Two words are never far from our minds. They are the first thought in the morning and the last thought at night, and they present themselves many times in the course of the day.
Those two words are – Sean died. They still come as a shock, as a hurt, every time. There is still some disbelief.
Two words make up a complementary phrase – Sean lived. He could not have died if he had never lived.
Sean lived not just in the sense of being alive. Sean really, really lived. He had a hunger for life. He loved life, and other people.
Sean lived well.
The road to God knows where ... Brendan O'Brien 
Brendano, there was a mate of mine who died at 50. He was a rum-guzzling loud and sociable guy who loved life, smoked like a trouper and wore Haiwain tuype shirts as if his voice wasn’t loud enough. (Anyone could hear his Ray’s laugh from half a mile away!) He ended up with cancer of the mouth/throat and survived two major operations. I was asked to speak at his funeral. I said that Ray never knew the difference between fiesta and siesta. (The gang had often had holidays in Spain.) For Ray, it was always Fiesta. He too had a hunger for life. His car just travelled faster through life – he used up more petrol. In the end the engine conked out, but the driver was still Ray. Sean sounds like the sort of guy our gang would have embraced in Spain, or anywhere for that matter. As is clear from all your posts, Sean got on with all types, young and old. Thoroughly decent. As you say “he loved life, and other people”. He reminds me of my mate Ray.
Hello PapaG. Thanks for that. Yes, Ray does sound a bit like Sean. Sean would have liked him.
I like this photo of Sean even though it’s grainy, as it shows him with a very typical mischievous expression.