Sean … eight weeks on

Stevo and Sean

It was eight weeks ago yesterday that Sean died, after just 7,021 days on the planet. We still think about him all the time, of course. We talk about him a lot, and it’s hard to believe that we won’t be seeing him again.

When someone so young and so close to you is taken away, it makes you think deeply about life, death, existence, what it means to be human. It is a huge shock to the system. But the three of us in his immediate family have to get on with our lives … to work or go to school, as the case may be.

His friends are still leaving messages on various websites, saying they miss him more and more. He will never be forgotten … certainly not in the next 70 years, at least.

Some of those leaving messages we know well, others vaguely and still others not at all. These are all people he knew from spending time with, not online friends. As I said before, considering we live in the middle of nowhere and he didn’t drive, he had an astonishing number of friends.

Sean loved life, and life loved Sean. It misses him. He was a bright light; our world is darker without him.

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20 Comments

Filed under Death, Ireland, Memories

20 responses to “Sean … eight weeks on

  1. Brendan,

    When I read your posts I just can’t stare at it. I want to do something. All I can do is to spout rubbish. And you are too kind, you reply all. Please don’t feel oblidged to do so. Just know that I feel for you.

  2. papaguinea

    Bear up Brendano and family. Christmas surely will be hard (“earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone”). But think of Sean in some greater heaven.When I see your black and white pictures of Sean as a young boy I think how lucky you are to have had that darling boy with you and I know how much it must ache now to have that ‘boy’ missing or unseen, but maybe he’s further up the forest on a bike, looking round and looking after you all. Bear up and best wishes. May God give you all strength to carry on.

    • Thanks very much, papaG. You must be missing your own wife and son while they’re away.

      We’ll bear up, and we’ll be OK. Yes, we were very lucky to have had him.

      • papaguinea

        Thanks Brendano; at least I am comforted by the knowledge that Kojo, on the street and in sunshine, will think of his location as some sort of paradise. I bet his looks on his granny as Mother God! Janet, my wife, is looking at some land we have bought. Bit by bit we will build there so Kojo has a foothold and a home there. Yes I miss him bad; this Christmas would have been a “talking” Christmas with him – but I know he will be the richer for his experiences at my wife’s village in Ghana.

  3. Cymbeline

    Your strength in carrying on is perhaps the greatest tribute of all to your son and his love of life.

    • Thank you, Cymbeline. We do try to imagine that it is all part of a greater scheme of things, that it was just his time to go, and that we still have things to do and lessons to learn in our own lives, which need to be faced. We’re lucky to have each other.

      • Cymbeline

        Yes, you are lucky to have each other. I have read ‘Duet’ again. It is even more powerful now.

        • Thank you. Pauline had posted it on Facebook. Some people have been reading it and thinking it was about Sean and me.

          I’m trying to write some verses about Sean. I can almost hear his laugh when I look at the picture.

  4. Cymbeline

    Hilarious photograph in its utter silliness. It made me laugh.

  5. Yes, there was plenty of silliness and plenty of fun.

  6. Marya

    Good morning, Brendan, I love PapaG’s comment …. such beautiful words of comfort.

    When I read your sentence ..
    ‘When someone so young and so close to you is taken away, it makes you think deeply about life, death, existence, what it means to be human’.

    I thought of these words from ‘The Prophet’ by Kahlil Gibran which helped in my own understanding ..
    ‘ And a woman spoke, saying, Tell us of Pain.
    and he said:
    Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
    Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.’

    How harsh those words sounded to my ears when I first read them ; but, subsequently, what wisdom I discovered they contained ..

    Marya x

    • Good morning, Marya, and thank you for that. Gibran was a wonderful writer, and anything he wrote seems to ring true.

      When you pay a high price, I’m sure that if you can continue to think and live the right way you will get something in return.

      Part of our sadness is for our own loss of Sean, and part is for Sean’s loss of the life on earth that he loved and that might have lasted a long time. A third part is for this world’s loss of Sean … it is poorer a result, though of course most people would never have known him.

  7. Marya

    Hello Brendan .. yes, ‘if you can continue to think and live in the right way’ ..it is a blessing to be filled with love and with gratitude for the gift of your son’s life although he was so painfully and abruptly taken from you.

    I remember that it was a bright and clear October morning when my father died ..in my sorrow, I wept bitter tears that he would no longer feel that warmth on his skin or breathe that sparkling air; forgetting, in my grief, that the new world he had entered was one of eternal warmth,love and Light.

    I think that each of our lives spreads ripples on an infinite sea .. the world is is richer for Sean having lived and having been the loving son, brother and boyfriend and friend you write of with such love here.

    Marya x

    • Thank you very much, Marya … ‘the new world he had entered was one of eternal warmth,love and Light’ … yes, I hope so. Really, I believe so, but all kinds of thoughts go through one’s mind.

  8. Hi Brendano, I clicked on to your blog via a link from Ana The Imp’s blog. I was curious because I liked a comment you left there. I’m gratified to discover you are every bit as warm and caring a person as I imagined. As you are such a deeply feeling and loving person, I can assume Sean was likewise, and his absence must indeed be not only yours but the world’s loss as well.

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