back to full health, running a half marathon and spreading awareness. So, in her memory and legacy, I’m trying to continue this advocacy through fundraising and awareness. I’ve committed to run 29 marathons, which is her age when she died.

Since starting that in September 2024, I’ve raised over £7,000 for Against Breast Cancer. I’m using social media, and in the last three weeks alone, I’ve had three women message me for advice. They found lumps as a result of either Leonie’s story or the page I set up. Thankfully, they have been given the all clear.

I think the ‘Don’t Forget the Men’ campaign will help massively. Stereotypically, society expects women to take on caregiving roles, and there are barriers to men receiving the support they need. There are a lot of external pressures that can affect that support. I personally had great support at work, which meant I could be at the hospital and go to all the appointments, and that was massive for me. Men can be equally responsible and capable of being emotionally invested. I think promoting that is key.

I definitely think Leonie would want her story to be told. She’d want us to highlight the issues we encountered, particularly within the NHS. She wouldn’t want any woman settling for ‘it’s nothing’ or ‘you’re too young for a mammogram’. That just isn’t acceptable. She would most definitely want us to continue spreading awareness in the importance of self-screening. She’d be doing that herself if she was here, but she’s not, so I’m doing it on her behalf.

Jamie is committing to run 29 marathons in honour of Leonie and the age at which she passed. You can follow his ongoing journey through Instagram and TikTok (@inrunningmemory)

If you feel that you would like to talk to someone about your own experiences of grief or supporting a loved one through treatment, there are charities that can help, including Macmillan and Cancer Research UK.