It is June already

It is June already, and under other circumstances, Sean would be touring, playing festivals. I would call him on his cell phone and listen to some sarcastic but loving banter. Instead, I am going to visit his grave every Sunday, and every other chance I get.I am of Italian and German heritage, which has always made me a little conflicted. I am very emotional, but try to temper my feelings with rational thought. Religions, for example, serve many worthwhile purposes, and yet, because they are not rational in nature (i.e. easily understood by the human mind), I do not have what some would call faith. I wish I did. Now, though, I am faced with the passing of my son. Someone who was vibrant and young and talented and whom I loved beyond measure; and, I want to make rational sense out of it. I want to understand so that I can recover and be emotionally whole for the rest of my family. I have not found any answers, so I am looking to others, including Sean for guidance. Sean lived by his feelings, almost one hundred percent of the time. If he were happy, he'd laugh so hard, you would laugh just because he was. If he were angry, he was reactive and spontaneously, momentarily harsh. If he felt moved, he cried. When he played the guitar, he was his guitar. And, from what I am told, he always left his friends by saying "I love you [man]"Obviously, Sean and I clashed at times. I would try to apply some logic or what I thought to be rational approach to a subject. Even if he saw my point, he could do nothing that might offend or insult another person. His loyalty and compassion overrode every decision, even ones that could have made life easier for him. It is this nature that I am exploring.Just the other night, I received a call from a friend that I have known since high school. Her son and Sean knew each other from birth. Her sister watched Sean and Bridget when they were toddlers. I hadn't spoken to her since we moved to Georgia some 20 years ago, except if we'd pass at a wedding or reunion. We hadn't parted on good terms because of a petty fight. Throughout the years, I wished I could talk to her. There is just something about talking to someone who has known you most of your adult life, and your kids when they were little, and the stories before a second marriage. However, I could not find her when I googled her, and, since she had divorced recently, I had no idea where to begin to look for her. Then, the other night I had a dream that she was in. I couldn't remember the context, but I woke up remembering that I had dreamt about her.That very night, our phone rang and there she was, as if we had spoken yesterday. She had heard about Sean and was overwhelmed with grief and empathy. Then, as if by magic, she started to talk about Sean as a young boy. "I knew he was a genius when he was 3" she said. "Remember when he played Eye of the Tiger on his first guitar?"I didn't know that anyone thought Sean was a genius when he was small. He was so quiet, although, he did always perform on cue (fondly referred to as his "trained seal act."). And no, I didn't remember the song. Given the timeframe, it's likely that he did learn it, but I was so used to Sean's playing, and I had no reference point for comparison. I was also reminded how when I had Sean tested in 3rd grade (remember the handwriting problem?), the panel told me the only thing wrong with him was that he was "too nice." 'He knew his sister didn't struggle with handwriting or neatness, but he didn't even mind. He still loved her."At the time, I thought they were just looking for something to say. How could someone be too nice? Well, maybe they were right, because, you see, Sean wouldn't have let a small fight disrupt a friendship. He didn't hold grudges. And, no, he wouldn't be jealous of his sister, he just loved her. (Not to say they didn't fight, as all kids do, but the love was never a question. It was written all over his face). If I could show you pictures from Sean's childhood, you would notice two things: he is always smiling, and often in some kind of costume of sorts. He was a happy, reserved but social kid, who lived with one foot in two different worlds…his own and ours. Ever since I can remember, I would find pieces of paper with song lyrics started, usually when he was supposed to be paying attention in class. He lost the keys, forgot his homework and never closed the pantry door, because he always had music in his head. Most recently, I found lyrics written with a Sharpie on a coffee filter from his last trip.My friend always had problems with anxiety and panic attacks. I was one of the few people who knew how they disabled her. Like Sean, though, she pushed through them, raised kids and is a successful professional. She is also bipolar. She told me that after years of suffering, she finally realized it herself. According to her, it takes on the average, 7 psychiatrists before the correct diagnosis is made! During that time, people are struggling to feel normal/ok. She works in psychiatry everyday, and tells me that people don't want to hurt themselves; they just want to make the fear and the panic go away, so they self-medicate. The mental health profession has let them down time after time, and so they seek the only remedy they find that helps. This isn't crazy. It's very sane. It's self-preservation. Many people who are bipolar are disabled by their brain chemistry; yet, Sean pushed through it for many years and accomplished what most people never do. Nonetheless, in the end, it was a malignancy that proved terminal.She offered two comforting things to me. One, that Sean might have been too nice for this world…had the school counselors been correct so many years ago? I know he hated confrontation. I know he was generous and sweet. I also know that he got his feelings hurt easily, and took things to heart too often. To counter these feelings, I know that he did things that I would not approve of. He often confessed his sins to me; yet, essentially he chose to hurt himself rather than hurt another.Secondly, she feels with her whole being that he is in a better place. This she says because she actually died and was brought back to life some years ago. During her journey to death, she was aware that she was dying and that she was leaving small children, but she had the overwhelming sensation that everything was going to be ok. She was revived, and was the happiest she had ever been as a result of her experience. My sister has had more than one dream where Sean has come to her awash in a bright light with a big smile, saying that he is fine.I revert to my rational pattern and try to figure out what all of this means. The thing is I can't. How did I know on a subconscious level that my estranged friend would contact me after 20 years? Why do people with near death experiences all report the same feeling of contentment? Why do I feel that Sean's work isn't done? I can't explain any of it. It's irrational- beyond human, at least my understanding. But then, again, so was Sean's talent.What I can understand is what Sean has brought to me as a result of all of this. He wouldn't hold a grudge, and he had many, many reasons to do so, especially right before he died. He laughed even when he felt like crying inside. He kept on going despite disappointments and anxiety and lack of money and recognition. Did he always do it in a healthy way? No. But, he did it the only way available to him. He once told me that music was the closest thing to God, as if it were a spirit that spoke and moved through him. I, of course, told him to get over himself, as hubris is not something I tolerate. Now, I think to myself: How can I explain what he could do with a guitar when he couldn't tie a shoe that stayed tied? How did this little kid from New Jersey play with legends before he was 30 years old? (Just refer to Levon Helm's latest release.) How did he feel and convey what people suffered so many years ago when there was no direct connection to him? (I don't know too many Germans singing the blues…hard to do in a marching band. And a concertina and monkey don't lend themselves to the genre). Perhaps it was the Irish in him, but in any case, his empathy for older blues musicians and the suffering and aftermath of slavery had to come from some part in his soul that was divined to him.Sean hasn't appeared in my dreams. I try to talk to him, but my words go unanswered, unless he is speaking to me through others. Like maybe through my friend who called me and reaffirmed everything that I believe about our mental health system – there is no parity with "medical diagnoses" (some plans don't even pay); this is a problem of epidemic proportions among 20 and 30 year olds; that bipolar disorder is misdiagnosed and mistreated, with drugs and alcohol the only available refuge; and finally, that the approval for hospitalizing a person in need is so stringent, that by the time they can get help it is often too late. Significant to Sean is the additional "curse" of musical talent that would be suppressed by drugs used to treat psychiatric conditions.He also speaks to me through his friends. So many of you have written me to support me during this awful time, and though I'd like to believe it's my charm, I would never have known most of you if it weren't for Sean. He is the glue, the path, the spirit to something greater than I can see or know.Several people have written to me to tell me how Sean healed them. I suppose that is what music is supposed to do, but some of them meant it in a more personal way – that Sean the person made them better. Somewhere during the mothering and the worrying and the working and the guilt all Mom's carry, I think I missed some of Sean's teaching and healing. I was trying to make him tougher so he could survive the world and the industry and certain people. The truth is, though, he didn't want to be tough. He wanted to be kind and sharing and generous. He was genuine and passionate about his life and it showed in his playing, his faces and his exhaustion.I hope I can learn from Sean now. I know he had a vision that was hard to keep on track…the rest of the world wasn't always in synch. But, I also know that vision and passion took him from Marietta to Woodstock and France and the Netherlands just because of his faith in something not visible to the eye, but felt by the heart.I want you to know that I do not think that Sean led a life beyond reproach. He probably did all of the things musicians stereotypically did and maybe more. Was it the lifestyle or willpower? Statistics would tell you that the challenges of Bipolar Disorder made him a candidate for drug and alcohol problems. In fact, some statistics report that 60 percent of people with bipolar disorder try to commit suicide and 30 percent of them succeed. Sean's death was determined to be accidental; however, the circumstances of his death are such that the immediate cause is irrelevant. The confusion, self-doubt and exhaustion that a person with bipolar disorder must bear almost always lead to a premature death. The essence of Sean was kind and gentle. He projected this to almost everyone he met according to testimony after testimony. Unfortunately, he could not be that way to himself. This is the pathetic, unacceptable result of this awful disease. So, when I write about Sean's charisma and charity it is not with naïveté, it's with the understanding that he rose above his internal conflict to treat others with respect and love, even when he was hurting himself the most.Sean may have been too nice to weather the hurts of the world. Maybe his brain chemistry made him vulnerable to sadness and self-doubt. I wish someone could have helped him heal. I tried. His whole life I tried. But, just maybe, Sean was supposed to show us that not all there is to believe in and be lifted by is visible to the eye – forgiveness, resilience, strength, courage, love and a God given gift for making others feel better. If I could hear God the way that Sean might have, I would ask him to tell me that he is ok, and that I will see him again, and tell me how to have the courage to smile when I feel despondent. Until that day, I will look to Sean and his words…."I've got to keep on pushin' every day…'Cause I got a light that keeps on shinin in my eyes…" Sean, you are my light…I will keep on pushing so that maybe others will be able to "rest their weary mind."