I missed writing about the six month "anniversary" of Sean's passing for several reasons. After I thought about it, though, it really isn't an anniversary, since the word denotes an annual celebration, and this was neither. This 15th, Bridget was arriving to attend the wedding of her cousin in NC. Given that, I forbade myself to openly dwell on the wound that this date abrades. I decided that I needed to be happy to see Bridget, since that is an occasion to celebrate. Further, I needed to keep that perspective. I was going to the wedding of my goddaughter, who did not deserve a pall to be shed on her very special day. She is a sweet girl, almost 6 years junior to Sean, with a very deep sensitivity about his passing. While I am a person that wears my emotions on my face and expresses them openly through my mouth (two things that embarrassed the reserved nature that was Sean), I was determined to support a day of bliss and innocence that Sara deserved. They are so few, they are to be treasured.I also find that while in life, I was Sean's mother and therefore, mentor and teacher; in death, he is mine. At every turn, I think "how would Sean handle this?" "What would he say?" And the thing is, it was never about him. He always had an empathetic, if not sympathetic view of others. He rarely spoke about anyone, and if he were in a bad mood, he would isolate himself. I drank a dirty martini at 11 AM to get to where Sean would want me to be, and anyone who knows me knows that's totally out of character (for me, that is !).Anyone who has lost a loved one knows that they have lost a piece of themself. Honestly, anyone who has lost a child has a piece of them die, but that piece remains attached. They may shift that piece to one side or another. They may even be able to bury it for a short while, but the pain is always with them. All they hope for is some meaning to come of the death, the ability to get through each day, and the hope that their days will pass swiftly. These are their best hopes on their best days. Whatever innocence was left in their life is gone.I had some good times this past week and a fun time with my family on Saturday. It was a blessing when I most needed it. I allowed myself to feel that blessing, albeit at times bittersweet, because it was the unselfish thing to do. I'm not saying that with hubris, just as a means of explanation. What purpose would it serve for those who love me if I showed my pain and made them share it with me? Especially my sister, whose daughter was the beautiful bride. And what of Bridget, who gets to see me maybe 2-3 times a year, and who has had a shitty year herself? Would she benefit from my openly crying about the hurt that sits beneath my breastbone, aching to split it open and let my heart pour out? Sounds dramatic, but this is how it feels.Sean left a hole in this universe. He was able to combine talent with strength of character and a genuine love of living. How he could do that when he seemed to be able to channel the collective unconscious, at an age when experience could not have taught him these insights, and remain as humble and grateful as he was is a mystery to me. If I were to be truthful, I would admit that I missed most of Sean's adult charism. He did not live at home, traveled a lot, and had experiences independent of me. In truth, I most often just worried about him, as I seemed to read his confusion and fatigue and sadness. I loved to hear him laugh when he did, as it helped dilute my fears, but they always clouded my vision of him. I did not approve of some of his coping, and with that judgment, missed what he so easily shared with others. If there is one positive outcome of his tragedy, it is my increasing awareness of his special spirit. I always told him that I wouldn't be proud of him if he were famous but not a good person. I guess he took me seriously, even as he struggled and did make it to a level of notoriety that I will never attain. I always was proud of him, but my pride reaches new levels every day as my respect for him grows from feedback from all of you.So, on this belated opportunity to remember the months that have passed, Sean has taught me much... the pupil becomes the teacher. I can hurt and yet laugh. I can put others' needs before my own. Life is to be lived in the moment we are in. All that is seen does not reveal all that is. Life goes on, even when you can't figure out how it could possibly, or why you would even care. We can find good in even the worst of times, and music is the medicine that can heal the soul.Sean was there with me every minute that Bridget was here; every second of the wedding; and, every moment since. He never leaves me and I will never leave him.Bridget went to the cemetery on the way to the airport today to plant spring bulbs and fall pansies. We cleaned up a bit as she cared for her brother and said goodbye for now. Allison had left a CD from the Labor Day benefit... she thought Sean should have one. I discovered today that someone took the CD, but left the cover. I have maintained a philosophy about things that have been stolen from me: I always hope that the person who took it needed it more than me and that some good came of it. It's not necessarily about being a generous spirit. It's about not allowing someone else's behavior dictate mine. Also that things are just things. Today, I hope that the person who took the CD from Sean listens to the music and shares it with others. That would be what Sean would want. Heck, Sean would have given it to them anyway.Sean, you have left an indelible mark on this earth and I hope to become the Mom that would make you proud and not embarrassed. You have given me the gift of so many good people who loved you and whom you love. I hope I will be able to have the strength to really celebrate you on the anniverary of your "Going Home."