rss feedAnd so this is Christmas
This is the song that has been in my head all this holiday season. I can’t explain why, except that I didn’t know what to expect this year. Last year we went to London and avoided being home with the memories. This year brought new challenges, like what to do with Sean’s stocking and Christmas ornaments. We chose to stick with the positive and leave out any reminder that would only serve to make us sad. Anyway, John Lennon said exactly what I felt this year:
John Lennon's original "hand written" lyrics to his 1971 Number #1 hit single "So This Is Christmas", written on a blank sheet of paper.
The lyrics are so simple, yet, as most of his lyrics were, so on point. What could one wish more for another than a year without fear or tears? And, in a way, Christmas marks the end of a year more than a religious holiday to many. It’s a way to celebrate no matter what happened the previous year. It’s observed no matter what – sometimes with less passion than others, but not celebrating doesn’t seem an option. It brings many of us together for the one time a year that we forgive and aren’t afraid to show love.
There were times this year that things seemed rather normal. Like a dream. Sean never came until Christmas Eve anyway, and in the last couple of years, not until midday, so everything could seem fine until then. There even was a year when he spent Christmas in Woodstock (I was so jealous!). Never, though, a year without a call… a “Hi, Mama, Merry Christmas.” or a “Sorry, I’m late!” Better was: “Sorry, I didn’t have time to wrap the presents.” It never mattered, because they were always perfect for each person for whom they were intended.
I kept the day busy, though, so I wouldn’t notice the absence. We were blessed with the presence of Bridget, Allison and her wonderful family and two guests who had important places in Sean’s life. I cooked like crazy, thinking of what Sean would say about everything I made. Sausage and peppers are now Jeff’s favorites, and were always Sean’s, so he had his stamp on the meal. He would have loved the roast just as much and complained about eating too much. Of course, when the desserts arrived, his appetite would recover, and would recur in the middle of the night :) I loved hearing his kitchen raids and always awoke when he came down the steps, even though he never knew.
I went to a grief counselor for almost a year after Sean passed. One thing that she said was that people would lose their patience with your grieving into the second year, and that’s why counseling serves a purpose. I didn’t know how true that could be. I feel like I’m just coming to terms with the fact that Sean is gone, and yet, I feel that I must act otherwise. I’m sure that people just want to move on, as I wish I could and that now, my sadness would only make them uncomfortable. So, in order to socialize as little as I do, I put on that happy face. Are my eyes the same? Does the smile seem genuine? I can’t tell because I am severed from myself to some extent. Like a paper doll, a hologram of myself trying to be productive, normal. I must be to be the responsible person I am supposed to be.
What are the gifts that I have received that brings my heart some joy? The many, reliable people from all parts of the world who have become my friends, if only on Facebook. They let me know that Sean is alive in their hearts as well. It’s the people who buy his CDs and t-shirts from our website and then tell me how honored they are to talk to Sean’s Mom. Can you believe that? That they would be impressed to talk to ME? It’s because I am the Mom of a wonderful son who touched the world with his talent and huge heart.
What I do know is that this loss is not suffered by me alone. Too many mothers have written to me about their loss and I know their grief is no less for the fame their sons/daughters may not have enjoyed. What I want to do for them is develop a page on our website that lists the names of every person who has been lost to their family from mental illness or addiction (which in my mind, are one and the same, for who would want to be addicted to a substance and let it ruin lives and relationships?). I want to remember all of them, for each of them is important to our quest and my resolve. I cannot do this on my energy alone, albeit my idea originally. I just am not strong enough. Maybe one day my grief will turn to anger or a drive that will propel me through the challenges of what I have started. I can only think of Sean and how he struggled and yet fought and gave us such wonderful gifts.
We, who knew him, all miss him. We will never be the same. Not me, not Glenn, not Bridget, not Allison, not his Dad. We can only hope that we are in some way, better. I know that we are better for loving him and having been loved by him.
John Lennon wrote such a beautiful and poignant poem, really. The thought of no more war is something that I have fervently wished for since I was a kid. I refused to even read about Vietnam and every successive foolish attempt of mankind to hurt his own, mostly under the guise of a love for God… like I could just wish war away. (I wouldn’t even buy him a toy gun!) I know that Sean was a pacifist: he couldn’t even hold a grudge :)
I am compelled, however, to perpetuate a war of my own….. against prejudice, ignorance, and neglect of all of those who suffer with mental illness and the families who suffer with them. In this war, however, there will be no prisoners, no loss of life. On the contrary, we will be free to receive the healthcare that all others do; we will be offered the benefit of research that others are; and we will live long, healthy, productive lives so that we can share our own special gifts with the world. But, I do need an army to succeed.
Even though today seems to be an especially sad one for me, I am hoping that each of you who reads this has a wonderful, prosperous and healthy new year.
You can give me one late Christmas gift: always remember Sean and pass his music on to all whom you know, and in that passing, let them know that he was a beautiful, talented, loved and loving person who struggled with a disease that needs attention. Whatever they can do to help is their own personal gift for Sean.
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Thank you for your understanding and support. I sometimes wonder if I judge myself more harshly than others do. Many, many have been nothing but supportive.
It’s been a long time since I had any contact with your family. I trust you know that I too have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I read this blog whenever it is updated… I follow on Facebook.
I just want to thank you for sharing your feelings and thoughts- I know it can’t be an easy process at all.
I also wanted you to know something I’ve told Lauren often. I stayed friendly with Sean for some months after the divorce. I would go watch him play at Warmdaddy’s. Despite everything, he always treated me like a friend- always made some time for me despite being pulled in several different directions by many different people.
I always appreciated that and still do.
Anyway, as for the new year, let’s hope its a great one.
Paul,
It’s nice to hear from you. Lauren does keep me informed and says that you are happy. We are all fond of you, but both Sean and Bridget loved you (could it be the potato rolls?). I know that Sean spoke really highly of you and had a great time when he spent time with you and Lauren. I’m glad that he showed you what you continued to mean to him. I’m sure he felt as though you were family. If Sean liked you, he liked you. Nothing else really mattered. I hope that you are doing well, as I know that BD is something that presents daily struggles. I kind of second guess myself about this blog. Often times, it’s when I feel the worst that I sit down and write, and I’m not sure that it’s much more than cathartic, so it helps when people let me know how it affects them. I wish I had known more for Sean’s sake. He was a really good boy, as are you :) Take care of yourself.
PS Bridget is getting her teaching certification for primary grades, so you’ll have more than love of art
and museums in common. Just have to work on that cooking thing now :)
The reason I read this blog was because google highlighted the sentence ‘the lyrics are so simple, yet, as most of his lyrics were, so to the point’, and thought it was about Sean’s writing. It always amazes me how to the point his lyrics are, although I don’t think they’re as simple as John Lennon’s Happy Christmas. Usually I don’t feel anything listening to the lyrics of songs. Once every so often there is one song of a band’s full repertoire that means something to me. The notable exception is Sean, whose lyrics are so heartfelt and to the point, they are either so apt and familiar (don’t pass me by, anytime you want, I want you so bad, take it easy), or they’re about a situation I’m unfamiliar with, yet the way he describes it it feels as if I’ve experienced it myself (e.g., Told me a lie). It sounds melodramatic, but it’s genuinely true.
Reading “So, in order to socialize as little as I do, I put on that happy face. Are my eyes the same? Does the smile seem genuine? I can’t tell because I am severed from myself to some extent. Like a paper doll, a hologram of myself trying to be productive, normal.” it seems like he got some of that from you, ’cause that bit’s nearly poetry.
About people losing patience with someone grieving for more than a year. I trust your councellor has informed you of the differences in grieving between cultures? The norm in Western cultures is to break emotional bonds with dead loved ones after a period of time; people who don’t are judged abnormal. In Japan, in contrast, maintaining these bonds with deceased loved ones is prescribed. In Egypt, the bereaved are encouraged to dwell profusely on their grief, and other people support them by recounting their own losses and openly expressing their sorrow in emotional outpourings (quote from a clinical psychology book). My point is, take however long you want. People, in my opinion, are not meant to outlive their children, and I really hope I’ll never be put in your position. I think it should never stop hurting, although I hope it has become bearable for you.
Also, I study psychology, and if I’m ever to stumble upon a cure for Bipolar disorder, I’ll be sure to let you know;). I wish you good luck with the foundation!
I, of course agree with your perspective of the authenticity of Sean’s words. I am in awe of his ability to convey emotion both through his words and instrument. To be compared to him at all is a compliment to me (one which he would quickly eschew, I think :) I do think he wouldn’t mind your assessment of a Beatle’s tune though, who could?
As to the cultural differences, I am dismayed at every turn about how we handle both aging and death. The two are ultimately connected, as they convey the value that we place on life and experience. In our culture, there doesn’t seem to be the recognition of the wisdom that comes with experience, nor the respect that is due to elders. If we do not value the lessons of a person’s life, how then can we honor the person after death?
In the past two years, I have lost my mother and my son and have witnessed the awkwardness of the aftermath. In Sean’s case, I am somewhat blessed, as he has left a legacy that people can relate to: his music. In my Mom’s case, it was quite different. She was nearly eighty and needed a lot of attention and care. What she collected in her life that she deemed important to her – markers of her achievements – were easily discarded as being non valuable. What she gave to her children is frequently overshadowed by what she was unable to give. I fear that we are a society of immediacy, here and now. Sean was not at all that way, He had great respect for the people who came before him in the Blues and endeavored to share their history. I wonder, what is the value of life if we do not observe customs for honoring the loss of that life? I think that Sean and I might have been born into the wrong world at times. Thank you for sharing the fact that this our culture’s view is not prescriptive, rather a choice.
As to finding a cure for bipolar disorder, I’m sure that i might hear about it, but please let me know just in case I miss the news :) I would be happy with just one additional psychologist committed to learning all that they can about effective intervention and support. Good luck in your studies.
“The two are ultimately connected, as they convey the value that we place on life and experience.” I love that sentence. It reminds me of what I thought when I heard the UFO lyric,”If this is love, I’m sleeping on a bed of nails”. I felt it was quite apt, although some people would find it a very bitter assessment, but the truth is, if you really care about someone and that person goes away, the more you cared about that person the more it hurts. I’m sorry to hear you recently lost your mother as well. My grandmother (of 94) recently had a stroke; she is faring better now, but she’s not been getting better of the years. I hope she stays in there for yet a while longer, but if she passes, I know that my family will remember her for the incredibly sweet and attentive, self-effacing person she has been. What we will remember is the love she gave to her children and grandchildren, and the love and devotion to her husband when he was still alive. She always means well and that’s something we’ll remember, and from what I pick up of what you say, Sean didn’t seem to be much different. I’ll stop rambling on this page, I just want to leave on the note that this is the rare blog that actually has something to say, so well done with that!
Thank you.
I have no patience for people who “lose patience” with those who are grieving. What selfish jerks! As if a person who has experienced a devastating loss should be on THEIR time table so as not to inconvenience them. Anyone that treats you that way is not worth your time.
I pinged a link to this post so that perhaps other people will find out about the site. I hope that you will have a successful and prosperous new year.