It’s been 11 years since I saw or spoke with Sean. Today, we would be celebrating his 40th birthday. It’s so hard to imagine him aging. He certainly would have worried about hair loss and I might have been teasing him about a thickening waist. (Risky territory, for he surely would have had a better barb for me!) I’d take all of the jabs he ever gave me over and over again just to see his face, his smile, and hear the words “Hi Mama.”
Death is something that we don’t understand. We hypothesize and attach to a belief that feels right to us, knowing it’s a human’s take on eternity. For those without a faith in the hereafter, death leaves a gaping hole that makes you question everything. Why? is our favorite word. We try to cover our heartache with whatever we can, but we can’t help but notice that empty seat at the table.
When Sean died, I was angry. Not angry at him. Not angry atGod. Angry that at this stage in human development, we don’t know how to treat something as old as life itself – mental illness. I knew that Sean had insurance, family support, looks, talent, and friends. We were paying a fortune for ‘experts’ to help him. He turned his life and future over to them. They betrayed him with marketing that had no knowledge or substance behind hit. The legal system betrayed all of us when they wouldn’t hold the facility and practitioners accountable because ‘ It could have happened anyway.’ What exactly does that mean? Would we not hold a doctor accountable for poor practice with a cardiac patient who dies because of them, because they might have had a heart attack anyway? The stigma of mental illness is pervasive and, in my opinion, doesn’t seem to be getting much better, not where it can make a difference.
How many people have insurance that would cover a child with a mental illness? Does your plan pay for as many mental health/substance abuse days as it does for ‘medical illnesses?’ Just like every major chronic disease, the treatment of mental illness is often lifelong. Cures don’t really exist. Yet, we put an arbitrary limit on how long we will support a person with bipolar disorder or alcoholism, but not a 300 lb. person with diabetes. What explanation is there other than stigma due to lack of understanding and information? Maybe other than it’s hopeless? Their fault? Whatever it is, the time has come to fight back.
Fighting back was the purpose of the Sean Costello Fund. It wasn’t my attempt to have people feel sorry for Sean; although, I did want people to know that he really was not well but wanted to be. That is one of the saddest things of all. No one either did or could help. I discovered thatSean’s fate wasn’t unusual; in fact, it is all too common.
You’ve heard me say all these things before. I’ve posted the disturbing facts of bipolar disorder. One of the most harmful is the rate of addiction, substances that camouflage themselves as your friend, and then takeover your world. It’s hard enough to shake an addiction, but when your mood is unstable, the need to cope and the call of the substance are both too strong. It’s that universal desire to feel normal, be happy.
The Fund owes so much to the people who have contributed over the years; however, to make a dent in what needs to be done, we need more. More volunteers to effect projects. More donations to support research that can provide answers or at least ways to keep people safe and alive until there are answers. I can tell you that we’ve burned through many wonderful, generous, loving board members and volunteers. A decade is a long time to serve. In the case of the existing board members, we wouldn’t be here without them. We need new blood, new ideas, new leaders, new energy if we are going to be able to save the next Sean from years of meaningless therapy and a week of ‘treatment’ that led to his death. There are too many Seans and too many families unable to give Sean what we gave him.
Sean got to live a life that few could ever dream of. He held himself to a very high standard when it came to music. He practiced hour after hour, day after day. He also loved with intensity… his friends, his family, his fans. He laughed heartily, played ‘til the strings broke, and hugged Glenn until the RayBans were squashed. He lived and played with all his heart and soul, but I know that he wanted to see me on his 40th birthday to remind me how much older than him I was.
If Sean’s music helps you through your day. If Sean’s kindness or smile ever touched you just when you needed it. If you’ve known or lost someone who deserved the care we all expect, I’m asking you to look inside your heart and see if you have an hour a week, a dollar a month to bring this abyss of care to a close. I’m not getting any younger (Sean’s not here to tell you, so I’ll just put it out there myself) and this cause is bigger than he andI.
I know that I haven’t accomplished all that I dreamed of inSean’s name. I do hope that the effort that has been given by so many amazing people over the years has been of some benefit to those who needed it. The Board is open to ideas, but they need to be accompanied by offers to lead those ideas. We will keep doing the best we can, but the long-term future of the Fund is in your hands.
One of the prettiest songs, IMHO, that Sean ever wrote was“All I Can Do.” Change a few words and it’s a song of anyone’s loss. It’s still hard for me to listen to it. What I can say is that ‘since you’re gone’Sean, you haven’t been forgotten. Don’t forget him or the person you may have lost or fear you are losing. They need you to make a difference.
Thank you for keeping Sean’s spirit alive. I hope we can use the love he shared to ‘keep on pushin.’ He wouldn’t accept anything else.
Happy Birthday, Sean!
Love,
Mom