On my 17th birthday, my cousin George, who was 22, killed himself with a shotgun at his best friend’s house. To say we were all stunned was an understatement. He was smart, handsome and funny as hell. He was our leader — with his three siblings and us five cousins, we were a force to be reckoned with as we all grew up together. I still feel his pain today even though it happened in 1974, and I am now 61. Rest well, Georgie.