I
could sense a presence at the foot of my bed; someone standing there, waiting
for me to wake up. Raising my head, my
eyes fought their way through the haze caused by the alcohol and turkey I’d
consumed the night before. It was my
brother-in-law, Seann, dressed in his motorcycle jacket and his backpack
hanging over one shoulder. His mouth
curled into the cocksure smile that never seemed to leave his face.
The
night before, Thanksgiving, he’d joined us for a feast at my brother’s
house. We hadn’t seen Seann in a while,
and it was a pleasure to catch up. All
in attendance came from Karyn’s side of the family yet I always found it beautiful
that Seann could effortlessly fit in with them. Just as they had
welcomed Julie and me into their lives many years ago, they did the same with
Seann. It helped that he was so
personable and an interesting individual to be around. If you asked him, he
could talk to you about just about anything.
It
wasn’t always that way, though. When I
first met Seann, he was a cute, ten-year-old boy in love with the Cleveland
Indians and the game of baseball. He was
also pretty nonverbal. Our conversations
generally went something like this:
Me: “What’s up, dude?”
Seann: “Hmm. Not much.”
Me: “Indians look pretty good. I really like the team they've put together,
including that Lofton guy! I love him!”
Seann: “Hmm.”
And
that was about it. I was content with
having this type of relationship with Seann seeing as I’d bonded with Julie’s
other brother, Michael, over shared interests in music, movies and
comics. Still, I hoped that someday Seann and I might connect, despite
the fact that Julie and I lived in California and he resided in Northeast Ohio.
Everything
changed the day Seann took up drumming.
Having
played drums throughout my entire adolescence and into college, I could finally
relate to my young brother-in-law and really get to know him. To my great surprise, Seann didn’t just bang
around on the drums, playing to the radio; he excelled at the instrument
through discipline, hours of practice and an innate sense of rhythm. He found a way to express himself, and it was
awesome. As any drummer can tell you, it’s a joy to listen and watch a
natural talent on the kit, and Seann was a true natural. We now spoke the same language. Instead of grunts and mumbles, Seann and I
began having conversations about drum kits, tuning, cymbal brands, drumsticks
and which drummers he admired the most.
I'll
admit that I took secret pleasure in being able to jam every time Julie and I
went back to Cleveland, and Seann was always gracious to give up his drum stool
whenever I asked. There were occasions
when he would hang out just to watch me play.
I’ll wager to say, though, that he didn’t receive as much pleasure in
watching me as I did when he was behind his kit.
When
the time came for Seann to apply to colleges, I was intrigued that he was
considering Bowling Green State University, my alma mater. He wanted to major in music and seeing as I’d
spent four years roaming the halls of BG’s music school, I felt that I could
offer my two cents. We discussed the
school’s excellent music program and the great campus atmosphere. I'm not sure if what I had to say had any
sway in his decision, but Seann chose BG in the fall of 2000.
At
Bowling Green, Sean transformed from a great drummer into well-rounded
percussionist and musician. His studies
introduced him to a variety of instruments that added richness to his skills. In addition, he became interested in sound
engineering and began thinking about a career as a sound designer for
films.
It
was such a marvel to watch the light of his spirit shine. This was no truer than when he returned from
a trip to Ghana, Africa. An openness and a joy for life were bursting from him
as he regaled the family with stories of his trip abroad. Africa had fortified his soul and given him a
new purpose in life.
In
2005, Seann graduated from college and moved to Los Angeles. In Southern California he really came into
his own. For a short time he slept on
our couch, made daily treks over the mountain into Hollywood and soon hooked up
with some Ohio friends in that area, taking up residence on their couch. Eventually, he found a place in Venice, a
city close to the beach and full of culture.
With
the two industries in which he wanted to succeed surrounding him, Seann
flourished. Moreover, the access to
nature – oceans, forests, mountains – kept him in tune with his physical and
spiritual sides. We began seeing less of
him as his new life took off and he became busier, working as a sound designer
and composer for a small production company, even recording and distributing
his own music.
Still,
Seann was never too busy to visit when we called. All it took was the pleading voice of Sophie
on the other end of the phone and he would ride up to our house on his
motorcycle for a home-cooked dinner and quality catching up. Each year when it came time for the CF Great
Strides walks, he never had to be reminded.
In fact, he would ask when the walk was taking place so that he could
program it into his calendar. I will
never forget his dedication to the children, not just to my kids, who had the
good fortune of seeing him regularly, but also to his nieces and nephews who
lived on the other side of the country.
Whenever
the two of us got together, I was eager to talk about film, music or
baseball. I never would have given
Avenged Sevenfold a chance if it hadn’t been off of his recommendation, I would
not have been able to say that Thirty Seconds to Mars is not my thing, and I
never would have discovered Porcupine Tree, the British prog metal band with a
cult following in America.
During
the Christmas of 2010, as I scrolled through his iTunes, their album, In
Absentia, popped up on the screen.
“Those
guys are great,” he told me, “you really should listen to them.”
Intrigued,
I copied the album to my iPod. Months
later, while commuting to work, I fell in love with the record. The multiple time changes, the lush
harmonies, the slick production – everything reminded me of my favorite Yes
album from 1983, 90125. In
particular, the second track, “Trains,” stuck its hooks into me and had me
singing it for days. Because he was the
only person I knew who’d ever heard of this band, I always associated the album
with Seann.
It
should come as no surprise that when Seann was killed in a traffic accident
last December, I sought comfort in the music that made me feel closest to
him. To numb the hours, days and weeks
following his tragic death, to block out the screaming in my head and the hot
tears of sorrow, I listened to “Trains” over and over again – on the train, in
my office and before I went to bed, forcing myself to sleep. Sometimes it was a great help, and at others
it was just the noise I needed to help me get through the grieving.
I’m
so fortunate to have known this man. As I said, he was a good uncle, a good
friend and a brother to me. Was Seann
perfect? No. But who in their 20’s is? He was still learning, growing, trying to
figure out this world and how to make it better, trying to find his place in
it. I'm so glad that he decided to spend
Thanksgiving with us last year, to have him join us in the good food and
company that the holiday symbolizes. The
next morning, while Jacob slept and Julie was out shopping with Sophie, Seann
entered my bedroom to say goodbye before leaving.
It
was the last time I ever saw him.
He
stood at the end of my bed, dressed in his motorcycle jacket, his backpack
hanging over one shoulder. His mouth curled
into the cocksure smile that never seemed to leave his face. I craned my neck to look at him.
“S’up?”
I asked.
“I’m
taking off,” he replied.
“Mmm,
yeah.”
“Tell
Julie I said goodbye.”
“Hmm. Yeah.
Sure.”
“See
ya.”
“See
ya.”
I
fell back on to my pillow while Seann left the house.
He
walked across the driveway and started up his motorcycle, parked right outside
the bedroom window.
As
I drifted back to sleep, I could hear the sound of his motorcycle drive down
our street and fade off into the distance.
