When Martyn Hett was killed in the Manchester
terror attack, his online presence ensured his memory lived on. Dan Hett sifts through a prolific archive
![Love, loss and virtual memorials: my brother’s digital legacy](https://i.guim.co.uk/img/media/7c4347f782292f32da9c3cff78f810e7af1ffbbc/0_420_2069_1240/master/2069.jpg?width=1200&height=630&quality=85&auto=format&fit=crop&overlay-align=bottom%2Cleft&overlay-width=100p&overlay-base64=L2ltZy9zdGF0aWMvb3ZlcmxheXMvdG8tZGVmYXVsdC5wbmc&enable=upscale&s=a3e8fd1b3197433df98d6a14406de175)
When my phone used to light up with my younger brother’s name, I always knew I could safely ignore it if I wanted to – whether it be a self-indulgent video of his latest attempt at Z-list fame or a harsh tweet about a celebrity I’d never heard of. Whatever. I even coined a sarcastic hashtag when replying to him: #nobodycaresmartyn.
But then one nondescript morning in May 2017, my phone lit up with his name on all the notifications – hundreds of them – and there was no way I could ignore any of them.