Heavy Heart

I've been signing far too many funeral guest books lately. Most folks who've lived around Sandpoint for any period of time will tell you that these past few weeks have brought far too many tragedies and too many seemingly premature passings of friends.

The most recent occurred June 1 when my lifelong friend and classmate, Sean Michael Garvey died after a tough battle with Lou Gehrig's Disease. Sean is pictured above with fellow classmate Robin Melior Bernhardt at our 40th-year reunion in 2005.

My friendship with Sean dates back to our days at St. Joseph's Catholic Church Sister School. The nuns from IHM Academy in Coeur d'Alene would come up every summer after school was out and spend two weeks trying to teach us our religious education.

One day, as second graders, Sean and my brother decided to ditch Sister School. They disappeared for the entire day and were finally found by the local police hiding under the bleachers at the old sale yard on Division and Oak.

The next day Sr. Ricardus issued them a stern lecture in front of all the rest of us, who were not exactly angels. I'm sure it was not the only stern lecture either one of those boys heard over the next few years, but they both turned out to be quite successful with their lives.

Sean and I continued on through school, both graduating in 1965. That last I heard of him for several years was that he had enlisted in the Navy. Years later, while advising the drill team and attending the Spokane Lilac Armed Forces Parade, I learned that Sean was being honored as the area's Military Man of the Year.

For the next several years, on any given day, he would suddenly appear in my classroom, impeccably dressed in his white Navy recruiter uniform, walk to the black board (yes, it was green but still a black board), draw a map of the United States, put an "X" for Sandpoint and then show the students all the places he had visited in the U.S. and the world, thanks to the Navy.

The final kicker would come with a question directed to me: Marianne, how long before you'll be able to retire?

I would issue the proper grimace and then sadly answer, "When I'm 55."

"Well, I'll retire when I'm 38," he would gleefully announce. What better tactic for a Navy recruiter!

Sean retired on schedule and then went on to be successful at other positions in the business world.

I remember once hearing my journalism teacher, also the SHS sports historian, comment that Sean was probably one of the most gifted athletes he had ever seen pass through Sandpoint High. He continued to be a natural in his later years.

At our 30th-year class reunion, I was paired up with him and Ted Strohmaier for a round of golf at Hidden Lakes, now Idaho Club. Talk about intimidating; both were outstanding golfers. I had maybe swung a club a dozen or two times and was downright pathetic.

Nonetheless, Sean did not let the gap in our talents ruin the day for me. He happily gave me pointers and made sure I had a good time that day.

That was Sean.

I last saw my friend at our class reunion in 2005, where he was his usual effervescent, dynamic self. Wherever Sean happened to be, there was electricity and a zest of life as well as solid friendship and story telling.

One of my classmates commented last night that he wasn't really tight with any one group or person but always a friend to all.

Not a bad way to be remembered, if you ask me.

Sean was one of my very special friends over the years, and I must say that, like everyone else who knew him, my heart ached, knowing the struggle he endured over the past year.

We'll all miss you, Sean, but we'll never forget the wonderful memories you spread wherever you happened to be in your productive, inspirational and fun-filled life.

Thanks for your friendship.