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urian 
Posted: 13-Aug-2004, 10:18 PM
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Sean David Lovell was born on August thirteenth 1978 to Mr. And Mrs. Michael Lovell Sr.. He was the youngest of three boys and my brother. I am the oldest followed by Daniel and Sean. He was no celebrity; he didn't invent anything or cure a disease. He didn't do anything but touch many hearts in his short time in this world.
Being the youngest of the family, Sean was spoiled to some extent. My first memory of him was when I was five. He had just turned two and he and I were on a seesaw. I wanted to get off because I was bored but my mother wouldn't let me. When he was ready, though; he just hopped off and I came crashing down. Needless to say I wasn't happy with this new edition.
Throughout his life Sean always did things to get Daniel and I into trouble. He got away with murder while Daniel and I always got the blame, and the punishment, for what he had done. With brothers like us, though; that may have been the only way he thought he could defend himself against our constant abuse.
Everyone picked him on. Everyone meaning us, his friends, strangers, even his teachers picked on him. I remember on teacher actually sent him home with an idiot sticker. He said she had made him wear it all day. I don't know why everyone felt compelled to persecute Sean. Maybe it was his weight, he had always been heavy. Maybe it is height; he was always a couple of inches shorter than the average. He was five foot six and weighed two hundred pounds but a lot of that was muscle.
Maybe they picked on him because they knew he wouldn't fight back. They mocked him and called him names. Danny and I called him a Fat ass, despite the fact that he wasn't all fat. This caused him the most pain. It wasn't the kids at school making fun of him; or teachers that ridiculed him. I think what caused Sean the most pain was that his two older brothers, whom he loved, seemed to dislike him as much as everyone else disliked him.
I used to beat him up just to hear him cry. I thought I didn't care about what happened to him. I thought that my younger, more nave, little brother was always going to be around. I thought that I could always tell him later that I was sorry. I thought that I could tell him later that I loved him. I could tell him after we grew up and got older. I didn't know how wrong I was about that.
On the morning of August twenty-ninth, 1994, two weeks after Sean's sixteenth birthday, a man that had been speeding hit he and Danny while they were on their way to school. My parents received a call from someone at the scene that told them my brothers had been in an accident. My mother, being the type of person she is, immediately went into hysterics. I assured her that they had, probably, just run off into a ditch and were stuck. I told her that we just needed to pick them up and take them to school. I reminded her that the caller had said nothing about injuries; she had just said that had been in an accident. So, while my father finished dressing for work, my mother and I went to pick my brothers up so they wouldn't be late for school. I thought it was going to be that simple. I was wrong.
As we neared the scene of the accident my heart sank. I could see ambulances and the community volunteer fire department. My mother went over the edge. She was crying and screaming before we reached the accident. I was still in denial because they were my kid brothers and nothing could happen to them that I couldn't fix or help them out with, right? They weren't supposed to be hurt or dead. Nothing could happen to my brothers. We were all going to go to each other?s weddings. We were supposed to be there for each other when our children were born. We were all going to grow old and laugh and joke about all we had done together. We were supposed to tell each other's kids about how much of a fool their father had been growing up. That's what brother?s do, right?
The first thing I remember, after getting to the scene, was escorting my mother into a friend's house so that she could collect herself as best she could. It didn't help, though; that the accident happened, quite literally, in our friend's front yard. I closed the blinds so she couldn't see anything and I told everyone to keep her away from all the windows. Seeing that she was taken care of, I went outside to survey the scene. I pray no one every has to see a sight like I saw.
My brother, Danny, owned a 1972 Dodge Dart. If you have never seen one, it's a cross between a submarine and a tank that had been painted red. The guy who had hit them had been driving a blue pick up with a lift kit making it, in essence, a monster truck. He had hit the passenger's side of the car; knocked it into a ditch and proceeded to run along the passenger's side until he was off the car. That entire side was crushed. From the trunk to the engine; not an inch of the car had been spared. Nothing was spared. Not even my brothers.
When I reached the car I looked inside and saw Danny. His head was covered in blood and he was screaming in pain but it was all right because he was alive. I knew he was going to live. It was then that I looked at Sean and went numb.
He wasn't covered in blood. He wasn't crushed. It didn't seem like anything had been broken. He seemed fine. So why wasn't he moving? Why wasn't he getting out of the passenger's seat to talk to me? If he was hurt why wasn't anyone helping him? I kept thinking: " Someone help him! Help my little brother! God Damn it! Someone help him! "
It was about that time that my father arrived. He was crying! My God, my dad was crying. It was the first time I had ever seen him cry. He had work for the majority of his life; been beaten almost everyday of his life as well. He had lost his mother when he was twelve and his father when he was thirteen. He had been in uncountable fights and come out on top. He was a rock hard individual. He was the toughest guy I knew. He wasn't supposed to cry, but there he was sobbing like a baby. He looked at me and asked if his baby (Sean) was all right. All I could say was that he was fine and I took him inside to be with my mother.
While they held each other, sobbing, I went about the task of calling our relatives and friends. It was the only thing I could do to keep from collapsing into a worthless heap of sobbing flesh. When all that was done we waited. My parents waited inside and I waited outside.
After an eternity Danny was airlifted to the closest hospital to the accident. I drove my mother's car as per the request of my father and they took my father's jeep. The hospital was in Shreveport, Louisiana, which usually took about forty to fifty minutes to get to, but we made it in about twenty-five minutes.
Bad news travels even quicker than most people think because, by the time we arrived at the emergency room, half of the students from the school my brothers attended were already there. They were all trying to get information about Danny. The doctors had told my parents and I that Danny would need extensive brain surgery and that he might not survive the operation. The doctor also explained that, even if he did survive, that he would be so severely brain damaged that he would be either a vegetable or he would have the intellect of a four year old.
By this time everyone was crying except me. I remember thinking that I had to be strong for everyone because that's what was expected of me. That who I was. I was everyone's rock. I was the oldest so I had to take care of everyone else first, right?
You have NO idea what it's like to have your entire world, no matter how screwed up you think it is, collapse around you in the matter of just a few hours. You have no idea what it's like to go to bed with to healthy brothers and wake up with one dead and the other one, possible, with the IQ of an apple if he even survived at all. You have no idea how utterly powerless you feel when there is absolutely nothing you can do for two people you thought would always be around. Yeah parents, relatives, friends die but brothers are forever.
They took Danny into surgery and he was in there for over three hours. During that time people kept showing up and crying on each other's shoulders .My parents were doing a little better. They were, at least, rational now. I stood alone with my thoughts and prayers trying to figure out how God could have let this happen.
When Danny was brought out of surgery, he was put into the intensive care unit. We were told that he was in a coma and the doctors didn't know how long he would in it, or if he would even come out of the coma. They repeated that if he did come out of it he would be mentally retarded. He was permitted to have visitors, but only one at a time. To be honest, I couldn't go in there. I couldn't stand the thought of seeing my brother in that situation. So, I found my best friend and we went outside. After almost ten hours I was finally free to cry and grieve. I tried but I couldn?t. I knew I needed to but I simply couldn?t, so we sat outside and we talked for a while. I don't know what my friend was talking about because I was still alone with my thoughts.
I was able to pull myself together and see Danny two days later. I had spent Monday afternoon through Wednesday morning trying to deal with all that had happened. I had felt powerless before I walked in the intensive care unit, but when I saw him my heart sunk to such a level that I felt I was going to die right there. Danny had an oxygen tube in his nose, a feeding tube in his mouth, a catheter tube, and a tube in his right lung to drain it because it had collapsed during the accident. As I looked at that heart breaking sight, the last bit of hope I had of getting my brother back faded into nothingness. AS I went to leave I hugged him. I was going to tell him I loved him and goodbye, possibly for the last time when some beautiful and miraculously wonderful happened.
After I hugged him, and with a great deal of effort, in a barely audible voice, Danny looked up at me and asked me for a brush. He asked me for a brush! There was hope! The Lord had heard my prayers! My little brother was going to live! I excitedly ran out of the I.C.U and asked the first person I saw for a brush. I took it back to him and I had a nurse brush his hair since they wouldn't let me.
This event temporarily overshadowed everything else. Danny was awake and he was going to be all right! The elation lasted until the doctor said he would have to learn everything. He would have to relearn how to walk, eat, read, write, and even tie his shoes again. They also recommended that we not tell him about Sean's death because it might set back his progress. I did not agree with this at all. Why lie to him? Why make him suffer later? I gritted my teeth and objected but my parents agreed with the doctor. I guess they didn't want to lose another baby.
We buried Sean that Friday in our hometown of Montgomery, Louisiana. He would've been surprised at the number of people that came to his memorial service and burial. I honestly didn't believe that Sean had touched that many people. There was close to two hundred or more at his memorial service and one hundred or more at his burial. On that day (September 2, 1994) we said our last good-byes to my beloved brother. Everyone, that is, except Danny who was still in the hospital.
Danny was a miracle to behold. He recovered at an astounding rate. He recovered so fast that two weeks after the doctors told us he was going to be a vegetable for the rest of his life, he was release from the hospital. He didn't need any rehabilitation either. I think the hardest part for him was being told that Sean had died, two weeks after it had happened. He doesn't remember that day and what happened and the doctors say he may never remember. Maybe it's for the best. Today, though; he is a father of a beautiful baby boy and he is going to college and is about to be married. Before he entered college they tested his IQ and he tested at 196. He is truly a miracle walking.
My mother and father weren't handling Sean's death too well until Danny's son, Allen, was born and they got even better with the addition of my children Morgan and Logan. They are devoting all of their time and energy to being the best grandparents that they can be and they are truly happy now.
It's been almost 10 years and I have yet to, truly, deal with Sean's death. I've only learned to deal with his absence and the pain a little better. After he died I was in a denial of sorts. My rational mind knew that he was gone but my heart couldn?t, or wouldn?t, accept that it. As a result, I had nightmares every night for almost a year.
I haven't been able to handle it because I don't know how to handle a situation like this one. How do you cope with the loss of someone you thought would always be around? How do you cope with the loss of a brother? How do you deal with the feeling that, in some way, you let your younger brother down and now he's dead? How do you cope with the loss of a younger brother? The loss of a dear friend?
Sean was a wonderful guitarist, an adept saxophonist, and my brother; he was also my friend. He was always there with a smile and it seemed like nothing could upset him. He always cheered me up and cheered me on. He was always there to give me a hug when I needed one; and he always told me he loved me.
Sometimes, late at night, when I'm listening to the radio and one of his favorite songs comes on; or when I see something that reminds me of him, I cry. I tear up for the loss of an innocent. I cry because I miss him and I want him back. I want to see him again. I want him to see all the good things his family has accomplished. I want him to hold his nephews and niece. Most of all, though; I want to tell him that I'm sorry for all the bad things that I ever did to him.
The biggest regret is that I never told him I loved him. Not a day goes by that I don't cry and regret that fact.
I pray that, if my brother is listening; if you're watching over your big brother and family, remember and know that I love you. We will all be with you in due time. Be patient and keep us safe. We love you and miss you. I love you and miss you.
When you are born you cry and the world rejoices. When you die the world cries and you rejoice.


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'Dying for being different is still better than living as a Sheep'-anon
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TheCarolinaScotsman 
Posted: 14-Aug-2004, 12:59 AM
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Michael

I've never had to see or be part of such a horrific scene, but I do know what it is like to lose a brother. In my case, I was the youngest and my brother, Sam, was the oldest (Mary was in the middle). For most of my childhood, I worshiped the ground that Sam walked on. Yes, he picked on me at times too, sometimes unmercifully, and yes I cried when he did "mean" things, but I still loved him and would have followed him anywhere.

I remember one summer when I was five or six and Sam was thirteen or fourteen, he decided that he was going to take me on a morning adventure. We packed a couple of cans of sardines and some crackers for lunch; water was carried in an empty coke bottle with a cork stopper; a couple of cane poles and a can of worms finished off the supplies for the day. Sam led me off across the fields behind the house. On through the woods, another field or two and some more woods, finally we came to a wooden railroad trestle bridge over a creek where it widened out into a swimming hole. Some big kids that Sam knew were already there skinny dipping. We settled down on the other side of the trestle from the other kids and started fishing. Of course, with the nearby disturbance of the others splashing, shouting and playing, no respectable fish were within a mile of the place. Sam was totally undeterred; he spent time pointing things out to me: some birds, funny shaped clouds, different kinds of plants, how the trestle was made, or anything else that caught his eye. After a couple of hours, we laid the poles aside and had a dip in the water ourselves. In a little while, we got out, had our sardines and crackers (which seemed a gourmet treat to me), drank our water and headed home.

For years I remembered that morning fondly, thinking how Sam had taken time to have an ?adventure? with his little brother. Decades later, I happened to mention that day to Mom. She remembered the day well, but had a different ?take? on it. Sam was in Boy Scouts at the time and was working on planning and leading hikes. When asking permission to take me he had told Mom that he would ?take good care of me?. He had a neckerchief, so if I broke my leg he could splint it; if I broke my arm, he could fix a sling; if I sprained my ankle, he could wrap it for support. He had a pocket knife so if I got bitten by a snake, he could cut me and suck out the poison; if I got stung, he could pick the stinger out with the knife. If I got a gash, he could use the neckerchief to make a tourniquet and the knife to cut a stick to twist it with. By the time he got through explaining, Mom didn?t know if she was going to see me alive again or not.

Then there was the summer Sam was eighteen and had a job as a lifeguard at the local lake. I had just finished fourth grade and couldn't swim so I signed up for lessons. As luck would have it, my class's teacher was Sam. He was extremely patient and encouraging with me. By the end of the course, I was swimming better than anyone else in the class and Sam told me how proud of me he was.

All little brothers get picked on, we all get mad and get our feelings hurt, but we also know our big brothers' are there for us. And as we grow up, we also come to understand that the hard times our brothers gave us helped prepare us for life.

In February of 1999, my brother-in-law pulled up in the yard blowing the horn. As I went out the door to see what was going on, he leaned out the car window and yelled, "Sam's dead." My first reply was, "What?" "Sam's dead." he repeated and drove off toward my Mom's house. I knew I didn't want him breaking the news like that to my mother, so I quickly told my wife what was going on and went to Mom's house. Mom was sitting at the table eating supper and my sister and brother-in-law were in the next room whispering. I said hey to Mom and went to see the others. I found out that Sam had not been feeling well and decided to stay home from work. When his wife left for work, he was sitting in an arm chair drinking a cup of tea. When she got home, he was still there, dead. He'd had a massive heart attack. My sister couldn't break the news to Mom, so it was decided I'd tell her. That was the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life. It had just been eighteen months since Dad died and though Mom had held up surprisingly well from that, she was very frail and stooped. As I broke the news, I felt as if I were physically beating Mom. I could see the instant pain, the almost uncomprehending look.

The wake was difficult. At first, I couldn't go in the room where the open casket was. Finally, with the physical support of my sons on each arm, I did go in just before they closed the casket. As the lid was lowered I could swear I saw Sam look at me with one of his big silly grins and wink as if to say "I've really got them fooled." My head knows I didn't see that, but my heart still believes it.

Sam had been very active in the church, in the "Scottish community" (Highland games, St Andrew's Society, etc.) and in Scouting. The church was filled to capacity and people were standing out front because there was no room inside. I too was amazed at the number of people who had been touched by my brother.

And afterward, I also had survivor's guilt. I'm the one who had had a heart attack and a few years later had open heart surgery. Sam wasn't supposed to have any heart problems. If only I'd pushed him to get himself checked out or if only I'd been the one to die then maybe he would still be alive.

I still miss Sam terribly. He wasn't at his daughter's wedding to give her away. He wasn't there to hold his first grandchild. There are times that I reach for the phone to tell him something and catch myself. The raw pain has subsided, but the wound never heals, not really. It may be a scar now, but it's still there.

Michael, I know your brother loved you and I know that he knew you loved him. Brothers don't always say these things; we don't want to seem too mushy, but we still know them and feel them in our hearts. Our brothers will always be with us as long as we allow them to be. All we need to do is look inside of ourselves, because they are part of us. Here's to Sean and Sam, brothers extraordinaire.





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Aaediwen 
Posted: 14-Aug-2004, 05:12 AM
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Urian, before I read the first reply to your story, I feel I must post this. There are times when the limits of technology prevent one from fully expressing the impact something has on them. As I read your story, I found it hard to comprehend that something so horrible could possibly happen. I have been through some rough times, but I cannot imagine what that would be like. And you write well too. As I read this, I felt as if it were my own family in that car. My own sibling dead. My own sibling in a coma. Eyes were watering through much of it. Unfortunately, at times like this, there is nothing that can be said to help the pain. Only to listen and be there. I'm sure you'll never get over what happened until you are re-united. Heaven knows I still miss Andrew, and he died when we were born. Hang in there, my friend. Mourn, remember, then live life. Live on, for the ones you have lost.

Now to go back and read the rest of the replies


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urian 
Posted: 14-Aug-2004, 08:50 AM
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I was feeling almost silly for posting that last night. I rarely admit to being human and that was about as human as one can get.

Bill, thank you for sharing that story. It sounds like Sam was a great brother. I couldnt make it to the end without crying. I am at a loss for words any greater than thank you.

Anthony, thank you for listening. Oft times all a soul needs is someone to listen to it for a brief moment. SO much healing can be donw in the simple act of listening.


(An excerpt from a talk with a friend of mine last night..and the word are so true)
siblings are extensions of yourself. So....it is like losing part of you.
Count your blessing that you were allowed to have them for whatever time and never forget your love for them or their love for you and they will go through life with you.




I toast our loved ones that are no longer with us
I toast those that were taken before their time...before they could fully realize their potential
I toast those that have left us in this realm but who are still with us in spirit
Those that talk to us on the wind and touch us with the warm rays of the sun
Cheers..we remember..we miss..we love.. we live beer_mug.gif

peace be with you all
michael

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Posted: 14-Aug-2004, 08:58 AM
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Urian and Carolinascotsman

Wow, what can anyone say to these posts. The things that struck me so hard besides the sheer suffering of loss, is how very lucky you guys were to have those bonds with your brothers. Even if they were severed too soon. I have never been that close with my siblings. Even if we all live into our nineties, I will never know what you have. You have had to endure tragety, but you have been blessed in the time you did have together.

And, I wager, you are more appreciative of the people you have in your life today than most of us are.

I thank both of you for sharing. We all like to post the silly and goofy. It takes courage to post the real. But what you might not realize is that the rest of us are touched in ways you can't predict by your sharing.


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urian 
Posted: 14-Aug-2004, 09:12 AM
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One thing losing my brother has taught me is an appreciation for those who are still here because you never know. Tomorrow may not come for one or both of you so why not say whats in your heart.

anyway...I need to go now...
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TheCarolinaScotsman 
Posted: 14-Aug-2004, 01:34 PM
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QUOTE (urian @ 14-Aug-2004, 10:12 AM)
Tomorrow may not come for one or both of you so why not say whats in your heart.


Amen. Well said my friend.
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Angel Whitefang (Rider) 
Posted: 14-Aug-2004, 03:25 PM
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Urian,
Thank you for sharing this, Few of us truly understand the tragedy you have shared but for those of us who do, you have helped us heal just a bit more. Mo words can ever take your pain away, as words can not take away my pain but in each other we can find some friendly comfort and understanding.

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urian 
Posted: 14-Aug-2004, 04:55 PM
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I think one of my favorite quotes from a friend is:" Misery loves company. But it is that company that can lift you to places where misery cannot reach"
I think it pertains to the sharing of ones sorrow with people that care.
I dont know how to express , properly, the gratitude I feel towards my friends here. Just know that, in the short time I have been here, many of you have become dear to me and you all have a plce in my heart.

anyway
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Posted: 14-Aug-2004, 05:05 PM
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My heart goes out to you. I have (thank God) not lost a sibling, however, I have lost a very good friend to a car accident and I lost my father to cancer. It is very difficult to lose someone close to you. If ther is anything I can do for you, please let me know.


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Haldur 
Posted: 04-Dec-2004, 06:20 PM
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Urian,

I have to say that I feel for you and your family. Losing a loved one who is so close is never an easy ordeal. I honestly believe your brother knows you love him and probably always did. Some expressions are left unspoken; those are the ones that really matter. Though you might have been a bit harsh on your brother at times, that doesn't mean he passed on with hateful feelings toward you. There are things we cannot change but can only survey with an open mind and heart. No one knows what the afterlife brings, but I earnestly believe you will see him again someday.

I pray for you and your family. May you overcome as best as you can.


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"After all is said and done, a lot more will be said than done."

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