Day 379

Damian, 

Today is Christmas. It's been a little over a year since we lost you but here we are. Here I am. 

As is always the case, I miss you. I am relieved to tell you, however, that it's not with the soul crushing hopelessness and despair that marked the first few days, weeks and months following your death.  Your absence still hurts, but it's different now – less acute, less omnipresent. I am confident that I can live out my days like this, even if nothing else changes. I can live with these feelings. What I felt in the beginning was not sustainable or livable – it was excruciating. So much so that I all but begged to be put out of my misery. I think I stuck it out because I felt I owed it to your mom. She had already been through so much. I wanted to do what I could to help her survive this ordeal. I'm glad that I did. 

Your mom is also now in a much better place. It's taken a lot of work, but she is able to laugh again and enjoy herself. We went to a party last night and both of us had a good time. It felt good to get out. Felt even better to see your mom having a good time, telling stories, talking about you with a smile on her face. She's come a very long way. 

Today, I sent a couple dozen texts to people who have shown up and supported me and your mom over the last year. I wanted them all to know how much their support helped me, helped us, get past the worst of this. We always talk about it "taking a village" in the context of raising children, but I've come to see first hand that this axiom is much broader in scope. If not for the help of family, friends and colleagues, it is easy to imagine me being in a very different place. One that is not filled with the light that I see now. 

Speaking of light, your mom and I lit a candle tonight for dinner in your honor. We put it at your place at the table. After we got done eating, I spent a few minutes seeing you through the flame, sitting in your chair with your big mop of red hair and conspiratorial grin. That gave my heart a little squeeze but it was worth it to remember how you looked. (Full disclosure: I can't take credit for the candle idea. That came by way of a new friend that I met through work. Sunita and her husband lost her son Arnav to cancer 4 years ago. She told me they light a candle in honor of Arnav's memory during special occasions. Now that I know about it, I'd like to do the same for you.) The next candle that I light for you will probably be next Saturday or Sunday as we say goodbye to 2022 and welcome 2023. 

You were a great son, Damian. I could not have asked for any better. It was my honor and privilege to be your dad. 

Sending you a HUGE hug wherever you are. 

Loving you now and forever, 

Dad


Comments

  1. I have redrafted this message maybe a dozen times now. But I need to get something out there, so here it goes:

    I met Damian back in 6th grade. Back in the brief era where he had a streak of blue in his hair. We shared 3 classes together, but one of them, being Earth science, was the most notable. I remember on our first test of the year, no one in our class scored a 100 on the test. No one but Damian. As a reward for his efforts, our science teacher awarded him with free time to play games or do what he wanted to on his computer, and I was ENVIOUS. Wanting to learn from the man himself, I approached him and asked for his methods of study. The dude effortlessly explained every missed question I had and offered help. My mind was blown that someone so young was so intelligent on all fronts, and was also willing to spend his free time helping me.

    As the years continued, I, alongside some other friends (Tristan, Noah, if any of those names ring a bell) developed a strong friendship with Damian and we frequently played online games and chatted. I remember one summer between 7th and 8th grade, we began hanging out at Damian's house. We'd spend our time watching King of the Hill at night and hosting Super Smash Brothers tournaments during the day. Regardless of the situation, Damian was always welcoming and accommodating to us. (I even remember one time where you guys cooked up some delicious steaks on the char-grill!)

    As I entered highschool, with Damian attending Lakeview and I attending a public school, we didn't see many opportunities to converse or hang out, but we would still talk every once in a while. The last time I saw Damian in person was actually at a Green Day concert at Truist Park. Completely oblivious to the fact he was even in attendance, he randomly approached me while I was walking to my seats and we had a brief moment to catch up.

    I still remember the day, December 11th. I was eating at a Texas Roadhouse with my family when I received a text from one of Damian's friends regarding what happened earlier that day. Being 16 at the time and unfamiliar with how to handle it, I simply went outside in the cold December night and began scrolling through memories of him. I remember having these brief moments of denial for the following weeks, where I would think that this was all faked in my mind, however would be hit with the harsh reality. I attended the celebration of life, and for the following months, would often think of Damian a few times a week.

    I am not sure if you will ever see this post, but I want you to know your son was and still is deeply loved. Damian was seriously one of the most laid-back, generous, and effortlessly funny people I had the pleasure of knowing and y'all did a wonderful job raising him. Every time he would have us over, both Damian and you guys were kind and accommodating. I also hope that you and Mrs. Beisner are doing well and making it through life. You two were both insanely kind the few times we interacted. I have y'all in my prayers.

    Fly high, brother

    Kanon

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    Replies
    1. Kanon,
      I have not looked at the blog in well over a year so this reply is LONG overdue. My sincere apologies for the delay.

      Thank you for taking the time to write to me and share your memories of Damian. It warms my heart to hear what he was like with his peers. His mom and I always said that Damian was an "old soul” - wise beyond his years and very empathetic. The experiences you shared reinforce our understanding of who he was and what he was about in the best way possible.

      I do hope that you are doing well and living your best life.

      All my best,

      Chris Beisner

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