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Nightfall

Night had fallen; and so had our hopes for one more day.  My weary, tattered son lay in his bed unable to move and barely breathing.  Within the last 12 hours his heart had greatly enlarged - causing his chest to protrude.  He looked deformed.  It was disturbing to see.  The candle of life was dim and flickering by the winds of change.  Even though night had long since fallen, more than the sky was dark.  I had dozed off on the floor of Mitchell's room, next to my wife.  As I was beginning to drift into a deep sleep I awoke with a distinct impression to tuck my son in - something he asked me to do every night.

"Hey Mitch ..." I said in a soft whisper, "I'm tucking you in, just as you like it.  I love you son, so very much.  Don't be afraid; remember what we taught you.  Everything is going to be okay."  

I'm told that hearing is the last thing to go for those who are dying.  For reasons I have earlier posted I know my son heard me.  Those were the last words Mitch heard in mortality.  Within 30 minutes of that gentle whisper and kiss on his face, my precious little boy passed away.  I hope he wasn't scared.   I hope.

We've also been told that children who are about to pass away often wait for their parents to leave the room or they linger for permission to go because they don't want to hurt or disappoint.  Knowing this, I wanted my weary son, who fought valiantly to live; who always wanted to make us happy to know that we loved him and that all would be well. No sooner had I drifted back to sleep that Natalie got up from the floor to administer Mitchell's medicine, which he was now receiving every two hours.  I'll never forget the sound of Natalie's voice.  Her words pierced the silence of the room like a samurai sword through paper: .... "Chris."  Suddenly, with the thunder of 1 million exploding suns, I awoke that instant only to see a mother's face that looked confused, scared and deeply bereft.  I got up from the floor by Mitchell's bed and placed my hand on his chest.  Nothing.  Our precious son, our broken baby, was gone.   

My sweet wife sat by her little boy, sometimes draping over him as if to comfort him, holding his lifeless hand.  She stayed there and wept for a few hours.  She never left him - and deep inside she wished he had never left her.  The look of anguish on my tender wife's face broke my heart.  Baby Marlie curled around Mitchell's head earlier that evening as if to comfort him and never left his side.  Mitch loved his puppy and always found her a source of comfort.   

I remember Natalie saying she hurt so badly that she no longer wanted to live - and inside, neither did I.  I quietly sat in the room giving this broken mommy room to grieve.  Eventually I placed my hand on her shoulder and said, "Honey, I know this hurts.  But let's live for our son." 

We could scarcely believe our eyes.  Lying on Mitchell's bed was the form of a little boy we raised since birth and loved with all of our hearts.  His body was still warm and it seemed as if we could just shake him a little as if to wake him from a deep sleep and that all would be well.  

But Mitch had fallen into a sleep from whence there is no return.

As each hour passed we could feel his arms and legs get colder.  Soon, only the center of his chest was warm and it was cooling quickly.  Then his body started to change.  At about 3:45 AM I called the funeral home to pick him up and they were at our home within an hour.  I asked them to hurry because I wasn't sure I could watch my son's body continue down the path it was heading.

Processing the death of your child is something of a bi-polar experience taken to the greatest extremes.  One moment you feel peace then suddenly you confront feelings of horror – the likes of which you've never known.

With all the lip service we give our religious beliefs, there is nothing so exacting as to see your child die and then to peer into the dark abyss of death.  

I have been taught that: "Faith, to be faith, must go into the unknown ... must walk to the edge of the light, then a few steps into the darkness."  My son's journey, Mitchell's Journey, has forced my wife and I to step into the darkness.  A darkness that is as heavy as it is pitch.

Yet, I've discovered something in all this darkness.  Once I allowed my spiritual eyes to adjust and look upward, I started to see the stars.  Against the backdrop of all that is black and frightening I can see little flecks of light, tender mercies that were always there but I didn't have eyes to see them.  And the accumulation of these tender mercies present themselves like heavenly constellations so I can find my way.  If I look down or to the side, all I see is darkness.  Like ancient navigators who looked to the heavens for bearing I can see the fingerprint of God in all that has happened and I now have a sense of direction.  I know we're not alone.

To be clear, it is still nightfall and my heart is heavy with a sinking sorrow.  There are days that are blacker than black and the waves of grief threaten to pull me under. But when I look to the heavens I can see.  

I can see.

This video contains excerpts to the essay NIGHTFALL, which is a retelling of the moment we discovered Mitchell had passed away.

MEATLOAF

I learned something today that my Father did for my son. Another tender mercy.

A woman and her husband had moved into our neighborhood not long before Mitch went into heart failure. She heard that other families in my neighborhood were preparing meals for our family to offer some much needed relief. She didn't know the circumstances of our family and that little Mitch was sick and dying. 

Because preparing meals for families in crisis is customary in my culture, she was no stranger to this form of service and quickly volunteered to bring dinner over one evening. Over the years she had discovered a kind of universal meal that every family seemed to enjoy. As she was making preparations for that same meal for our family, she had an impression to do something different. At first she ignored it. The more she ignored it, the stronger the impression came. Finally, the impression was so strong she could no longer deny it and knew what to make.

Meatloaf.

Not knowing our family, she was nervous about how such a seemingly ordinary meal might be received. She knocked on our door and handed Natalie a variety of dishes that contained meatloaf and other things. We would have been grateful for a sleeve of crackers. Or just a hug.

What this good woman didn't know … couldn't know at the time … was meatloaf was one of Mitchell’s favorite dishes. Because his organs were beginning to fail, he wasn't eating much those days – but when he heard someone brought meatloaf over, he wanted to eat. Natalie lifted him up from his bed and carefully helped him to the kitchen table. Mitch ate like a king that night. Not only was it a treat for him, that same meal gave his beleaguered body much needed nourishment … nourishment that gave us a little more time with our son.

When this good woman shared her experience with members of our church today, my wife and I were in tears. We had no idea. 

What a profound gift. My heart is overflowing with gratitude to think that a loving Father who knew Mitch was running out of time would inspire this good woman to do something that was out of the ordinary for her, so my son could find a little comfort.

If He did that for Mitch, sight unseen, I wonder what He is doing for all of us at this very moment. There is so much more to our lives than meets the eye.

Perhaps when we look back on our lives, from that place that feels so far away, the events we experienced through darkness will be made light as noon day. Then, and perhaps only then, it will finally be seen … the times we felt most alone, we in fact walked with heavenly beings.

IT'S OKAY, MOMMY

Natalie had wept for a few hours. Exhausted from grief, she curled around her young boy’s head as if to comfort him – even though she was in the depths of hell and very much in need of comfort herself. 

There, in the quiet of a winter night, the world had fallen away into oblivion … and all that remained was our son whom we fought valiantly to save, but could not. As the warmth of his body drew cold, darkness gathered round us. How pitch black that darkness felt, I have not words to describe.

Just then, in that moment of profound agony, when hell seemed to open its mouth wide open … as if to swallow us whole, something sacred happened. Natalie felt a distinct impression that Mitch lingered … that he was with her in Spirit and she felt as if he whispered, “It’s okay, Mommy.” 

Comfort was his parting gift to his mother’s weary and broken soul. Comfort, and a knowledge that he still lives and loves her and that, at times in her life, he will be near to help. 

“It’s okay, Mommy.” He said those same words just a few days prior when he told my wife and me that he didn’t think he could survive. In his moment of realization … when he knew he wouldn’t survive, he didn’t seek comfort from his mother … instead, he handed it to her selflessly. “I’ll be okay, Mommy.” 

I don’t know why such heavy things were placed on his tender shoulders, for he was an innocent boy of deep faith and enduring goodness. He was honest, faithful and true. At 10 years old, he was everything I have ever hoped to be. Yet, he died. 

Some might say God is cruel or indifferent by letting such hardships happen to children. What they forget is that nobody makes it out of here alive. What’s more, the purpose of life is not to build homes and garnish them with material things. We are here to struggle and walk by the dim light of faith … and in our struggle, we will be made strong. That is an immutable law of nature that not only applies to our bodies and minds, but our souls. Struggle makes us stronger.

I have always appreciated the words of the French philosopher Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, who once observed, “We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.” Those are words to remember, especially when our bodies fail us and those we love.

I don’t know the meaning of all things, for I am yet a child who is learning to hear the voice of his Father. While I have much to learn, I have discovered a few things as I have stumbled in the valley of the shadow of death. I have come to know things I cannot deny: I know we are loved by a Father in ways we cannot yet comprehend, but I have felt a portion of that love and it has changed me from the inside out. I know that our spirits live on, for my dear wife and I have felt the presence of our son. I know that those who go before us can visit and offer us comfort in times of trouble.

As ancient Elisha once observed, “Fear not: for they that be with us are more than they that be with them.” I hope that my spiritual eyes will be opened so that I may see what is often hid from sight while living in mortality. I will always remember this dark winter night when my wife sensed our son’s presence, just beyond mortal sight. “It’s okay, Mommy” … a comfort and plea … whispered from a sweet little boy who wanted his mommy to see. 

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NOTE: I gave this to Natalie on Mother’s Day. We both wept as we reflected on this sacred evening where there was both the darkness of grief and the light of God. This art will be part of a book I plan to release later this fall.

What Are Tender Mercies?

Several years ago, Elder David A. Bednar shared an experience that impressed him deeply. Shortly after receiving the assignment to serve as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints he was asked to speak at a session of General Conference. Directly before he stood to deliver his address, the congregation sang his favorite hymn. This he identified as a tender mercy from the Lord. He recounted, “A loving Savior was sending me a most personal and timely message of comfort and reassurance through a hymn selected weeks previously” (“The Tender Mercies of the Lord”).

Watch as Elder Bednar testifies of the tender mercies of the Lord in this video.

Elder Bednar defined the tender mercies of the Lord as “the very personal and individualized blessings, strength, protection, assurances, guidance, loving-kindnesses, consolation, support, and spiritual gifts which we receive from and because of and through the Lord Jesus Christ.” Further, he taught that “the tender mercies of the Lord are real and that they do not occur randomly or merely by coincidence. Often, the Lord’s timing of His tender mercies helps us to both discern and acknowledge them.”

Throughout scripture we are reminded of the tender mercies of the Lord. The Psalmist pled, “Hear me, O Lord; for thy lovingkindness is good: turn unto me according to the multitude of thy tender mercies” (Psalms 69:16). Zacharias, the father of John the Baptist, recognized that it was “through the tender mercy of our God” that his son would prepare the way for the Savior of the world (Luke 1:78). And Nephi, a Book of Mormon prophet, testified, “But behold, I, Nephi, will show unto you that the tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even unto the power of deliverance” (1 Nephi 1:20).

Recognizing Tender Mercies

Take time to recognize the Lord’s tender mercies in your life. Have you experienced these or similar tender mercies?

• A phone call from a friend at the exact moment you needed to talk
• A text to brighten your day
• A song on the radio that spoke peace to your mind
• A visit with a family member that clarified indecision
• A thought that solved a problem
• A story that provided an answer
• A service that relieved a struggle
• A trial that deepened your ability to empathize
• An answer to a heartfelt prayer
• A strength you didn’t know you had
• Counsel that offered comfort
• Forgiveness you needed to heal

These and countless other moments are more than mere coincidence. They are the tender mercies of the Lord. As we exercise faith in Jesus Christ and humbly choose to follow Him, He will abundantly bless us with His tender mercies.

https://www.mormon.org/blog/tender-mercies-what