Sean

Sean left us late this morning after a swift and unexpected severe infection. He had his son and brothers and Nancy with him. Everything I want to say just comes out in a burble of mess...so I'll use this instead, for now. More coherence soon, but for the moment, thank you W.H. Auden, and thanks to Mike Hurley for finding it first.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.


Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.


He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.


The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

So much of this, losing Sean to death, expresses how I, and I think many of us who loved him, feel. But unlike Mr. Auden, I can say that much will come to good, and that is part of having Sean in my world. He'd be seriously, oh so very seriously, pissed off if we who loved him went  with that last line of thought. Maybe a bit of Tennyson works in here.

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark; 

I can't stop my sadness but it will ebb...and if anything comes from knowing Sean, his passion for life and love rises to the top like sweet cream, to be used accordingly. More anon.