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I remember this moment so vividly; the cold December air on my neck, the subtle clatter of teeth shivering in the wintry wind, and the smell of burning wood from fireplaces nearby. The smell of chimney smoke seemed to beckon us back to grandmas with the promise of a glowing hearth and delicious hot chocolate to warm us on the inside and out.

It hadn’t snowed yet, but you could feel winter was near.

Mitch, ever anxious to drink life in by the gallon, asked if we could drive ATV’s around the woods. At one point, Mitch wanted to stop and see his Grandma’s garden that had long gone to sleep for the winter.

Mitch said softly, “Dad, will you take a photo of Effie and me?”

“I’d love to!” I said with a smile.

I remember chuckling at Ethan, who didn’t get the memo; it was actually cold outside. I mean really cold. For the most part, he didn’t mind; and though he was under-dressed, he seemed to have my Canadian tolerance for cold air. He welcomed wintery weather in summery clothes. Mitch always thought his brother was a touch weird - which is why he loved him so. I was enjoying this time with my oldest boys but couldn’t wait to snuggle by the fire and drink hot chocolate.

It’s a curious thing how a single moment can be two things at once. In this case, it was a beautiful tragedy. On one side, I was glad to be with my children; on the other side, my soul was heavy. Mitchell’s face seemed pale as the November sky and his eyes seemed to whisper to me he knew his time was short. I was weighed down by a vague and pressing feeling time was slipping through my fingers at a rate I couldn’t fully appreciate. At one point on this trip, I had a distinct impression this would be Mitchell’s last time at Grandmas. From the time this photo was taken, Mitch had a little more than three months to live.

The more I step back and examine Mitchell’s life, the more I believe he was inspired. You see, he acted on feelings he had, and those tiny impressions-turned-actions would eventually become breadcrumbs of love for the ones he left behind. This photo is one of those breadcrumbs, a gift to his brother, and a gift to me. His silent acts of service remind me to slow down, listen, and give more of my actual myself.

When my boys sat to have their photo taken, the ancient Apocryphal words came to mind, “A faithful friend is a strong defense: and he that hath found one … hath found a treasure.” Captured in this image was not only two brothers, but two friends. I was grateful Mitch had a faithful friend in his brother, and Ethan had a faithful friend in Mitch.

Young Mitchell’s life was made rich by faithful friends. He had a few of them he especially loved – Luke, Derek, and David were his closest – but he had many others he also adored.

In my short 46 years, I’ve discovered casual friends are plentiful, but a truly faithful friend is as rare as it is special.

When I think about the kind of friends Mitch had and the friend he tried to be to them, I want to work harder and be a better friend to the people I love. I have my family who I love so very much – they’re not just family, they’re my friends. Add to that, a growing list of people near and far, whose friendship I treasure.

This image haunts and inspires me. It reminds me to slow down because time moves so fast. Mitch is looking at me in this photo, and I can almost hear him saying, “Dad, there isn’t much time. Let’s make the most of it.”

This Thanksgiving, I’m going to express my gratitude to my family and friends by slowing down and being more deeply in the moment. What better way to express my love and gratitude for my family and friends than by giving them all of me? I can think of none.

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Today we remembered some of our favorite memories with Mitch while making new ones. Although my heart yearns to reach back in time and hold my son, I am so grateful for today. I have today ... and that's awesome.

With all that I am, I love my family.

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When my kids were younger we used to play a game when I made down my bed for the evening. They would each stand in the corner of the room as I chucked our decorative pillows at them ... a kind of domestic dodge ball. 

I would always sail the pillows at Ethan as hard as I could because he was so nimble and fast. To Mitch, I would pretend to throw them hard but would then softly lob them so he could either dodge or get brushed by a pillow as it flew by. Mitch would laugh so hard - I can still hear his giggles in my mind. Wyatt, he would sometimes want to throw pillows with me and other times have me throw them at him. Last night, in memory of Mitch and the good times, Ethan and I took up this old tradition and we laughed.

I took this photo with my iPhone as I threw pillows at my son. Although the image quality is poor, it is the substance that counts.

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Summer, at least in my part of the world, is coming to an end. I can feel the whisper of winter on the back of my neck and the sweet smell of fall is almost in the air. While I sit on the verge of a change in seasons, I can’t help but remember a warmer time - a time before hell – when I had my son with me and we went on an adventure. 

We set camp in the west desert, far enough from city lights that you could see deep into the starry night. The heavens were almost close enough to touch. I remember talking to Mitch after we were tucked in for the night and looking through the net of the tent into the heavens, I asked, “Mitch, don’t you wish we could scoop up those beautiful stars and put them in our pockets like little glowing rocks?” Mitch smiled and said, “That way, when it is dark we could always see.” Mitch then burrowed into me and closed his eyes. He was the best at cuddling. I miss that.

Mitchell’s love of atmosphere and moods was one of the reasons he loved sunsets so much. On this evening the atmosphere was particularly beautiful because of some deep contrasts in color and light because of a passing storm. In every direction, save where the sun was setting, we found ourselves surrounded by towering clouds that stood like floating giants. They cast deep shadows beneath them and the contrast of light and color was thrilling to see. Each tower was also flashing with sheet lightening. In almost every direction these beautiful clouds stretched far into the horizon.

I remember wanting to take photos of the amazing sky and thought to myself, “I’ll take photos of the storm in a few minutes.” Before I knew it, it was dark and the beautiful sky that entranced us was forever gone. I regretted not taking that photo in the moment. Lesson learned.

With Mitch and my other sons cuddled next to me, we drifted to sleep. The next morning I awoke in tremendous pain - it felt like an elephant had stepped on my chest and broke my ribs. I had difficulty breathing and wondered if I had been stung by a scorpion (we caught one later that morning) or something else. As we broke our tent down I discovered I was sleeping on a jagged rock – which explained my sore ribs. I realized at that moment I should pay closer attention to where I set our tent. Another lesson learned.

After we arrived home, covered in desert dust and dry skin, I remember finding a pocket full of rocks in Mitchell’s pants. He had quietly collected little stones form the desert as souvenirs. I still have those little rocks in a special place. When I look at them I can’t help but wonder what he saw in each of them. I will forever wonder.

When I think back on moments like these, camping with my kids, I have the fondest of memories. Not all of them were wrapped in majestic sunsets and perfect moments cushioned in comfort. In fact, many of our camping trips were rather hard. We have camped in the bitter cold, high in the winter mountains; we've weathered torrential rainstorms, worried we would be swept away by a river of rain; and we have awoken to inches of new snow and many other surprises. Each was an adventure punctuated by difficulty and discomfort … yet is each a memory I am so grateful to have. 

I have noticed something interesting with Mitch and my other children. Often they would draw pictures of memories they had; and with their little hands they would sketch out our campsites and recreate the most difficult moments while camping … moments that were less fun while in the moment. 

I wondered why they would sketch the struggle and I asked them to tell me about their drawings. Each would say in their own way, “This was my favorite campout.” They would then explain what they loved about it. I was always surprised. These little kids with a pocket full of rocks appreciated the experience, however difficult, more than I gave them credit. I couldn't help but wonder if they were teaching me something important – that in the struggle is also the beauty.