Posts tagged Art
WHAT CHILDREN REMEMBER*

I'll never forget how startled I was when Mitch walked up to me and handed me this piece of paper whispering, "Hey Dad, I made this for you and Mom."  I smiled and said, "Awww, Mitch, I love it when you draw pictures.  Can you tell me about it?"  Mitch paused a moment and said, "Remember that night we went camping and we almost froze solid?"  I giggled, "Oh, boy do I remember that night."  Mitch then giggled and began to describe what he remembered from that camping trip. He said, “You kept waking up to check on me.” 

That was the most difficult night we’d ever had camping.  I remember calling Natalie on my way home from a meeting one wintery Friday night.  I asked her to throw our camping gear in the back of the truck and told her that me and the boys were going on an adventure.  The boys were excited and before we knew it, we were headed up a snowy canyon near Tibble Creek reservoir.  

By the time we reached our campsite the sun was all but gone and we were setting up in the dark.  My sweet wife inadvertently packed a summer tent with no wind guard - which was basically a mosquito net.  I asked the boys what they wanted to do and they said, "Let's not quit.  Let's do this."

After a few rounds of hot chocolate around a roaring campfire, we settled in for the night.  My boys were cuddled up in sleeping bags, blankets and beanies.  The canyon filled with giggles as little Mitch and Ethan shared jokes.  Then the giggles softened and the jokes became fainter. Before I knew it, the boys had drifted into a deep slumber.  I wasn’t so lucky.

I don’t think I really slept that night. Instead, I was in a constant state of worry.  On occasion, I drifted into a shallow sleep, only to jolt out of my sleeping bag to make sure my boys were still covered and warm.  Then I’d lay on my back and look through our unprotected half-tent at tree branches made bare from the winter snow.  I gazed beyond the forest trees at a million stars that shimmered like crystals of ice. I thought, “I’m pretty outer space isn’t this cold.” I wondered if the night would ever end. 

After what seemed a never-ending cycle of waking, panicking, checking, then dozing … the stars became faint and the blackness that surrounded them turned deep blue, then gradually light blue.  Before I knew it, morning had come and the stars were gone. 

We started another roaring fire to get warm and it didn’t take long before we were on our way down the canyon.  Mitch was quieter than usual that morning.  Mitch just looked out the window as if in deep thought.  Finally, I asked, “Hey Mitch, what’s on your mind?”  He said, “Dad, let’s never do that again.”  I chuckled and said, “Good idea.  I’m in.”  He smiled and we both laughed.

How often is [our children’s] mind and heart simply shown by their hand-drawn art?
— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

Later that night, I sat by Mitchell’s bed as he whispered a nightly prayer.  Until that point, I don’t think I’d ever heard a more genuine expression of gratitude for a bed, warm blankets and that we “didn’t have to sleep in a tent for reals.”


That camping adventure remains our most difficult one on record – which is why it surprised me little Mitch took the time to draw it.  When I asked him why, Mitch thought a moment and said, “I don’t know.  I guess it wasn’t THAT bad.  Plus, it made me grateful for what I have.” 

Mitch wasn’t the only one to draw pictures of that hard adventure.  My other boys did something similar.  In their minds, they saw the difficult experience for what it was – just momentary discomfort. What they remembered, in the end, was the good they pulled out of that experience.

In matters of parenting, I wonder sometimes who is raising who. My kids teach me in the most simple and profound ways. Yes, they may acknowledge a difficult experience, but it seems they chose to remember the better parts. How often is their mind and heart simply shown by their hand-drawn art?  And if it be our children see the good so easily, therein lies a lesson and a challenge for me.

 


Some Photos of Our Camping Adventure Mitch Crecreated

 
 
TO MOVE & BE MOVED

Last September I received a message from someone out of San Diego who was following Mitchell’s Journey. She gave me permission to share an excerpt from her message. She wrote: 

“I discovered Mitchell's Journey just a few weeks before Mitchell passed away and I have been following closely ever since. I think initially I followed in awe, moved so deeply by the bravery of one small boy and the power of a family's love. I thought to myself over and over again that your family must be woven of a fabric much stronger than my own constitution for I couldn't imagine walking a moment, much less a day, in your shoes. And yet, your family presses on and continues the journey with such grace. A true example for us all.

Overtime my following of Mitchell's Journey changed from being that of a passive spectator to that of someone who became inspired to take a journey of my own. To live life differently. To love more deeply and to be more present in every moment. To reach out to those in need and to allow myself to accept help when I need it and when it is offered to me.”

Caryn Glass, this kind, compassionate woman was teaching an intensive for a ballet studio and was to choreograph a piece for their end-of-summer showcase. As she worked with these young dancers, she did what all true artists do … dig deep. She inspired conversation among these teenagers to talk about ways they could be more present each day, find gratitude for the gifts of life and to share some of their favorite moments. They discussed moments they wished they could experience again and others they wish they could do over. At some point during this exploration with her students, this kind dance instructor shared a little about Mitchell’s Journey and what it meant to her and how it has affected her life. 

The following video is her choreography dedicated to little Mitchell and anyone who (in Caryn’s words) “inspires us to be the best versions of ourselves, to be grateful for our gifts, to be kind to one another and to simply be glad we're alive. For nothing else matters.”

I still cry every time I read her beautiful letter.

Her dance company, [the] movement initiative, wanted to help raise awareness for DMD by producing this video of their dance: vimeo.com/118058086

I’m not sure which was more beautiful; Caryn’s gesture of love and remembrance, the choreography … or the fact she took the time to inspire her students to find purpose and meaning in their own lives. Each was beautiful, but the combination of what she did even more so. Though I am touched by Caryn’s remembrance of my fallen son, I am even more touched how she inspired tomorrow’s generation to connect to things that matter most to them. Each of these young dancers walked away with something different – a meaning unique to them and their own life experience. At the end of the day, that is all I hope for Mitchell’s Journey.

Caryn Glass, you are simply remarkable. These young dancers were not only taught how move but how to be moved. You inspired them. You encouraged them to discover ways they might truly live. This world is blessed with you in it.

This is a link to her page: www.facebook.com/pages/the-movement-initiative/113639455358007?sk=timeline
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instagram.com/mitchells_journey

SIX TENDER MERCIES

Last spring we were visited by 4 kind women who had been following Mitchell’s Journey for some time. The woman closest to Natalie lived near us when we were young newlyweds. They quickly became soul sisters … you know, the kind of friend you don’t see for years and pick up exactly where you left off. That is them. Interestingly, I have the same relationship with her good husband. 

As it turned out, her neighbors and friends pictured in this image stumbled into Mitchell’s Journey at various points and they realized they all had that in common and took compassion for the loss of our little boy. Together, they purchased a gift for our family; a most beautifully framed painting that was symbolic of heavenly help while we suffer, even in our darkest hours. I will write of that piece of art soon because it has touched us deeply. 

Attached to the back of the artwork was a heart-felt letter written to our family, which ironically was as much a gift as the beautiful art that now graces our home. 

After much thought, we decided to hang the painting in our bedroom so it could serve as a reminder that, though we suffer, we are helped by others, even angels, we cannot see. I know this to be true. I know it because I have felt it: not once, not twice, but many, many times. Another reason we wanted this painting to hang near our bed was so that on nights when the pain of loss is especially tender, our pillows wet with tears; or when we awake in a panic (in the fog of sleep, forgetting our son has passed) and wanting desperately to save Mitchell’s life, only to fully awake and realize he is gone; we wanted the first thing we saw to be this painting. For those moments between sleep and consciousness are our darkest hours. 

I don’t think these good-hearted women realize to this day what they did for us. Not only did they mourn with those that mourn, they offered a token of love that pointed to a higher source of help … a reminder that despite the darkness we sometimes feel, heaven is never far away. 

As I was taking photos this day I began to think back on Natalie’s relationship with her friend, Kristin, and how interesting it was all of these good women came together. I wrote in my journal, and even posted this phrase: “I used to envision life’s journey as a single, straight path: I’m born, I live, then die – its simple math. But the older I get, the more I’m beginning to see, how intertwined our lives really can be. Life’s not a path to be tread by one, but a web so intricate and woven ... It is, I am certain, heavenly spun.”

It is seldom clear to what end things are meant to be. I just take them as they come and try to see things as Heaven sees. I don’t know much, but I have learned a thing or three - one of them being: when it comes to heaven … the more you look, the more you see. And when I look at this photo, I see 6 earthly angels .. six tender mercies. Then, in a moment of heavenly delight, grief subsides and I feel everything's going to be alright.

ART & INSPIRATION

In April 2013 we were approached by a dance instructor who was seeking permission to choreograph a dance in in memory of Mitchell. The theme of the concert was Inspirations ... each dance dedicated to a figure or ideal they felt was inspirational. Evidently, her students were aware of Mitchell's story and he was at the top of their list. We were touched by their thoughtfulness and gave them permission to move forward. 

Last night my family watched their first performance and it was beautiful. We were deeply touched that these dancers, each young and with a life ahead of them, would stop and reflect on Mitchell's story and illustrate it with such an expressive art. 

Just before this performance, I found my hands shaking, unsure if I could keep it together. Tears of sorrow, tears of gratitude and love flowed.

I remember looking to Wyatt only to find him weeping because he missed his older brother so much. He was so touched by the dance.

It occurred to me on the drive home how much Mitchell loved to dance. He would spontaneously break out in an awkward little shimmy because his muscles were weak and getting less coordinated. But he would dance anyway - he didn't care - because he was happy and felt safe and loved. Whenever he danced my heart would explode ... he was so cute to watch. We have been able to capture his little dances of happiness on video and will share them some day. 

So to watch these students of dance tell his story and journey home was humbling. And then, later, to reflect on Mitchell's love of life that he often expressed through his own little dance ... I was humbled and reflective. This choreography ... this art of music and movement ... took on a much different meaning.

To the Dance Company, Creative Arts Academy and the students of Jefferson Jr. High School, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts; not only for the beautiful tribute to our fallen son, but for the reminder that life is still good and we should dance when we're happy ... even if we can only shimmy.