In February, I made this post where I said that the song was sort of an homage to the kids that never made it to adulthood. We recently lost a member of our community, high school and graduating class. I didn’t know him. And I will never know him. But the thing about death is that it affects you whether or not you want it to. In the book Fahrenheit 451, it has a short section on the topic of death. It’s eye-openning, and I wanted to share it with anyone who is dealing with the loss of a loved one. It goes:
When I was a boy my grandfather died, and he was a sculptor. He was also a very kind man who had a lot of love to give the world, and he helped clean up the slum in our town; and he made toys for us and he did a million things in his lifetime; he was always busy with his hands. And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn’t crying for him at all, but for the things he did. I cried because he would never do them again, he would never carve another piece of wood or help us raise doves and pigeons in the back yard or play the violin the way he did, or tell us jokes the way he did. He was part of us and when he died, all the actions stopped dead and there was no one to do them just the way he did. He was individual. He was an important man. I’ve never gotten over his death. Often I think, what wonderful carvings never came to birth because he died. How many jokes are missing from the world, and how many homing pigeons untouched by his hands. He shaped the world. He did things to the world. The world was bankrupted of ten million fine actions the night he passed on.
Whenever I hear that a person lost someone, it comes straight to mind. It doesn’t change the fact that someone has passed away, but it helps you remember all the things they’ve done for you, all the smiles, all the laughs and now all the tears. Rest in peace, Sean. -Jean