I remember gently waking my daughter, who was deep asleep, to let her know her little brother had passed away. You know those rare moments in life that you remember with vivid detail? The smells, the color of light, the layout of a room, and precisely what you were doing at that very moment, something big happened … those details of life that seem to crystalize in your mind. Forever. I remember, as a young boy, exactly where I was when I heard the space shuttle Challenger explode. I don’t remember anything else that happened that year … not like I remember that moment. I just remember crying as a young boy because I knew people were hurting over such a loss.

Well, this night was one of those moments I will never forget. “Ash,” I said with a whisper. She arose instantly, as if her body and soul knew something terrible had happened, “I’m so sorry, but Mitch passed away.” No sooner had I uttered those words than her eyes gushed with tears as she fell back to her pillow and wept.

Laura-Ashley faithfully loved and served her little brother, and they had developed a deep bond between them. I marveled how she balanced softness with strength – a testament that we, being human, are quite capable of being both. On the one hand, she would speak ever-so tenderly with Mitch, and you could tell she listened with her heart as much as her ears. At the same time, she would carry her not-so-little brother on her back with ease. She was strong yet tender … a beautiful blend of attributes I long to possess.

I took this photo on the California coast while on our last summer adventure with Mitch. He loved the ocean and was fascinated by the power of waves. Mitch couldn’t play in the ocean by himself at this time in his life because even the tiniest wave would knock him helplessly over. Where smaller children could play in the splash and foam of the ocean’s edge, those same waters were more punishing for him. Even the smallest wave threatened to knock him over. Any prolonged exposure to even moderately deep water, causing him to adapt to the ebb and flow of the current, would tire his muscles quickly, and he would most certainly drown if left to his own strength.

Laura-Ashley, this beautifully kind sister, sensing little Mitch wanted to experience the ocean again, heaped her brother on her back and began walking into the water. Mitch laughed and squealed as the waves rolled by and tickled his feet. At this moment, it occurred to me in ways it hadn’t before that there’s something very special about a sister.

As I captured them playing, I remember being washed over by waves of love and gratitude for my daughter and son. Of all the world’s greatest riches, none compared to the treasure of this moment with my children. They were a gift to each other, and their love was awesome to see. Love, after all, is the substance of life and the fabric of eternity.

When I look at my own life experience, sisters and mothers seem to balance out fathers and brothers.

I don’t know what it is, exactly. I only know the world is richer because it is filled with loving sisters.

View fullsize

Somehow, he knew. It was written in his eyes. With each passing day, Mitch seemed to sense his time was coming to an end.

A few days after Mitch was home on hospice, he asked his mom if he could have an early birthday. "My real birthday feels so far away. It just feels so far away…" he said in shallow breaths. That request was out of character for Mitch. He was a boy of routine and rigor; he followed rules carefully, always took his turn, and never asked for more than he had. However small his cup may have seemed compared to others, to Mitch, his cup was always running over. Mitch asking for an early birthday told us he was listening to something deep within – as if his soul was preparing for the great transition from this life to the next.

With tears running down her face, Natalie made a few calls, rallied a group of his best friends, and hosted a birthday party two days later. My sister, Diane, a tender and loving soul, came over and filled the room with balloons that hugged the ceiling and made everything seem light. I had never thought much about balloons until this day. Seeing the joy it brought my son changed all of that. To this day, I look at balloons with a child's eye.

Tiny Marlie sat faithfully on Mitchell's lap and was a great comfort to him. I thank my Father that He cared enough about my son (His son) provide little tender mercies such as that. Experiencing my son's death has been utter hell, yet I can see a lot of heaven's hand during that difficult time. I know we were not alone.

So, on this impromptu, sacred celebration of Mitchell's birth, I sat against the wall while all the neighborhood boys gathered around our son and played games. From years past, an old friend of mine had compassion and arranged to have a local sports mascot surprise Mitch. He didn't need to do that, yet he did, and his act of love and compassion was a gift within a gift. Mitch laughed and smiled, and for a moment, it felt dreamlike, as if everything was normal again.

Almost like shifting temperatures in the ocean, I could see in Mitchell's face a shifting tide of emotion; one moment, he was a little boy with his friends, and the next moment he was swept away to some place a great way off. A place that was unfamiliar to him, a place not as warm as the world he had grown to know. Mitch sensed things were changing, but he didn't know what.

Knowing Mitchell's tendency to over-worry, we would wait a little longer to tell our son. That was our gift to Mitch: to be a child for just one more day. He would soon confront the coldest of all realities and face his impending death with courage and more care for his mother's broken heart than his own.

Not many days later, Mitch would lay in his bed, struggling to breathe, saying, "I don't think I can survive." A few minutes later, Mitch closed his heavy eyes and drifted to sleep. Natalie wept silently wet our son's hands with her kisses and tears. Then, in a moment of profound triumph, this little child became more a man than I could ever hope to be when he awoke and told his mom he would be okay.

Looking back, I wonder if Mitch wasn't interested in getting gifts after all. Maybe that birthday was his gift to us. One last celebration of all that was our son. One last chance to tell him how much we cared.

I love my son. Of all the gifts I tried to give him, none compared to the gift he was to me. The gift he still is to me. Though this gift is heavy to carry, each day, it is making me stronger. Though my wounds are still tender to the touch, I am learning how to tend to wounds that medicine cannot entrust.

The more I examine my son's difficult journey, the more I recognize gifts within gifts. Someone once said, "it is less important what happens to us than what happens within us." I wonder if when we finally see what lies beyond death's great abyss, we may be surprised to understand pain and struggle was, in fact, a gift within a gift. Nothing of value comes easy. No, not a thing. I suppose it's as true on earth as it is of spiritual things.

View fullsize

A few years ago, I marveled at how gracefully my young daughter carried her younger brother on her back. The waves were too big for Mitchell’s weakened muscles, and earlier that day, Mitch privately confided to me, almost with a whisper, “Dad, I’m afraid of being swept into the sea.” Laura-Ashley, sensing Mitch wanted to play with her, offered to help him so he could experience the ocean in the safety of her arms. This image, this tiny moment in time, fills my eyes with tears of gratitude.

It feels like yesterday she was carrying Mitch on her back. Now, my sweet little girl carries a child of her own, and soon, Natalie and I will become grandparents. My heart is bursting with joy for my sweet daughter and her loving husband.

About 13 years ago, I started collecting children’s books for my future grandkids. I have since taken them out of storage and started practicing my dramatic readings and homemade sound effects. I can’t wait to read to them - and more than that, I can't wait to feel their little heartbeats as they fall asleep in my arms.

More recently, over the last few months, I’ve had a brooding impression that a grandchild might be near; so much so, I was pointing out little baby clothes to Natalie with a kind of dreamy anticipation of being a grandfather one day. It’s difficult to describe how excited I am to love and hold my future grandkids.

Laura-Ashley graduates from nursing school in April and is expecting in May. I’m proud of her on so many levels. She works in hospice, and I am humbled by how she serves her people: with dignity and respect, of course … but also with personality and authenticity. She has a unique relationship with each of them, and she becomes a bright part of their day. I remember what Mitchell’s hospice nurse meant to Natalie and me, and to see our daughter become that for others is humbling. There is so much to love about my not-so-little girl: I admire how Laura-Ashley makes friends everywhere she goes, I giggle over her unusual description of things, I cherish her adorable sense of humor, and I love her tender heart.

Nobody ever told me how being a dad would feel, and I wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything. Today, I’m overflowing with all the feels.

View fullsize

Ever since my sweet wife was a little girl, she wanted to be a mother. It was her dream to have and raise children – and it has been my deepest honor to watch this good woman love, protect, and nurture our kids. It has been my greatest honor to be her partner in life, love, and parenting.

Lately, I’ve been stumbling into little breadcrumbs Mitch left behind, and these breadcrumbs have brought me a great deal of joy and gratitude for all that ever was. One example happened just a few weeks ago; Natalie and I moved Mitchell’s bed and discovered a laminated poem he wrote in school. Somehow, someway, this little paper slipped and drifted under his bed, far from view. And there it slept for 7 years, Natalie and I unaware of its tender existence.

This is what Mitchell wrote in honor of his mother:

THE BEST MOM EVER
Golden, shiny hair,
Eyes like the ocean,
Pretty, young,
Special to me.

Cooks juicy stroganoff,
Makes my comfortable bed,
Buys me cool presents on my birthday.

Rode the Dragon ride at Legoland,
Pushes me on the swings.
Tucks me in at night.

My mom is the best.

When Natalie and I read that, our hearts gushed with gratitude. We marveled over some of his word choices (“eyes like the ocean”) but more importantly, we melted over his heartfelt sentiments. Although we cried tears of loss and longing later that night, at that moment, we were captured by the sweet innocence of our son.

Mitch was right; he had the best mom ever, and his short life reminds me that while nothing lasts, everything that matters is forever.

View fullsize