The Empty Chair

"Can we have a chair for Zach at graduation?" I mean who in the world ever thought that should be a question. It shouldn't. We all know that.

But it was asked. First by one of Zach's friends from his last school. Then almost immediately after that, the same thing was asked by the school's leadership team. It clearly meant a lot to all of them.  Of course, we are good with just about anything that keeps his memory warm.

So many have done so much to keep his legacy alive, and this was another beautiful way to do it. This includes having "Be Like Zach" posted on the fence year after year, by the record setting Relay for Life team in our town, to the amazing plaque, garden and bench at the Wediko School, to the horse barn named after him at Glenholme.

While we were grateful to have the chair, we weren't immediately sure we wanted to attend the graduation in person though. We felt the chair would have been tough to see next to those who should have been his peers. But then the school leadership team asked us the next question.  "Can we deliver a scholarship to the graduating senior who best embodied Zach's Rules for Life? The annual "Be Like Zach" scholarship?”

I mean hold it right there. Because I know many of you need to find a tissue. “Wait, what?” we said.  “What was that again? "You want to have a scholarship starting now, and every year after to help people remember Zach and how they applied what they learned from him and his journey?"

They went on. "We think that we should award it this year to one of his best friends." "Yes, yes, yes" was our response. "Please don't feel obligated to come," they said. "Well of course we are coming now," we said. We are so grateful for their desire to repeatedly honor Zach.

I've seen lots of posts from bereaved parents who went to their child's graduation in the past few days and weeks - empty chair or not. It's an impossible decision, because there are no good choices here, to go or not. Most people seem to want to honor and face the loss head on. It's an emotional decision and honestly we didn't know what to expect or how we would react.

We had seats up front in the auditorium and had arrived early. It's weird to be there as a guest to honor someone who isn't. But as we waited for the ceremony to start, I looked up on the stage where the seats for the graduates were. All the chairs were empty. I honestly didn't think too much of it, and went back to waiting. Then I noticed it. The chair on the end. It had a cap on it and a bouquet of flowers. No other chair had that.

That was Zach's chair. The cap didn't have a head to sit on. The flowers didn't have hands to hold them. But I ran up on stage and took a picture. There was something in my eyes. It kept on flowing for a while after I took the picture.

The ceremony was clear, simple, and honored all the hard work and progression that the graduating class completed. The presentation of the first annual Be Like Zach scholarship by the head of school gave some context for the audience, and then he read Zach's Rules for all to hear. I’m pretty sure I heard his voice quiver just a bit as he read them. He then announced the winner of the scholarship, who was one of Zach's best friends, and they had a few photo opportunities. It all made us so proud.

After the ceremony, they showed us the bricks that are placed in the main walkway at the school to honor all those who graduate. Zach's name is now on a brick there.

Graduation is about marking the completion of a significant body of work, and it’s almost always a memorable event. It's also about moving on to whatever is next. We are so grateful for everything done to help us mark that, even if he never got there. We are so appreciative of the impact that Zach’s short stint at the school and subsequent rules made on those students and educators.  We are honored to be able to continue to share Zach's Rules with current and future students as well as have the 2025 graduate be honored with the Be Like Zach scholarship.

As amazing and wonderful as all of this is, we don't graduate. We can't celebrate achievement. We can't really move on. We just have a headless cap, on an empty chair, without hands to hold the bouquet.