Tribute to my friend Seamus

Early this week I learned of the passing of a dear friend of mine, Seamus Breslin. The news came as a shock to me partly because it drew attention to the fact that I haven't spoken to him since about 2002 and partly because his strength of mind and body was the stuff of legends.

I met Seamus through my work with a non-profit in Albuquerque called Hawks Aloft. I was working as an environmental educator with the organization and Seamus came to us as a volunteer. The story of Seamus arriving in Albuquerque is as follows. He was living in Ireland and met an American who was visiting the country. He and this American woman got along well and some time later he heard she was pregnant. Seamus had been both a commercial fisherman and a merchant marine. His life had been full of adventure as well as tragedy. A tragic accident on a BP oil tanker had left him paralyzed from the waist down. An anchor had crushed his torso and broken his leg just above his ankle (bones were snapped completely). His family was convinced that Seamus would not live to leave the hospital. For whatever reason and with some hidden strength, Seamus left the hospital and taught himself to walk again. One benefit of this accident was that BP paid him disability for the rest of his life allowing him to pursue his interests untethered by financial woes. Seamus made a vow to come to America to raise his daughter until she was 16 at which time he would return to Ireland--the country he loved dearly.

While in Albuquerque he volunteered as a field biologist for a number of different people and organizations. Seamus had an unbelievable amount of knowledge of wildlife and ecology--all self-taught. He would take on any task asked of him. When he first arrived in New Mexico, he didn't have a car--nor did he want one. Seamus found a bike at a thrift store and rode it everywhere--sometimes with his daughter in the baby seat behind him. He once rode from Albuquerque to Chaco Canyon (a distance of about 140 miles one way) in the summer (through some pretty grueling desert terrain I might add). He rode up to a Hawk Watch site at the top of the Manzano Mountains on a trail that is difficult for some to hike--he was unstoppable!

Once while we were doing Flammulated Owl suveys in the Zuni Mountains, Seamus took off from base camp to the owl site with a marine boat battery in each hand, told us he'd meet us up there, and marched off making it to the site long before any of us carrying much lighter loads ever arrived. He had the strength of a mule--and sometimes the personality. Seamus could be exasperating and infuriating even while being the most helpful volunteer. He loved to tease, and I have many memories of catching his slow sheepish grin out the corner of my eye as he was having me on. He revealed his personality to us in that same slow, deliberate way--very quiet and reserved at first, but becoming more outspoken as time went on.

Seamus was finally taken by pancreatitus at the age of 46. It seems such a young age, but I think Seamus experienced more in those 46 years than some do in 92. My friend Hannah reminded me of the words Seamus used for her when she was leaving New Mexico to return to New Zealand after spending the summer with us. He said, "I shan't miss you, Hannah; but I'll think of you often." Missing implies regret--and I'm quite sure Seamus had very few regrets. I use those same words to him--so long, Seamus, I'll think of you often.