Day 164

Dawn and I went to Lakeview this afternoon for the dedication of bench the school purchased in honor of Damian. The bench itself is beautiful. A very nice shade of blue, which is fitting since the school colors are blue and orange. 

May 23, 2022 - New memorial bench at Lakeview Academy in honor of Damian

May 23, 2022 - The plaque that bears Damian's name

All of Damian's close friends (minus one) were there along with some of their moms. Also present were some of the teachers and school administrators. After a few solemn words by the (new) headmaster, Mr. Simpson, he asked if Dawn or I would like to say anything. My voice choked by emotion I didn't see coming, I stumbled my way through a thank you to the school for their generosity of spirit in remembering Damian, expressed again how Damian loved Lakeview, and thanked those present for being there. At least I think that's what I said. It's a bit of blur. I then encouraged Damian's friends to have fun on the bench as that is what he would have wanted. Not missing a beat, they all jumped on the bench at the same time for a group photo. Damian had (has?) great friends. I will miss seeing them. 

May 23, 2022 - Damian's close school friends sitting on his bench

Seeing the bench with Damian's name on it, along with his birthday and the date he died, was another sobering moment of reality. This is real. This happened to me, to us, and I, we, can't unwind it. Coupled with the gray skies and intermittent rain, I should have expected it, but once again, I was caught off guard. Leaving school, my mood would best be described as somber. 

Walking into our counseling session with Andrea a few minutes later, I wasn't in a talkative mood but I did open up some as we got into the meat of our discussion. We talked about the bench and what it symbolizes. We also spoke about Damian's ashes and what we were going to do them. We have some ideas but to realize them all would require splitting up his ashes into at least 3 parts. This doesn't feel right to me. His ashes should be kept whole. If we decide to scatter them or bury them, they should all go to the same place at the same time. Ironic considering that I claim to be neither religious nor superstitious, but I feel strongly about this. Someday, we may settle on a single place of permanence, or I may relax and agree to splitting his ashes; but for now, to keep things simple, they will stay with us.  

At one point in our talk with Andrea, Dawn mentioned something about a movie of our lives based on the aftermath of losing Damian and how we weathered the storm. Her point was that the central message of the movie shouldn't be about what we lost, but about who we became as people as a result. Most importantly, that she didn't want to be known as "the mom who lost her son" but as "Dawn Beisner" whose life story happens to include the tragic loss of her son Damian a few months shy of his 16th birthday. As Dawn was explaining this to Andrea, my mind wandered off envisioning the last scene of the movie in my head. 

An old man shuffles his way across a parking lot towards a brick building. He's well into his 80s by the look of him. As he gets near the corner of the building, he looks down one side and then the other clearly looking for something but unsure of where to go. He then proceeds down the short side of the building. After walking past a large flower pot, he sees an old faded blue bench pushed up tight against the building. He stops abruptly and stares at the bench. His shoulders sag a little more as he looks at it. 

 

There is a plaque on the bench with some of the letters deeply faded, some obscured by a patina of dirt and pollen. He puts his thumb in his mouth as he walks over to the bench. Bending over, he begins to gently wipe away the grime on the plaque with his moist thumb. He wipes his dirty thumb on his pants before licking it again and wiping some more. He does this three or four more times before he stops and stands upright. The name "Damian Beisner" now clearly visible albeit fairly faded in spots. The old man says, "Hey, Kiddo. It's good to see you again...Mind if I sit with you?"

The old man sits down on the bench his right arm stretched out along the top. The plaque just below the crook of his outstretched arm. "I know it's been a long time since I've been here but your mom and I had places to go. Things we wanted to do...Before it was our time to join you." He takes a long pause before speaking again. "I never stopped thinking about you. And we never stopped loving you." The man's eyes grow moist. 

Just then a gangly teen of 14 or 15 comes walking around the corner. "Oh, hey" he says as he sees the old man sitting on the bench. "Hey, yourself," the old man answers back. They stare at each other for a few seconds before the teen asks "Um... were you just talking to someone?" The old man nods his head slowly and says, "Yeah, I was talking to my son." The teen looks around trying to make sense of the situation before giving up with a shrug of his shoulders. He turns back to the man and says simply, "Cool. Mind if I sit down? I need to do some research for my robotics project." Thinking the man may not like the intrusion he quickly adds, "I like sitting out here. It's quiet." The old man sits up straight and gestures to the other end of the bench "By all means". As the teen sits down, the old man says, "My son and I would love to hear to more about your robotics project." The teen looks at the old man and then at the space between them. "Uh...there is no one else here, sir." The old man pats the top of the bench just above the plaque. "Not in the traditional sense, no. But he's here...in spirit." The teens eyes dart to the plaque. It takes a moment, but understanding begins to wash over him. "Oh. I, um... I'm, uh..." The old man looks out into the adjacent woods and says, "It's ok. He's been gone a long time. Long before you were born. I just needed to come back and see him here...In this place." Another long pause before he adds, "Damian...my son loved robotics so I would love to hear about what you're working on." The teen and the old man lock eyes one more time before the teen says, "Are you familiar with how artificial intelligence is supported via neural networks on infinitely distributed virtual quantum computers?" The old man chuckles, "Most of what you just said is gibberish to me but don't let that stop you from telling me all about it." The teen thinks about this for a couple of seconds before launching into what by all appearances is going to be a very long explanation as the camera zooms out the shot growing ever wider and from a higher altitude.