When I close my eyes I can almost feel tiny Mitch bouncing enthusiastically on my shoulders as only little kids know to do. “Dat’s Ashie!” he would yell, pointing over the rickety wood, water-stained fence that stood tall in our back yard.
Mitch, being a little boy, could finally see over the great wall that kept the outside world from view. His big sister was walking to school on the other side of the fence and Mitch blurted, “I see her! I see her! I wuv you Ash!” Ashley would smile and wave back to her baby brother – Mitch would then shrill with delight.
The fence was too tall for me to peer over, but Mitch could and he described all that he could see. I listened to his words of love and excitement, and that was more than enough for me.
Summer was just around the corner and we made modest plans to picnic at the park, splash at the public pool and play in our back yard. There were flowers to plant and our lawn to mow – our backyard was coming together by the skin of our toes. It wasn’t much, but it was our place and we loved it so.
At the time, I thought our young family had found its place in the universe. We were invisible to the world and that is just how we wanted it. If given the choice, I would have lived out my life in the quiet of our backyard and comfort of our family room.
But there was another fence in my life over which I couldn’t see; a fence so tall, it kept the future from my sight ... hardships I didn’t see coming straight for me … things that would break my heart and change the landscape of my family.
I wonder what would happen if we could see over the fence. There’s a reason we can’t and I believe it is heaven-sent. For faith is not just a gift but it’s a power, too; a guide and a teacher for souls like me and you.
As I’ve written in earlier posts, sometimes I think to myself, “If only Mitch could see what I see.” Then, I feel a gentle whisper that he would say the same to me. I am on my tippy toes trying to peer over the fence – to catch a glimpse of heaven and see where exactly my little boy went. But I cannot see what happens over there, for the fence is much too tall. So I am learning to listen closely for those quiet whispers and heaven’s gentle calls.
Though my heart cries out to see my son, that I might love and keep him safe, I know he’s on the other side – and that is a matter of my faith. But because faith is a power, too, it allows us to hear and see things hidden from mortal view. I can almost hear my son, “Dad, keep trying and one day you’ll see, the struggle and the sorrow not only taught you, but me. Remember that time when I was little and could see Ashley? Well, I can see over the fence again, Dad, if only you could see what I see.”
Last weekend I was invited to give a keynote to a remarkable organization whose mission is to support families after a child dies. The non-profit is called The Compassionate Friends (TCF) and they just had their 38th annual national conference in Dallas. People from all over North America were in attendance and I was struck by TCF’s leadership, organization, workshops and tools they provided attendees to help bereaved parents and siblings navigate their way through grief.
Until Saturday night, I had never spoken to an audience with such a concentration of personal grief. Virtually everyone in attendance, with perhaps the exception of the sound and light technicians, had lost a child or sibling. Every person was carrying the heaviest of burdens – yet carried with them the hope of a better tomorrow. As I shared the story of my own loss and our family’s journey through life, hospice, death and grief, I realized each of them had their own story. I found myself wishing the roles were reversed and that I could learn from them.
Here are 4 things I shared at the end of my presentation … my personal observations on grief, hope and healing:
GRIEF IS LIKE FIRE
Grief is like a flame that cannot be extinguished. As long as I love, there will be fire. What the flame means to me … what it does to me or for me is found in how I carry it. The flame of grief can either burn me or help me see.
THE LANGUAGE OF GRIEF
Like love languages, grief has its unique language, too. Our grief language can be as different as our fingerprints or personalities – we may share similarities, but we also have differences. If we allow our loves ones to grieve in their own way, we may find beauty in the ashes.
HEALING HURTS
At least for me, I’ve observed that healing hurts. And hurting is a necessary path to healing. The less I resist the hurt, the more I allow my grief and sorrow to run through my body and soul, the sooner the storm passes. Though I am only 2 years into my grief journey, I can promise you that the storm will eventually break. However much the sky may be pitch as night, the sun will rise again. I promise. But the sun will also set. Grief will come and go for the rest of our lives.
GATHER GRATITUDE
One of the more healing aspects of my personal grief recovery has been in finding gratitude for everything. Alan Pedersen, the Executive director of TCF wisely observed at the beginning of the conference, “We aren’t here because our children died, but because they lived.” Alan’s observation was empowering and altered the way we see things.
So I told the audience, in like manner, if we focus on the positive things we may find that our cup, though cracked and tattered by grief and sorrow may still be overflowing. Gratitude for the time we had, the lessons we learned and the things that remain … gratitude is a gift we can give to ourselves. Gratitude is a supernal gift because it heals and mends.
As I ended my address I did what any thoughtful person might do … I wondered if I hit the mark and began to contemplate what I could have done better. By the time I found my seat I had already thought of 15 things I could have done differently to offer a little more help and hope. I thought to myself, “Okay little Mitch, next time … I’ll say those things next time.”
Yet, when I stop and think about that experience with TCF, I realize that there is no single book, no keynote presentation, no music, no piece of art … no single thing fixes the sorrow. Yet, compassionate friends … those people who empathize and care … people who lift one another’s burdens and love each other for just being them … that has the power to heal broken hearts and broken souls to mend.
There are few things as powerful and healing as the compassion of friends. As TCF wisely says, “you need not walk alone.”
www.compassionatefriends.org
A friend of mine started a project that I've grown to love for many, many reasons. At the heart of her project is time: both how and where we spend it.
Ever since I lost little Mitch, I began to think about how and where I spent my time. When I stop to think about it, my most rewarding (and healing) memories have come from putting my time into things that mattered most to me.
Nothing is so abused or misused as time ... yet, with that same time, nothing can be so powerful and life-altering. Time is life's greatest currency; and we cannot save, borrow or steal it. We can only spend it, waste it or invest it.
So, when this Mitchell's Journey follower-turned-friend introduced me to her project about putting time into things that matter, I was excited because her effort aligns with everything I know about life and what's most important. For, its the true value of time and what we do with it that's at the very heart of Mitchell's Journey and the subject of my professional pursuits.
Take a look at this project www.timemachine.do or you can visit www.facebook.com/Thetimemachine2015/timeline
Put your time into one of their time challenges and you'll find you get more out of it than you ever put into it. Her program doesn't cost any money and the only thing they ask you to do are the very things we so often say to ourselves, "Oh, yeah, I'll get to that." The challenges ask us to do things that make life fun, meaningful and worth living.
There is Mitchell's Journey challenge embedded in the app, too.
At the end of the day isn't everything really about time? I hope to always put my time to things that matter most.
It was late afternoon and the air was almost uncomfortably humid and warm, even in the shadow of my home. It was Father’s Day 2012 – for those new to this blog, that was my last Father’s day with Mitch. My children each prepared a thoughtful gift and handed them to me. As I opened each gift carefully I looked my kids in the eyes thanked them for their love. Mitch sat next to me, like he always did at the dinner table. I miss that. Although I appreciated their thoughtful gifts – having them in my life was gift enough. A gift so grand I could scarcely contain myself.
I was always confused as a young child when I asked my mother or father what kind of present they wanted for their birthday. They would respond softly in their own way, “Oh, just draw me a picture or write me a letter. That is what I really want.” My little mind pondered over their answers, confused why they didn’t want a toy or the next new thing. After becoming a parent, I began to understand their answer. I would trade every possession I have for another handwritten note from Mitch. They are treasures to me and always will be.
When I first stumbled into this photo I wasn’t sure what to make of it. My heart first swelled to see a photo of Mitch and me together because they are relatively rare … at the same time it sank a little as I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in the heart and mind of my son. Did he sense his life was coming to an end? Sometimes I think so. The more I reflect on my conversations with Mitch (many of which I have audio recorded and may share in future posts) I am beginning to sense something was brooding inside him. It was almost as if his soul knew something neither of us did – at least consciously. Mitch left little breadcrumbs that would suggest he sensed something big was going to happen. How big and terrible, we knew not.
Ironically, about 10 months before this photo was taken I told a business partner of mine, one with whom I share sacred conversations, that I sensed great unrest on the horizon. I told him I felt a significant change in my life was coming … so significant my soul nearly shivered. Yet, I wasn’t sure what it was. I even wrote about it in my journal. Sure enough, we would soon learn Mitchell’s heart was in serious trouble and that time was all we had left.
That brooding sense something was on the horizon was one of many tender mercies from my Father. A warning of love and compassion … a warning to make moments matter before it was too late. That intuition … that whisper from a higher power was not an isolated event. My Father told me something was wrong with Mitch the moment I first laid eyes on him in the delivery room. I knew it … in every way a human and soul could know something … I knew it. In the coming months, as I held my young infant I would begin to sense that not only was something wrong, but that his life would be short. I tried to brush that feeling off as nonsense … but deep inside, I’ve come to learn that insight was heaven-sent.
I am grateful for those [nearly] invisible warnings. They remind me so much more is happening than we have a mind to know.
At least for me, the more I examine and understand the past, the more equipped I am to live in the present. I appreciate the value of a moment much more today than I did a few years ago. When I think of all the stupid things I did, the trivial pursuits, the wasted moments and opportunities lost … I wince a little on the inside. But, I don’t let my regrets break me, instead I use them to shape me.
I suppose that’s the power of the examined life ... we stumble and fall, but we’re still alright.