Seamus Oneal: Renaissance Man, Beloved Family Member and Partner

Seamus Oneal was one of the victims of the 9/11 tragedy, and deserves to be honored and remembered for his tremendous contributions to humanity and to his family. As you look at the picture of Seamus, you notice first his warm and friendly gaze. He is an attractive man, but more than the nice eyes and warm smile, he just appears to be the kind of guy who would give you advice, perhaps offer you something to drink and certainly offer kind words.

This we know: Seamus Oneal lives in American History as one of those who fell victim to a profoundly terrible act against humanity, the 9/11 attack in New York City, New York, on September 11th 2001. Despite the horror of that event, we choose, as Americans, to honor our people with pride and love. To that end, I wish to honor and remember Seamus Oneal.

He was the proud father of three children who miss him tremendously, and partner to Tom Miller, who considered Oneal a hero.

Oneal worked for Cantor Fitzgerald, a financial firm. When his children visited him at work, apparently he was proud to introduce them to his co-workers and show them the views of the city.

Oneal graduated from the University of Baltimore in 1997 with a master's degree, and a Memorial Garden honors his death, and that of two other graduates.

Oneal was a renaissance man in the sense that he seemed to live so many different lives; he was an actor, a composer of music, a father, a bed & breakfast owner, and of course, now lives in our collective memories and will be honored forever as one of the many who fell to the 9/11 tragedy. However, the bigger and more important story here is how he was loved and honored by his children and his partner in their most heartfelt writing, published on the Cantor Fitzgerald website.

Elen, Isaac, and Anna Oneal, children of this apparently amazing gentleman, posted this tribute to their beloved father, and I find it moving beyond words. I think you will too:

We lost a wonderful father when the World Trade Center collapsed on that horrible day in September. He was 52 years old, and Manager of Customer Integration at eSpeed. Dad was so vibrant and full of life; he always talked as if he would live forever. Working for Cantor Fitzgerald was like a dream come true for him. He was so proud of his office, and loved introducing us to all his co-workers and showing us the fantastic view. He had as many careers as such a multi-talented person could expect to have; he was an actor, social worker, an officer in the military, and a composer of beautiful choral and symphonic music. But most important to him was his relationship with us, his children, and to us, he was a great dad. We always knew how much he loved us. He didn't like ending phone conversations without saying so. We could tell him anything, and he would not judge us. He believed in each of us as separate, unique individuals and was constantly encouraging us to be the best we could. He wanted us to be happy, and was content to let us choose our own paths. We knew he worried a lot about us. We tried to let him know that everything would be okay, that we would be okay. He would always promise us that he would live until he was 106, and we believed him. We never imagined that we would lose him so soon. And as much as he loved his children, Dad also loved his partner, Tom. Tom was one of the most wonderful things ever to happen to Dad. Tom has always been a loyal, caring friend and ally. We are so grateful to him for everything he has done for Dad and for us.We were so unprepared to lose you, Dad. We feel your absence in everything. At family gatherings sometimes there is a pause as we look around, waiting for the missing person to arrive. A moment passes, and we realize we have been waiting for you. We loved the way you laughed, the way your eyes crinkled up when you smiled. Some of our memories are so simple: tickle fights when we were younger, visiting Civil War battlefields, walking around New York together, going out for dinner. Without your voice, our world is so much quieter. When you died, the world became a little flatter, less joyful. Without your presence, we feel a missing link. We miss you, Daddy. We love you always (http://www.cantorfamilies.com/).

The tribute written by Seamus's partner is every bit as moving, and is published on the same website:

At the most cynical time of my life, when I was smugly certain that I knew what life was about, I encountered a most remarkable man.Seamus Oneal was remarkable in two ways. His 52 years encompassed an astonishing spectrum of pursuits and interests. Unafraid at any point to change careers totally, his life was a list of divergent, successful achievements. He was an accomplished composer and musician, military officer, computer specialist, office administrator, bed and breakfast proprietor, and home-schooled his eldest daughter. But above all he was a loving father and partner, a man whose profound love of family and humanity eclipsed his personal needs or wants. The depth of his devotion for his three children is incalculable.In an attempt to relieve the suffering of others, he volunteered himself as a human test subject for an AIDS vaccine. His financial support of chosen charities was consistent.More notable, however, was his passion for life. Seamus understood fully how sumptuous and precious life is. He took nothing for granted and intended to taste and feel and hear all life had to offer. His zeal for living was contagious, but no one could equal his ability to live as fully as he did.Seamus wanted only three things in return. He wanted to be loved. He wanted to take care of those he loved. And he wanted to live a long and full lifeI learned much from Seamus. I learned that a man is not defined by his career, a career is merely one means of increasing the man. I learned that age and maturity are not driven by the amount of years a man has lived, but by what he has learned in life. He taught me that old age is not inevitable, it is a state of mind, as is youth. And he taught me that true love cannot have boundaries, walls or limits ? love must be complete, unconditional and unselfish. And most importantly he showed me that life is rich and lush, to be fully savored without timidity.One Monday morning in August I left a card for Seamus to find. On the cover was a vintage black-and-white photograph of a little boy in shorts running home with a long loaf of bread under his arm. Inside I wrote, 'You know why this card reminded me of you? Because you're my hero.' We lost a lot of heroes on September 11. This one was very special to many of us.The world has too few Seamus Oneals and this one was stolen from us far too early. He was not done living. My life is completely changed for having known him. He was not only, as one of his Cantor Fitzgerald associates said to me, "the finest man I ever knew?, he was one of the most remarkable men I have ever known " a man of unlimited range of interest, intellect and talent; a man who singularly understood the intensity of life and lived it passionately. Seamus showed me the true joy there is in living, in loving and in being loved. I know he will be with me as I complete that life he touched so profoundly.
Tom Miller, Partner

Tom, I hope that you read this remembrance of Seamus and know that my heart feels your loss deeply. I pray that you are moving forward, and that each day brings a bit more comfort, and a bit less pain.

I will include a moving remembrance of Seamus written recently by one of his bosses, Jennie Barret of Manasses, Virgina:

July 07, 2008
Even though the years have passed, I find myself thinking of Seamus often. I had the fortunate experience of having Seamus work for me just before he made the transition out of the DC area to New York. Seamus was a true, strong, hardworking man with the heart of gold and integrity that would go on forever. I will treasure knowing him as an employee and meeting him as a fun-loving individual. The image I will have always burnt into my memory of him is the day he came to work and stood in my cubical wearing a kilt. That is a proud and honest man. I will always think of him and will continue to miss him. He brought joy to those around him and made the world a better place for it ()

Her memory of his wearing a kilt to work, and her specific words of "fun-loving" and "joy" teach me that Seamus Oneal was a man who truly knew how to live, how to treat others, how to prioritize values and inspire others.

I recall some advice given me some decades back by a dear friend. He noted that I was often depressed over the loss of a beloved brother, and gave me this advice: "Don't grieve his death; he lived so joyfully...learn from that, and remember the happiness. He wouldn't want you to grieve long. Be happy, as he would have wanted you to do that...". If I can offer any solace to those who grieve for Seamus, it would be that this handsome fellow apparently lived with great joy. That is one gift he gave all of you.

Today, I honor your memory, Seamus O'Neal. The world is a better place for people who inspire their loved ones, and we will not forget you. You truly knew how to live, and your full and rich life inspires us still. Thank you.

Information for this tribute was collected from several online sources. I welcome any and all additional information about Seamus Oneal, and will gladly ammend or edit any notes as requested by family. Debra Harman, 2009.

On the Farm

Well. My husband beat me out of bed, and I am sure he is four miles out of town, on Dad's farm. We both enjoy this little haven very much, but for only 18 acres, find it to be one of the most physically challenging havens that we've ever encountered.

The two-acre pond needs its input pipes covered with 1" wire, so we are scrambling around the banks, wrestling with wire, grass, and the difficulties of being submerged in water whilst constructing covers. Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife is viewing and touring the property on the 18th of August, to see these covers, and to sign off on a permit allowing us to put grass carp in, to eat up the Chara Vulgaris, a nasty algae that has overtaken the pond.

All I can say is, those fish better be hungry and grateful, because we are working our tails off for them. I had better get going. Two's company in the pond.

Rooster: Family Dynamics

When I think about sibling relationships, I always think of that funnier-than-hell writer (David...what's his last name?) who wrote about the differences between he and his brother, a cocky, foul-mouthed lad who got dubbed "Rooster". Rooster uttered long strings of expletive deletives and grunted and farted, and it was a mystery to that writer how he and Rooster could have somehow sprung from the same dna pool, as he was this educated and fairly courteous person.

That's how I feel about my sister and I. We are so different...not that either of us are crude like Rooster, but boy do we have differences...

She loves spending money on herself, and having money spent on her. She is so thin, blonde, perfect. I am so not thin, not blonde, and let my hair air dry. She doesn't work, and is clinging to her adult children, still cooking for her 23-year-old son, and putting his food on the table for him...Picking up and putting away for the 20-year-old daughter, even cleaning her room. This all appalls me, a high school teacher who is constantly pushing independence.

And I'm sure that my lifestyle and opinions grate her too, so it all goes both ways, but it is, after all, my blog! Anyway, this visit was pretty good. We saw Dad through a heart procedure--the reason for her visit. He is doing so much better, and can actually walk now without panting. We saw him through a visit from a respiratory therapist, and he now sleeps with a CPAP machine for people with sleep apnea (if you or your spouse or anyone you know snores or stops breathing at night, then snorts to wake up, run don't walk to get it checked out). We even drove to Yakima, Washington to see Mom, a lady with her own health issues. So my sister and I, as different as we are, did a good job of doing all the right things for our parents. We shared laughter and plenty of drinks, and I spent an appalling amount of money on her (remember, she likes that).

She flew back to Prescott Valley yesterday, and is safely tucked in to her community. And now it's time for a few deep breaths.

Writing About September 11th

Moving back to the USA wasn't easy for me. I had been living in Cambodia for eight years, teaching, publishing, and marketing advertisements for a publication that my ex and I established during the uneasy 1997 era. When it became sadly apparent that I needed to escape that country--imagine a geographical relocation from Cambodia to the USA, and yes, I am an American!--I came back.

Cattle call at the local Nordstrom's yielded me a retail sales job, perhaps because amidst that room of gorgeous 20 and 30-somethings, I sat across from one of the interviewers and told him about my time in Cambodia...learning the language to work there. Working for NGO's including the EU, JICA, Hope International (which kind of was odd for me, given my adversity to the "rice christians" over there). More on that later. Anyway, got that job. I was told later, by Erik, that I was the only one hired that day.

So my job started in July of 2001, and I learned how to be a "shoe dog," rushing up and down stairs, and scooting sideways to fetch some petulant woman the same damn shoe in four different colors...

On the morning of September 11th, 2001, my father knocked on my bedroom door. I "had to come see this." This was a huge image of the twin towers being assaulted. Now remember, I was already in shock, having moved back from a country where people used AK47's to shoot at rain clouds. A book falling on the floor could send me jumping under a table. The fourth of July events a few months previous had me nervous and skittish, remembering the two-day war of 1997.

I was floored with the sight. Dad had bought a big-screen tv, one of the tall and deep models that came out first. It was almost too much to look at. In fact, I got ready for work and went in. The mall was a ghost town. I was glad that Americans weren't being the materialistic and superficial shoppers that day. And everyone was sent home, although I, the new kid on the block, got stuck in a freight elevator with a hundred pair of shoes, and had to climb down a ladder to escape.

In the hours and days that followed, I was alternatively shocked and grief-stricken. I could not believe that I had left a developing country with all its insecurities to now be sitting in the land of plenty, with thousands of good people dead on the ground, and some of our most beautiful buildings levelled. That the Pentagon had been attacked really shook me. Anyway. I have so many thoughts about that day, that time. I am glad, so glad, that we have moved forward in time a bit.

In my dad's wallet is a small fortune cookie paper that says "Time Heals." He put it there after my only brother was killed in a car accident. It has been a long time since my brother died, and I can say that although we are all healed, to an extent, we have never, ever forgotten anything of his life, or of his death. And that is how we, as Americans, should approach the devastating memory of September 11. Healed? perhaps not quite yet. Forgotten? No. Never.