Damian 10 years on... (Part Six)

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It was a sudden exit from this world, however inevitable it may have been. There was an appreciation for us that Damian never had a drawn out period of dying, which would have separated him from the daily patterns of life which he loved to be a part of. A few months before he died, shortly after the public outpouring of grief over Diana Spencer’s death, Damian had a similar dizzy episode which resulted in a brief period of hospitalisation. We were on holiday at the time in Cornwall, and there was an overwhelming fear that took hold of me. During that short time waiting for the ambulance I thought that I would never see my brother again. The next day when we went to the hospital Damian was as lively as ever, having made a complete recovery, and typically complaining about the vegetarian meal option available! It was perhaps this dogged determination and optimistic countenance which kept us going. Many times Damian would dryly remark “well, I’m already past my sell-by date” referring to his life expectancy of 14 years, which he was given when very young. Any time he was given, was a blessing, which Damian was always grateful for. Most of all we can also look back on Damian as a blessing for ourselves. Over the past few months, as I have set about arranging this commemoration, I have come across people familiar with Damian simply through the short legacy he left, and not even having met him. His popularity lay in aspects which are often unexpected in our culture; contradictions which remind us that our life is only transient, with greater virtues than earthly ones enduring. A friend from University, Giles Heather, recounts his memories:

I was in his year at St Benet's. We played cards and had pizza take-away in my room a couple of nights before he died. Although we all knew about his precarious health, his death still came out of the blue and made a profound impact on the college. I was a pall-bearer at his funeral and remember that occasion as intense, crammed, uncomfortable even. I keep a photograph of Damian in my (old) missal, the one where he is holding up a glass; happier times... I am so glad that a requiem is to be celebrated. I didn't know he had a brother, and was on the verge of approaching Fr Henry to ask him if he was planning such a Mass. I think about Damian and his physical and spiritual courage often.

One thing I perhaps regretted most was not being able to speak at length with Damian about the prospect of dying which he surely reflected upon. But through his creative writing perhaps we can see a glimpse of how he felt: In his screenplay ‘The Unknown Man,’ the central character Daniel is on his deathbed, having spent the story struggling to know who he was, following a sudden amnesia which had blanked out his memories. He consoles Alison, the one he loves, denying being afraid of dying, with the following words:

Death is merely change. What I hate is the pain...

When I looked into the empty abyss, the nothingness, and saw it in myself and in the world too, that was when I was frightened because I realised that everything is merely images, scenes in an eternal film, where everything is merely an expression of life exploring its own infinite depths. Life is no thing in itself, but in the universe, it is in everything. And I am life. That is who I am.

Don’t cry... I don’t want you to be sad. I’ll be with you always... in your memories. If you ever want to speak to me, I’ll always be waiting in the infinite corridors of your imagination. Just simply close your eyes and start talking.

This world isn’t real... it’s just perceptions. Love is what is real.

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