It is weird to write about someone you just saw less than 72 hours ago in the past tense.  I hate it.  I absolutely hate it.  But I do need to write, in whatever tense it must take, because my heart is so heavy.  I need to get this out while these thoughts are fresh in my mind.

While one of the main reasons I created this blog was to share my ataxia journey, it was not the only one.  I wanted this to be a space where I could write about the things I love – my travels, my favorite foods – and the people I love.  I did not have a set system for when I would write or about what or whom.  I would just write when the feeling hit me.

Well, today it hit me like a bag of bricks.  Today a dear friend passed away after complications from heart surgery.  Like countless others whose lives he touched, I am devastated.  Sean is gone.  It seems surreal.

Other than my mom, whose march towards death was a slow drum beat across the span of many years, I am very fortunate not to have lost many friends or family “before their time.”  Even since being diagnosed with ataxia, thoughts of death have eluded me.  Yes, I have thought about my debilitation, but not my death itself.  Perhaps that is because to many, including my dear Sean, the ultimate fear is not dying itself but losing the battle with time.

Having a disease like ataxia means that time is at a premium.  Live for today, because who knows how many tomorrows you will get.  I subscribe to that mentality.  Sean also subscribed to it.  Sean had a bad heart.  Multiple surgeries down and his ticker remained broken.  Whether it was because of his heart or just because of who he intrinsically was, Sean grabbed life with both hands.  Anyone who ever met him could see that.

I met Sean through my husband, Corby.  Sean had been friends with Corby and his brothers since childhood, but their friendship really strengthened during the 11 months that Corby was stranded in immigration limbo in Canada.  Of all of his friends, Sean seemed the best apt to distract Corby from the undeniable distress of being denied reentry into the United States and having to move in with your parents, away from your fiancé and established life elsewhere.  Sean was a free spirit.  After living abroad for several years, he had returned to Canada and lived in the woods.  He had a big boy job, but you’d never know it.  He lived to party and his laugh and joking manner was infectious.  He was the perfect stress reliever.

The year after Corby returned to the US, we got married.  Sean flew to LA twice – first for Corby’s bachelor party and then again for the wedding.  It was during his first trip that I really got to know him better.  I learned that Sean was a huge foodie, like me, and that price was no object, which lead to an epic dinner with just the two of us at Ink by Michael Voltaggio.  I also learned that Sean had some fairly special habits, such as falling asleep in unusual places.  During that one visit, I found Sean asleep on a dog bed in our garage, asleep under our dining room table (with a full beer propped up next to him), and asleep in our ridiculously tiny guest room closet.  During the subsequent bachelor party in Vegas, Sean ended up sleeping on top of an entertainment center.  Yes, you read that correctly, and there are pictures to prove it.

A few months later, Sean returned to LA for our wedding.  Sean played guitar during the ceremony.  After the ceremony, already well-inebriated, Sean stripped down and jumped into the ocean.  Classic Sean.  He was the center of attention without ever demanding an audience.

Perhaps it was his charming ways at the wedding that caught her attention, or perhaps it was something that sparked in the months that followed, but it was not long after our wedding that Sean began dating Sarah, one of Corby’s closest friends.  I could not think of a more perfect pairing.  Sarah is kind and loving and has been the willing participant to more than a few spontaneous adventures with Sean during their three years together.  Like the time she and Sean booked same-day airfare to see us in LA because they were sick of the cold Ontario winter.  Or the time we found out Doug Stanhope was filming a show in Bisbee, Arizona, so we bought four tickets on a whim and they flew out to meet us.  Or, more recently, when they decided it would be fun to hang out with us in Ireland, so they crashed our trip last minute.  Honestly, some of the best memories I have made in the last three years are directly the result of Sean and Sarah’s spontaneity.

Sean learned a few weeks ago that his surgery was scheduled for August 2.  Even before we went to Ireland in May he had been dreading it because it is a very risky surgery.  He knew that there was a chance he would not make it and that scared him but he knew there was also no alternative – his ticker was failing and this operation was the best chance he had to survive.  Fortuitously, Corby and I had already planned our annual summer trip to visit Corby’s family at their cottage at Black Lake (up near Ottawa).  The timing was perfect for a visit with Sean and Sarah at the lake just before his surgery.

When Corby and I flew in on Friday morning, Sean and Sarah had already arrived with their dog, Harpo Barks, and an inflatable boat Sean had rigged with a motor in tow.  Sean smiled and laughed quite a bit, but you could tell he was getting nervous.  Sarah and the rest of us did everything we could to shift his focus and it seemed to work.  While they had initially planned to leave on Saturday, in a final act of spontaneity, Sean extended their stay another night.  An epic jam fest (Sean was an incredible guitar player) ensued which included acoustic versions of everything from AC/DC to Madonna.  It was an absolutely perfect weekend.

Yesterday, Sean went in to surgery.  While the operation went okay and he was stable after, we learned he was not out of the woods.  There had been complications.  Then, this morning, the news came.  Sean was gone.  Living in a world without Sean barely seems possible.  He was larger than life and nothing can repair that hole.

Sean wasn’t on Facebook even though he was probably the most outgoing person I know.  I know that if he did have Facebook right now his page would be inundated by people longing for just a little more time with him, myself among them.  He did try to get me to use WhatsApp when we were in Ireland though.  In fact, he is my only contact on WhatsApp.  This morning, after learning he was gone, I re-read our brief correspondence there.  After leaving Ireland, Sean and Sarah traveled to Italy.  On their layover, he sent me a picture of fondue and an obscene message about what he planned to do to the cheese.  Thanks to Sean, now I can never delete WhatsApp.

I guess the lesson, if there is one, is that we may never get to choose how much time we have, but we all have the ability to choose how we use the time we are given – what we prioritize and what we do not, the relationships we foster, the way we walk through the world.  Sean lived well.  He loved deeply.  He fostered friendships.  He was kind to animals.  He traveled the world and ate yummy things.  Sean lived a full life in 47 short years.  If I could choose between his life and a long unfulfilled life, I would choose the road traveled by Sean any day.  Bonus if you find someone like Sarah to travel that road with you, the Dorothy to your Tin Man.