I met Sean when he was our beach manager at Hawaiian Fire and I was working in the office. He was amazing with the guests, especially kids, and they always had such wonderful things to say about their experience getting to surf with him. After the tours, he'd come through the office (often in a bad mood or grumbling about something or other) but I always felt that the gruff exterior he showed outwardly was a bit of a show and I never fully bought into it. Over the years we developed a friendship and I loved getting to hear his opinions on books, food, running (this was when I was still doing marathons too) and life in general.

After I left Hawaii, there was a time I was able to visit him in Utah, I was lucky to meet both parents and some of the siblings, to see your childhood home. He was so thoughtful and made sure that I really got to enjoy the few days I had there, including a harrowing trip to the gun range (which pretty much scarred me for life - that is one thing I most definitely did not enjoy) which required mountain therapy after... It was beautiful to be up in the mountains and to breathe in the crisp air, it was just what I needed to bring my heart rate back down.  

We exchanged emails a few times a year and he always encouraged my writing and photography. At one point he went through the trouble to send a fountain pen and a set of pencils with a friend who was coming to visit me in Turkey - he told me that a writer should have "proper tools" for writing. I always urged him to add more dialogue to his own writing, but I think that perhaps is one thing that he struggled with - he had such a clear voice of his own, and so many thoughts in that brilliant mind that I wonder if it made it difficult to put the words into the mouths of his characters.  

Sean was one of a kind and I will truly miss hearing from him. Sending my aloha to the Kelly ohana and all those who loved him. 

My best friend is Dylan, one of Sean's brothers. The tall one. The tall blonde one. The one in the middle. Who are we kidding; all of Sean's brothers are in the middle somewhere and taller than he and blonde(ish). Sean was older than I so we never socialized. I was a sophomore in high school when he returned from his mission to Hawaii. That experience changed him, as missions often do. Dylan and I were playing basketball in their backyard. Sean came out and we chatted a bit about his mission and this and that. I always thought it was cool when older people would take the time to talk with younger guys. 

Our conversation turned to the basketball he played on his mission with very large Polynesians. Or maybe I should call it baskfootball or rugbyball, or "I'm closing my eyes and driving to the hoop and if you're still standing, I didn't do it right so I'll do a better job next time.....ball. 

Sean and I decided to play each other. I was taller and had enough size to not crumble when he rumbled, so our games were pretty good. He went to work putting his new Hawaiian food body to work. I scrutinized his play to expose his weakness--like when you are knocking down a brick wall with a sledgehammer and you swing and swing to exhaustion until the wall just gives and slowly falls over. He would lower his shoulder and stampede to the hoop. I ingeniously absorbed these blows with the air in my lungs. It was some pretty thunderous ball.

The contusion inducing style of play wasn't even the worst part. Along with Sean's wrecking ball style of play, his elbows had apparently developed a biological defensive mechanisms. Similar to how gravel defends itself against the flesh on the knee of a kid wiping out on his bike We'll just say they were rough. Sean's elbows would flail about as if he were swatting away a bee--with his elbows. I attempted to avoid contact with his shock and awe elbows, but I was not quick enough. His gravel edged elbow grazed my nose, and I began to bleed. Although I had "bloody nose," it was not because of the impact. There wasn't much contact at all. Sean's 8 grit sandpaper elbow had literally scraped off the skin of the outside of my nose. 

Sean was legitimately apologetic. We laughed at the irony.

We played on.

I didn't know he was going to be my brother-in-law someday. All I knew was that my own brother had a new friend over to hang out and they were both interested in watching me fiddle with my new Atari 400. A slick, 8k RAM, membrane-keyboard computer with a tape drive, I had equipped myself for the future without really understanding what that future was going to entail. Sean, true to his character to a degree I did not yet know, asked the crucial question: "What can you do with it?" 

I didn't know that Sean's own father (later, my father-in-law) had purchased an IBM PC with green CRT so he had as much or more exposure to home computers as I did. Ever eager to impress, I tried to show him and my brother a few tricks. I started out with a BASIC program window, which ran out of power to impress pretty quickly. So I defaulted to loading games and playing them. This usually worked with most people and Sean seemed impressed enough, but it was obvious to anyone familiar with the original, iconic Atari 2800 -- not a computer, just a games machines -- that my Atari 400 couldn't play as many cool games as the original 2800 could. 

I wish I could remember the specific words he said, I cannot. But I do recall the sense he left in his wake -- that this new thing was fine and all, but he had other things to consider spending his time on. My tendency is to invest this small moment with significance -- to see it as a first introduction to a man and a mind that would always be searching and not necessarily focused on finding. I imagine that where he is now, Sean has found some new things worth considering and is carefully scrutinizing them to determine whether he should spend his time on them. Maluhia to you, Sean.