My sister Jordan wrote this a while ago...
Sean was my cousin. Sean was also like a brother to me - though he beat on me less than my actual siblings did. Growing up, we spent a lot of time together, as
family members, as friends. We went through a lot together, and I'd like to share a few of the moments Little Sean and I went experienced.
When we were small, Sean and I would make up dance routines to such classics as "Rock around the clock" and Barbie and the Rockers' "Born with a mic in our hands." Then we'd practice them until they were perfect, and we'd drag whatever unsuspecting adults who were around to watch us perform. Sean always had a flair for drama. He performed in plays in high school, too. He was particularly proud of his role as Fenris Ulf, Captain of the Queen's Guard, in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. During that play, Sean and Lexy and I would dance and sing even offstage, though none of us, Sean included, had much in the way of talent for singing or dancing. Whathe did have was a gift for the absurd. He once came up with a dance we called the "Mating Dance of the Whooping Crane" which mostly consisted of standing on one leg whilst bobbing your head, flapping your arms, and squawking as loudly as possible. Sean was a very good actor, a talent he must have sharpened by being a closeted gay teenager in a small, straight town.
As most everyone here probably realizes, Sean was an exchange student in high school. He went to Denmark. Sean loved Denmark. Upon his return, the phrase "When I was in Denmark..." quickly became a cliche. I know it was one of the most important experiences in his life. Away from home, out of the country, he grew up. Though he had already had a wealth of experience standing on his own two feet, his experiences in Denmark made him realize that he could make it alone. He also came to terms with some truths about himself, like that he was gay, and that he was okay with that. He learned that he loved travel, and began to see himself as a citizen of the world. This is not to say that he didn't also enjoy Denmark's rather lax laws about substances generally forbidden to 17 year olds in the United States.
Sean was so charming. He
could befriend anyone, anywhere, and he often did. He collected
interesting people, and interesting people collected him. My life,
my family's lives have been so enriched by the people who Sean
brought to us. I personally am very grateful to Sean for befriending
all of the mean girls in high school, and thus keeping them from
beating the tar out of me. I remember meals around the table, with
Sean and our friends, everyone stuffing their faces, and having
casual one-upmanship put down contests. Sean could no more resist a
good insult than he could resist a good story. But really who can?
He hardly ever meant any of his insults, and his stories may have
been exaggerated. Both were always top quality though.
Of course, along with all
of his fabulous qualities, Sean did have a few flaws. He was the
most stubborn person I have ever met. He probably inherited that,
along with the nose, from the Ryans. He could insist that something
was true, even if it was demonstrably not so. You knew that you'd
done well in an argument with Sean if you could get him to admit that
his point only should be true, but perhaps wasn't. He was also stoic
to the point of ridiculousness. In Savanna, once, when he was 12 or
13, he took a long ride down a steep hill, partially on a bicycle,
but mostly on his face after the bike's brakes failed. He didn't
admit to any pain, or cry, even though he was all torn up. There was
gravel involved. Instead, he calmly suggested a trip to the doctor.
He could be like that with his emotions, too. But that stubbornness
and stoicism served him well as battled cancer. He was determined to
survive, and he faced his illness with resolute optimism and fierce
grace. I firmly believe he survived as long as he did because of his
mule-headed, pig-headed stubbornness. It bought him years, then
months, and then days.
Clearly, since I'm here,
crying and speaking in public, both of which I hate to do, even world
caliber stubbornness will only get you so far. Which leaves me
speechless, and sort of angry. I don't know what to say, beyond: I
hope to see you again someday. Jag alskar du, Seanie. We'll miss
you so much.
