January 24, 1995. I get
to work at Figlio about 7:45, always early so I can get some coffee before
starting, maybe slam out a crossword. My brother Sean (Sean is 23 and my
sisters and I probably changed more of his diapers than mom, he was OUR first
baby) the steward starts at 7 sharp and on this particular morning I am told by
other staff that Sean hasn't shown up for work and they can't get an answer at
his house. I know my brother Sean and know something serious has had to have
happened. I call his house and eventually
his roommate, who sleeps in the basement, answers and says he'll get up
and look. He looks into Sean's room and says only Mary, Sean's gf is sleeping
in the bed. He tells me he will call me back. I start my shift very worried.
His roommate calls back at 8:30 and says he looked in the garage and found Sean's car and it had been smashed
many times with a baseball bat, but no sign of Sean. He calls back soon again
to tell me Sean has been found and he had fallen behind to the floor at his
drum set after shooting himself with a rifle through the mouth, the police are
on their way. I go into a numbing shock
and barely remember leaving and walking home, knowing I have to call everyone.
This was probably the hardest thing I will probably ever have to tell my dad.
He worried how mom was going to handle and got off the phone to find her at her
hospital job. I called my sister in Cloquet, later she told me when she picked
Sara up at school, Sara immediately thought her dad had died, he was older.
When Meg got to Mpls she picked my son up after I had been in touch with them
and Matt thought something had happend to me. I called Paul local who had just
lost Sean as a roommate recently. Then Mark and family in Virginia state and
Luke and family in Georgia. Jacque and family in North Carolina, her husband
Abdul had just flew out for an army mission to Europe, as soon as he landed the
Red Cross had him off one plane and onto another to meet Jacque and kids at NYC airport to fly here. At the time I
lived in a very compact one bedroom but because all calls to relatives had been
called from there, it was ground zero. My fridge had just died and not
replaced, my daycare lady had just lent me mini fridge, we had toddlers with
milk bottles, etc. I took over most everything to allow mom and dad not to have
to think too much. We made the funeral arrangements, a wake at Washburn McReavy
uptown, Basilica because my aunt Jean was a member. The night before the wake
some of our family and some of my Figlio friends go to Sean's to get all his
stuff. A few days later Sean's girlfriend tells us many things are missing,
that his roommates ripped his stuff off, we are too weary to deal with this and
it doesn't bring Sean back anyway. A roommate hands me Sean's mail, a letter from
the police saying Sean is guilty of hit and run. Call police, tell the what has
happened, they tell me woman not hurt, it happened two blocks from job, Sean
had been almost to work and then went home. Paper goes to my house as I will be
executor, the rest to Paul's and we will sort later. At the wake we set up a
cassette to play Tears by Rush off 2112, because it was appropriate and because
it was Sean's favorite band. Sean was a gifted drummer and got 6th place at the
Knut Koupee/Cabooze drum contest at the age of 18. Anyway, the cassette kept
acting up and flipping to the other side, but eventually did what we wanted.
When we got home from the wake, we siblings immediately checked out what song
Sean had obviously wanted us to hear. Also, everytime the priest spoke about
Sean at the wake, the lights behind him would flicker. I was the one that spoke
for the family at the funeral, I read Death by Kahlil Gibran, my friend had
given me the book at the wake. The priest had had a suicide in his family and
he warned us in private counsel that after a couple days we would have a
blowout with lots of finger pointing. Two days after the funeral my dad takes
me to Lunds early morning. He says lets buy whatever. We spend over $300 on
food, treats, yummies and everyone heads to my brother Paul's house. We eat and
then the blowout. Abdul grabs the kids and they go to Minnehaha Falls a few
blocks away. Abdul was a blessing, always dealing with the kids and the kids
reminded us that we needed to eat. We survived the day and everyone seemed to
reach a new, sad, calm, numb state. Exhausted. The next night we went to
Curran's who gave us a private room and everyone left town the next day. I am
granted one week more off from work, work is therapeutic because Sean's writing
is everywhere as the steward. Everyone at work is a bit numb but very
supportive. I am allowed to leave the line whenever I need to smoke and cry. I
find what I need and call his bank, his car loan, cancel magazines, etc. I call
the police to get rid of his rifles. I deal with a paralegal and transfer his
account for a scholarship fund, which still gets awarded every year to someone
in music or computers. I start sorting through Sean's stuff getting more and
more sad. Repeated writings about suicide and death from various ages since he
was little. This is a story Sean wrote when he was 5 yrs.old:
The Bird that Couldn't Sing
"Once there was a bird which never
sang. He was so sad when he saw the other birds sing. He couldn't sing because
his mom and dad and brothers and sisters thought if they taught him to sing,
they thought he would ruin the singing."
"Then one day he decided to fly
somewhere else to stay for awhile ..."
By Sean Sarazine 1976
No comments:
Post a Comment