This was Mitchell’s last October. We went to a local farmer’s lot to pick out some pumpkins to carve. Autumn had slipped away, and we were deep into fall, each day getting colder and colder. Except this day was unusually summer-like, and the evening sun warmed our skin as if from a distant fireplace.

Because his leg muscles had wasted away, Mitch had trouble walking around the uneven terrain. We lived on a hill at the time, so going from home to home was even a chore. He tripped and stumbled a few times, and he was much slower than the rest of the children. I couldn’t help but notice the look on my son’s face as he saw other kids race past him. He had a look of gratitude and determination. At one point, he just smiled and said, “Dad, I’m just glad I can still walk.”

After lumbering about the pumpkin patch for a while, we each took turns giving our boy a piggyback so our little boy’s legs could rest. Though he was getting bigger each year, carrying him was never a burden but, in fact, a great blessing.

Halloween was just around the corner, and I wondered what my boy wanted to do. Each year, trick-or-treating became more and more difficult. In the beginning, he used his electric scooter to go from home to home. As each year passed, his muscles became weaker, and trying to climb up a neighbor’s stairs to knock on their door was exhausting for him. The year prior to his last Halloween, he just parked on each driveway, and Luke or Wyatt would take his basket and trick-or-treat for him. That wasn’t much fun for Mitch because, like so many other children’s activities, he sat on the sidelines and watched the party from afar. No matter his disappointment or wanting to do what other children did, Mitch bore his burden with a tender smile - grateful to be alive.

So, as I carried my son on my back this warm October evening in the Pumpkin patch, I asked Mitch what he wanted to be for Halloween. He said, “Dad, I just want to stay home and give candy to other kids.”

“Are you sure, Mitchie? I will carry you door-to-door if you want.” I replied.

He responded with a soft whisper, “No, I want to stay home with you. Plus, I like giving to others more.”

True to his word, Mitch stayed home Halloween night and handed candy out to other children. Each time he shut the door, he had a big smile on his face. Giving to others brought more joy to little Mitch than getting ever did. Although his Halloween bag was empty that night, his heart was overflowing. So was mine.

To our surprise, later that night, thoughtful friends, knowing he was too weak to trick-or-treat, brought him some of their candy.

Though Halloween was different that year, in every way that matters, it was a happy Halloween.

In honor of my son, I'll look for those whose bags are a little empty and try to fill them with love and encouragement. Where I can, I will try to carry those who stumble, though I often stumble myself.

The key to happiness, I’ve discovered, is found in giving, not getting.

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HELP ME NOT FALL
"Dad, will you hold my hand? Will you help me not fall?" Mitch said with a sweet, soft voice. I reached out to hold his hand as Mitch leaned down and reached into the crystal clear waters that flowed from a natural hot spring. "It's like a bath! Do you think I could swim in it?" Mitch was fascinated that nature could produce such bathy warm water, for until this moment, he only knew the icy streams that came from snowmelt.

We were at a father's & son's campout, and I was so excited to spend time with my boys. We played Frisbee on the grass and cooked our famous tin foil dinners and were the envy of every camper who could smell the magical meal cooking slowly in the glowing embers. Mitch loved my special recipe.

Later that evening, we would find ourselves huddled in our family tent, listening to a torrential downpour, exhilarated by the constant clash of thunder that boomed right above our heads. Mitch snuggled into me with his sleeping bag as I wrapped my arm around him and held him tight. Little Wyatt sat on my other side, lovingly held by my other arm. Ethan bravely sat with a smile and listened to the rain pound the walls of our tent, ready to pack up on a moment's notice were we to flood.

We made it through the night dry and un-drenched. I am grateful for those moments with my family. If I have a regret in life, it is that I didn't have enough of them. I did my best, but I wish I would have done more.

I often think back on this moment when Mitch asked for help to do something other children could have done with ease. His muscles were weak, and his balance always precarious. The slightest bump from someone could send him crashing to the ground. Often, Mitchie's plea was, "Help me not fall." Every time he said that I was reminded of everything I ever for granted.

Those words "help me not fall" will echo in my mind forever. As his father, I didn't want Mitch to fall and hurt himself; yet at the same time, I didn't want to rob my son the opportunity to do things on his own. Therein lies the delicate parental balance … to help enough to enable growth but not enough to rob it.

When I look back on my life then and now, it doesn't take much to recognize my spiritual Father is doing the same thing with me. His hand is often out of view, and if I'm not mindful, I go about my busy life, unaware of His helping hand.

Yet, every time I kneel and ask my Father to "help me not fall," I get a distinct impression that He is not only there … but that He has always been there – helping me just enough to enable growth, but never enough to rob it.

At least on some level, being a Father myself, I think I understand now; and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Without warning, an enormous clap of thunder exploded, and my boys and I jumped with fear. A dark storm was brewing, and the afternoon sky had become almost dark as night. The campfire we were just about to start would have to wait until the downpour passed. From the looks of it, it seemed the storm was going to linger a while as the cool mountain wind almost ushered us into our tent for protection.

Mitch squirmed into his sleeping back and wiggled around as if to snuggle deeply into the mound of soft things that surrounded him. I chuckled a little because I did the same thing when I was a boy, and at that moment, I remembered how fun it was to be young. I looked upon my boys with a touch of envy. Mitch pulled his hands behind his head, his face bearing a light mustache from chocolate milk, and began to smile softly. "We're safe and sound, right, Dad?" Mitch said with a mixture of confidence and concern. "You bet, Mitch. This is going to be a crazy camping adventure." Mitch smiled and said, "I know you'll keep us from floating away."

Within minutes, we could hear the occasional pitter-patter of raindrops on the tent. A few minutes later, a burst of raindrops assaulted the side of the tent as the wind began to pick up speed. Soon, we were in the middle of a torrential downpour. I worried if our tent was rated for an hurricane-like storm. Mitch nudged my arm and said, "Doesn't this remind you of Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day?" Mitch giggled as I peered nervously out the window, keeping an eye out for a flash flood.

We knew there might be bad weather, so our backup plan was to have a den party in the tent. So, I pulled out a portable DVD player, broke out some snacks, and pulled up our covers as the boys and I watched a movie under the thinly veiled safety of our tent.

I didn't sleep well that night. Aside from a few breaks in the early evening, the rain never really let up. So, I laid in the tent in a trance-like state – somewhere between sleep and wakefulness … sitting up every hour to make sure the boys were dry. By morning the kids were rested, and I was hammered.

Of all the moments in life, the ones I remember with great fondness and nostalgia aren't the time's things went perfectly. Instead, the moments I treasure most are when we struggled and found our way through a hard time. Don't get me wrong; perfect times are just that … perfect. I love and appreciate them for what they are; honey is honey. But the taste of lemonade is never so sweet as when you must work to make it so. Perhaps that's why hard times often end up becoming our best times, in the end.

This photo of Mitch reminds me that even in our difficulties, we can make the best of what we've got – and somehow, someway, we'll look back and be glad we lived the life we lived. In every struggle, there's a price to be paid; but in the end, that's what makes the sweetest lemonade.

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One of Mitchell’s all-time-favorite treats was hot chocolate.  When it snowed around the holidays, he always asked if I’d make my ‘famous hot chocolate’.  At least he thought it was famous.  With a warm cup in hand, he’d sit by the window and watch the snow fall and enjoy his warm treat.  Our family has many good memories making hot chocolate.  I’ve shared this a few years ago but want to share it again for those who may have missed it.

There’s nothing original about this recipe; in fact, I’m sure Pinterest is filled with a hundred thousand variations.  But this was our simple recipe and it was something Mitch loved and some of you might like it, too.

1. Warm milk to a boil over the stove.

2. Add chocolate shavings (Mitch really liked Lindt Milk Chocolate)
   He would often take candy bars and use a cheese grater to make the shavings

3. Generally, 3 ounces of chocolate for every 2 cups of milk works well.

4. Slowly stir chocolate shavings into simmering milk and whisk until completely dissolved

5. Add chocolate to preferred taste

6. Whipped cream, with a puff of cinnamon and sprinkled graham cracker crumbs on top always made it feel extra special.  Sometimes Mitch even wanted crushed candy cane on top. 

As with so many things in life, what we do is often less important in life than how we do it.   Having hot chocolate was fun but making it together as a family made both a treat and a memory.  And memories are sweeter and last much longer.

With the holidays around the corner, I’m reminded that while we might give each other gifts this season… love, time and attention are some of the greatest gifts we can give each other.