A friend of mine recently turned me onto the blog Sean of the South, written by author Sean Dietrich. He writes personal, interesting essays about everyday life and people told through his insightful and humorous viewpoint. There’s also a Sean of the South podcast. I instantly liked his writing (he blogs daily) before I knew how much he and I had in common: both Southerners, both singer/songwriters, both of us lost our fathers to suicide.
Sean Dietrich’s new novel, Stars of Alabama, has just been released. Look for it in your local bookstore, published by Thomas Nelson. He talks about the launch of his book in his blog post titled Today You must read that post; it’s really good.
In the post, Sean talks about his father and how he was an avid reader. After his father’s death, young Sean wanted to read all the books his father had left behind.
“When he died, I was twelve, and his books were scattered all over the house. Hundreds of them. And each book reminded me that he was gone forever.” — Sean Dietrich
I couldn’t believe the first book of his father’s Sean waded through was Papillon. And I can relate to his pain in reading it as he says “And I hated it. It was boring. I would have much rather been reading about Joe and Frank Hardy, the sons of Fenton Hardy, defenders of America.” A few years ago, my husband gathered us all around to watch a family movie. He wanted to find a classic that was a “must-see.” After he perused his Steve McQueen collection, he selected Papillon. He reminds me he couldn’t choose Bullit because I gave it to a babysitter. The boys felt robbed of two hours (or was it more? It seemed like more) of their lives after the very depressing ending. I’m not sure if the book would be better or worse than the movie.
Like Sean, I understand the need in grief to cling to legacies and even objects of people left behind. When my dad died four years ago, I had a similar feeling of wanting to be with his stuff. But I wasn’t allowed back into his apartment because it’s treated as a crime scene. The police, detective and medical examiner were all very kind to me. They all looked like they were from Central Casting: super fit, intelligent, empathetic and very attractive people. When I couldn’t remember my home address, I think the policeman knew I was in shock.
I didn’t have the nerve to ask them what I really wanted, all I could imagine doing at that point: going into Dad’s closet and covering myself with all his clothes. It felt like a visceral need, to shroud myself in his sweaters, shirts,
If I could lie in the bottom of his closet, amid his hat collection and smell the leather of his shoes, I thought I’d be okay.
A few weeks later when we cleaned out his place, I kept a lot of his clothes for my boys. It makes me happy to see them wearing a random article of his here and there, whether it’s an Armani dress shirt or a Nike windbreaker. And they appreciate it too — little pieces of my dad carry on.
And so it was for Sean: as he devoured his father’s library, imagine all the seeds being planted in his young brain that would later turn into his becoming a writer, and writing his own novel.
Sean, congratulations on Stars of Alabama. I can’t wait to read it.
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When I was searching for a link to the book Stars of Alabama, I kept inadvertently typing Stars on Alabama, reminiscent of one of the best Billie Holliday songs of all time, Stars Fell On Alabama. And no one comes close to doing it
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