After today's run, I visited my son and carefully wrapped a medal around one of his vases. I tried to hold back my tears - but they came anyway. They were mostly peaceful tears ... born of love and gratitude.
Here's to hope.
Loading Comments
It is nearly impossible to find the right photo that adequately captures what happened today in our small town in Utah and all around the world. Because of each of you, this run was a success. We will share more details in the coming days: how much we raised, the families we're going to be able to help, and some remarkable stories of hope, courage and love. Because this has been a global event, we still have people running all over the planet ... which is really neat to think about. If only Mitchie could have seen this. And though, perhaps in some way, he can see this from a different view point ... I wish he could have seen your love through the eyes of the little boy he once was.
We met some remarkable young boys today with DMD ... and families that are equally amazing. There is so much love in the world. So much hope. So much goodness.
As the dust begins to settle, I just wanted to thank all of you who have participated, donated and run wherever you are. I wanted to thank the amazing volunteers who have made significant sacrifices in time and their own money to help make this run a success. 100% of the proceeds will be going directly to our goals found on Miles for Mitchell: MDA Summer Camp activities, PPMD Scholarships, Ramps, Assist Devices and other forms of help for families in need.
Nothing quite helps a broken heart as to set sorrow aside and serve and love another. At least that's what I've discovered. And though I still carry the weight of grief, when I reach out to love and lift another ... somehow the world feels a little less heavy.
I'll share more about the run in the coming days. We were blessed to have some amazing volunteer photographers help capture the event: thank you Lindasy Ross, Jake Garn and Jace LeRoy for helping to capture the spirit of this event. As I get those photos, I'll be sure to share them with all of you.
Today, the world moved an inch closer to heaven. Thank you!
Loading Comments
I remember taking this photo of Mitch on the diving board as he bravely released his iron-clad grip of the hand rail and edged toward the deep end. He was just barely diagnosed with DMD and I was still dizzy with grief over what was to come. I loved my little son with all of my heart ... and, as his father, I was pained that he was in peril and I could not stop the inevitable. I have wept enough tears over my son to fill the oceans to overflowing.
Although Mitch was already weakened by muscle wasting - he never let his limitations stop him from trying something new. I admired that about my little boy and decided to follow his example.
This same photo hangs in my office at work and home and serves as a reminder to take chances. That little boy on the diving board, who mustered the courage to step outside his comfort zone had no idea the impact he had on me from that day, to this day.
So tonight, almost on the eve of our 3rd annual run, I am taking a chance. In so many ways, I feel like I'm that little boy on the edge of the diving board ... my heart is pounding and I'm afraid of the deep.
The deep end for me was not knowing if people would get behind us to try to help others. Like Mitch, I have held my breath and inched toward the water's edge.
With the help of some of the most amazing donors, volunteers, and many of you ... this virtual/global run seems to be on the right track. I've jumped off the diving board, like little Mitch, anxious to experience life. What is life? To me, life (a life worth living) is found in loving and serving others. That is what this page is all about. Love. Love for my son. Love for all of you.
As the sun was about to set this evening, I drove to the cemetery to visit my son. I knew he wasn't there ... but my heart was there. My heart will always be there. I took some photos of one of the run medals that just arrived today - I didn't think they would come in time and was planning on having them for next year's run. That same image of Mitch on the diving board wrapped in gold is a symbol within a symbol. Though Mitch was never one to vie for attention, he would have thought this medal pretty neat.
I am grateful to all of you who have taken a chance on Mitchell's Journey and supported us. I promise to pay your goodness forward. I promise to try and help others who hurt; to be a candle in the wilderness of grief ... for I know those dark and terrible woods. I promise to help other boys who suffer with DMD.
-----------------------------------------------------
IF YOU ARE IN UTAH, COME JOIN US IN PERSON
Saturday, April 25, 2015 @ 9:00AM
Herriman Main Street Park - 13000 South 5900 West, Herriman, Utah
IF YOU WANT TO RUN VIRTUALLY
www.raceentry.com/race-reviews/miles-for-mitchell
(Please note that these run medals are reserved for registrants. Yet, if you cannot run or walk, you can still register. You can go to the edge of your diving board ... to your deep end and take a chance doing something that stretches you.)
If you have already registered and received your packets, we will reach out to you about your medals.
IF YOU JUST WANT A SHIRT OR TO DONATE
www.raceentry.com/races/miles-for-mitchell/2015/shopping
OUR GOALS CAN BE FOUND HERE:
http://tinyurl.com/mtj84pb
Other ways to follow:
Follow the run on Instagram: instagram.com/milesformitchell
Mitchell's Journey on Instagram: instagram.com/mitchells_journey
Twitter: twitter.com/MitchelsJourney
Loading Comments
Somehow he knew. It was in his countenance. You know, that place on the face that has no real space. That thing that is felt more than seen. Without realizing it, Mitch seemed to sense his time was coming to an end.
A few days after Mitch was home on hospice he asked his mother 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 to his mother. That request was so 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. So for Mitch to ask for such a thing told us our son was listening to promptings – that his soul was being prepared for the great transition from this life to the next.
Natalie rallied a group of his friends and had a most amazing birthday just two days later. My sister, Diane, a tender and loving soul, came over and filled the room with balloons which hugged the ceiling and made everything seem light. I had never thought much about balloons until this day. The moment I saw the joy it brought my son changed all of that. To this day, I look upon 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 the death of my son has been utter hell, yet I can see a lot of heaven’s hand during that difficult time. I know we weren't alone.
So, on this special day I sat against the wall while all the neighborhood boys gathered round our son and played games. An old friend of mine from years past took 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 like everything was normal again.
Almost like shifting temperatures in the ocean, I could see in Mitchell’s countenance a constant shift from being a little boy in the moment with his friends 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 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. Soon, he would 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 from the moment of this photo he would lay in his bed, struggling to breathe, and say “I don’t think I can survive.” No sooner had he said those words than Mitch closed his eyes and drifted to sleep. Natalie wept silently and would 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, perhaps Mitch wasn't so 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. Each day, as I contemplate the meaning of life, suffering and this mortal experience I draw ever closer to my Father. I am learning to talk to Him like a son might talk to his dad.
The more I contemplate my son’s difficult journey, the more I am learning to recognize gifts within gifts. As a thoughtful person wrote on my post yesterday: “it is less important what happens to us than what happens within us.” That is the gift within the gift.
One day, 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. For nothing of value comes easy. No, not a thing. It is as true on earth as it is of heavenly things.
Loading Comments