Sweet boy, tomorrow we run in memory of you and in hope for others.
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Wyatt's friend, Porter, injured his hip recently and cannot go out to play. So Wyatt strapped two bowls of warm macaroni and cheese to the back of his motorcycle and drove it to his home so they could have lunch together. When asked what he was doing he said, "I'm doing what friends do for each other."
This is what life is all about.
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When our children were little they looked forward to our Friday night den parties. I remember these nights so well. After they were bathed and dressed in their jammies, each child would carry a Sippy cup of juice mixed with a little water, a small bowl of popcorn and their favorite treat into our family room to watch a Disney movie. We didn’t have much – so we made what little we had count. Despite our struggle to make ends meet life was sweet back then and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
I had a lot of self-doubt at the time, wondering about my place in the world and what I was supposed to do with my life. But one thing I never doubted was my desire to be a good husband and a loving father. I loved being a dad. I wasn’t the best at it … I really wasn’t … but I tried. Looking back, I would have done so much differently as a father. Yet, I don’t let my failures of the past haunt me … instead, I try to forge those failures into a personal lesson learned. A kind of mental note I take, so I can avoid future mistakes. I’m not sure I am good at that, either. But I keep trying to learn and grow from my wins and losses. One of the many beautiful things about children is their unconditional and abundant love. No matter how many times I might have disappointed them, been grumpy or impatient, they forgave me freely … and for that, I am eternally grateful.
It is interesting how forgiveness begets deeper love – and deeper love begets more forgiveness. Another note taken.
So on this ordinary summer night, Mitch became especially giddy. This tiny boy, the youngest of the bunch, loved being with his older siblings at every opportunity. He wanted to be just like them.
Mitch danced around the room in his cute little sweat pants and Spiderman shirt singing incoherent songs. He would then run back to this table, take a quick drink, then prance around some more. I could never pick him up and kiss him enough – sticky cheeks and all.
Reflecting back on good memories has been an important part of my healing – and I am grateful for so many of you who have listened with caring hearts and mourned with those that mourn. There is healing in that, too. Though I reflect on my memories in this place, I am actively creating new memories with my family – and that is just as important to my own healing. I need them both.
As ordinary and routine as life may have felt at the time, looking back, these moments now serve as a counter balance to sorrow and loss. When grief seems especially heavy, these sweet memories give me something to be grateful for. And gratitude is no empty thing: for it fills my heart and causes my soul to sing. Gratitude, my friends, soothes grief’s terrible sting.
Note taken.
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“I’m convinced the only label that should be applied to people is, “Handle with Care.” For we’re all sons and daughters of somebody ... loved beyond compare. After all, without love, what else is there? I’ll tell you: a life filled with shiny things, yet empty and bare.”
Mitch sat quietly on the edge of his bed as his mother carefully opened care packages from all across the world. His little heart was weary and about to fail; so we learned to appreciate not just moments, but the moments between moments. Every second counted. Time was worth more than all the riches of earth … for soon this little boy would leave our home on a journey from which he would never return. Soon our hearts would break in ways we couldn’t imagine.
We no longer had heart monitors, respiratory readings, blood oxygen reports and the million other hospital things that reminded us he was dying. Instead, we had our little boy back. He was home. For a short time, we enjoyed the illusion everything was okay. But things were not okay. Not one bit.
Young Mitch was always touched by care packages from others; many of which bore labels on them, “Handle with Care.” It was such a tender time for our son and those words “Handle with Care” always seemed to soothe my troubled soul. Yet my son’s countenance bore a heavy burden – for I could see he knew his time was limited – which made every act of caring more special to him.
Elementary school teachers from far-off places, hearing of our son’s fate, had their classes write notes to Mitch with loving words of encouragement. Other young children taped quarters, nickels and dimes to paper and wrote with their tender hands, “Hi Mitch, here is my allowance. I hope it helps.” I wept every time I saw such letters to Mitch and I prayed that those little souls, and their caring families, would be blessed 100-fold for their kindness.
Young Mitch was confused that people he didn’t know would care so much about him. He would read letters from others and say with shallow breaths, “They are so nice to me.”
While Mitch slept, I would kneel outside his door and thank my Father for the tender mercies in our life. I knew we would not be spared from sorrow [no one ever is], so I learned to be grateful for the comforts that were found in our sorrows.
One man from New Jersey sent Mitch a Halo book which arrived the night he passed away. When we opened the package and told Mitch what it was, he squeezed his mother’s hand as if he wanted to wake up and see it. Oh, how he wanted to see it. His profusion was so low he was unable to open his eyes or sit up – but he could signal us, and that broke our hearts. For inside his broken little body was a spirit of a little boy who was very much alive and wanting to enjoy all the world had to offer.
Handle with care. I can’t get those words out of my soul, and I don’t want to. I saw what it did for my son and what it did to my family - and I am forever grateful for the loving kindness of others. I will spend the rest of my life paying it forward.
I’m convinced the only label that should be applied to people is, "Handle with Care." For we're all sons and daughters of somebody ... loved beyond compare. After all, without love, what else is there? I'll tell you: a life filled with shiny things, yet empty and bare.
Perhaps that's what little Mitch has left behind ... messages of love that he wants me to find.
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