It seems somewhat awkward to call the April 16, 2016 Northside Benefit a celebration, when it marks the 8th anniversary of Sean’s passing, and what would have been his 37th birthday. It seems like I miss him more and more with each passing year, if that’s even possible. I wonder if that patch of thinning hair in the back would have gotten bigger. That would have killed him! He was all about his hair I wonder if he would have gotten married by now. I’m sure he would have. A partner and kids were definitely a part of his dream for the future. What would have happened as far as his career, we’ll never know. It looked as though he was finally going to go where he envisioned he should be, but the music business is unpredictable and unforgiving. The ups and downs of the vehicle for sharing his music no doubt contributed to his own moods. All of that being said, celebration is much more fitting than mourning. To those who really knew him, Sean could be very silly and loved to laugh. He hated people to be sad, especially me. So many times, he lifted my moods with just the right thing to say. Unlike me, he wasn’t self-deprecating. Instead, he was a tease, and it was often aimed at me. I cherished the support when it was given and took the jabs with love (most of the time!). These are the things that keep me going when the cloud of emptiness wants to shroud the days. What’s to celebrate? Sean’s music, for one. Over the years, many, many musicians have contacted me about Sean’s music. Just recently, someone from France wanted me to send him the lyrics of a song. He told me how important it was for him to learn his second Sean song, but he doesn’t speak English very well. A band from Spain did homage to Sean, touching in its genuine admiration. These aren’t isolated emails. Most of the time, they send them to info@seancostellofund. They don’t know that they will find his Mom. His music seems to affect so many people in such profound ways. It amazes me and would humble Sean, evidenced by the smile that would overtake his handsome face. That’s just the music portion of Sean’s legacy… then, there’s Sean the friend. Equal in number to the impact of his music, apparently, is how he communicated with people personally. Some of his fans, calling him their friend, write to me regularly just to let me know how much they miss him and how much their connection to him changed their lives. These emails are not isolated ones, they are many in number, but each and every one is meaningful to me. Sean had genuine humility, largely based on insecurity. He never really felt he was good enough, and had a desire to be ‘normal,’ so he was honored when people were authentic in their attention. Part insecurity, part champion of living without pretense, Sean did not tolerate what seemed insincere to him. This perspective was reflected in his reverence for original bluesmen, and is definitely the root of his uncensored passion in his music. And then, there are his family and close friends, some he called brothers. Who really knew him better, and who loved him more? Each of us has been changed by our love of Sean and his love in return. He wasn’t always easy. Sean’s moods often changed without warning, the day turning from sunny to very gray. He certainly had a temper. Many a phone was thrown in frustration (usually with me, I hear ) These things are true; but, they were eclipsed by the heart of Sean. He’d regret anything he did that may have offended someone. He would dwell on it until he thought he made it right. He truly lit up a room, and could turn a day from normal to special. His love for his sisters radiated from him, often reflected in teasing, but ever-wrapped in a deep caring. His respect and love for his Dads were obvious to me. They were the men who mirrored the man he became. As for me, it’s complicated, as most boys’ relationships with their Moms are; however, I would argue that no two were ever closer. From the day he was born, Sean lit up my world and continues to do so to this day.
So, on April 16th, Ellyn Webb, another beloved friend of Sean, will once again donate Northside Tavern in honor of him, the young boy she called her other son. Stephen Talkovich, a long-time and close friend of Sean, will lend his artistic talents and produce a poster as a gorgeous reminder of Sean the musician. He captures Sean in a way that only a loving friend could. This year, Stephen will share his music as well. Sean would be smiling the entire set (of course, he’d have to jump in at some point!). Again, as in past years, musicians who knew him, and some who admire him through his music, will volunteer their time to say hello to their friend. Sonia Leigh, someone he loved dearly… Joe McGuinness, who was quickly becoming a close friend… Larry Griffith, a musician cohort… all will spend their Saturday night with him in mind. The young musicians who perform this year (No Solution and The Georgia Flood) would make Sean smile the most. He wanted the Blues to live on, and that required converts. He spent many hours teaching and volunteering with young musicians to carry the torch of the Blues. Given this legacy, how can I not celebrate this amazing person I am proudly able to say is my son? There is no past tense for me. He is, and always will be my son. He’s just somewhere that I can’t see him physically, but he touches me every day. Sometimes, it’s tears that carry the love shared between us. Often, it’s a smile that unexpectedly creeps across my face, with no one else knowing or seeing why. I feel that he visits me with every email from every person, friend, fan or musician. They are as much his gift to me, as his music is to them. Last year, I was too sad to be able to attend the benefit, with a migraine as a physical manifestation of that grief. This year, I will make it, as I am determined to celebrate Sean’s presence in the music and the crowd, and to thank them on Sean’s behalf. Let us also remember that Sean is not the only special son or daughter who succumbed to bipolar disorder, an insidious disease that takes many of our children too soon. Some of them leave this earth in emotional pain or from the fatigue of fighting what they don’t understand, and for which, they found no relief. Some of these children are lost to their families, but still alive. Some parents have no idea where they are, or how they are surviving, or if, they are indeed still alive. That pain must be almost intolerable. Each of these families live with a guilt borne of not being able to save their children, a deep, penetrating hurt that can be understood only by those who experience losing a fight hard-fought for a child. I have the gift of you who remind me every day of how special my son is/was to you. Not everyone does. They live with shame, the same shame I felt when Sean’s passing became front-page news. They live with grief, the grief of never seeing their child again. They live with isolation. There is no real place to go when your child has died from a brain disease that we segregate by calling it ‘mental illness,’ or from ways that are considered unacceptable (unintentional overdoses, suicide, etc.) Their death must have been caused by something we did, or a failed to do, unlike other ‘medical’ illnesses, which are discussed in the open, and for which there is no blame. The isolation their child felt lives on through them. I am blessed. I have Sean. I have Glenn. I have Bridget and Allison and Lauren and Mackinsey and Zach and Sammie, and my grandson Sean. I also have all of you. In Sean’s name, and in a way that would be his, I ask for your generosity of spirit, in any way that you can. Extend a hand to someone in crisis. Never leave them alone in their despair. Keep them from the temptation of substances that mask their pain. Do not enable them. It does not make you their friend. Invite their family to participate in your life, and most importantly, talk about their son or daughter. There is no shame in their death, only love for their life. There is no reason to perpetuate theirs, or their child’s isolation. Lastly, contribute in any way, to a world where their child is still able to share their own special beauty, and look forward to a healthy future. This year, on April 16th, I will celebrate Sean. I will look around the room and feel a love that he shares with me. Thank you for making that possible. In his light, I feel very special as his Mom. With Pride,[signature color="black"]Debbie (Sean's "Mama")[/signature] P.S. As there is every year, there will be a memorial Mass at the wonderful Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Atlanta on April 16 at 9 AM, which you are welcome to attend. Glenn and I go every year (except last year, when I sat frozen in the car, letting his Jewish step-father go in my stead), to recall the packed church and palpable love for Sean. I also feel part of the proud spirit he left there, honored as he was by you.
