I hesitate sharing a highly used/overused quote, but I think its appropriate. Vivian Greene wrote, “Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass...It's about learning to dance in the rain.”
To live with grief is to live with all manner of rain and sorrow; from subtle mists to deep downpours ... there is no escaping it. I've learned there isn't a raincoat or umbrella that will shield you from grief. Despite our heartache and pain, we're learning to dance in the rain.
Mitch had a very fun side. Because he was more interested in others than drawing attention to himself, he was usually quiet and observant around others. But if he let you in, you would get a first-row ticket to wit and humor that would have an adult in stitches. Mitch was a very funny little boy.
At home, we have so many fun traditions, each of which always brought Mitch a great deal of happiness. So, in honor of Mitchie, yesterday we participated in some family shenanigans.
This is for you little Mitch.
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.
On Mitchell’s last trip to work with me a colleague went out of his way to talk to Mitch and make him feel important. When I think back on this moment my heart is filled with gratitude because there were probably a million-and-one reasons he could have ignored Mitch and focused only on the tasks that weighted heavy on his shoulders. I suppose, if he were like many people today swept up in the rush and flurry of things, he might have felt bothered, slowed down or flustered because there was a kid in the office. That was not how Corey treated my son, for he chose the better way. This moment reminded me of something William Phelps said, “The first test of a gentleman: his respect for those who can be of no possible value to him.” I have always loved that observation and I saw it in action that day.
Corey, understanding the true value of a soul, knew there was more to life than work and took time to love my son. If Mitch had lived a full life, I am sure he would have remembered that exchange with Corey as one of those building moments … those rare exchanges when you’re young that make you feel special and important and change you a little on the inside.
When we left work Mitch said in his quiet voice, “Dad, that man was really nice to me. Is everyone you work with that nice?” Immediately I felt a lump in my throat because I knew how much little Mitch valued kindness … and he was given the gift of kindness by Corey. I told him, “I think so, Mitchie. I surely hope so.” Mitch gave me a hand hug as we navigated rush-hour traffic on our slow journey home. At some point along the way Mitch closed his eyes, leaned his head against my arm and went to sleep. I cried a little that moment because I didn't know how much time I had with him – and what time I had was more precious to me than all the riches of earth. What I had in that moment with Mitch cannot be bought with money, but it does come at a price; the price of time, love and attention.
Fast forward a few months and I found myself at my little boy’s funeral, devastated and bewildered with grief. We had just said our final goodbyes and closed the casket and began the impossible walk down the hall to the chapel. My knees almost gave out a couple of times because my body just wanted to fall to the ground and weep.
As we began to turn the corner I saw Corey walking into the building to offer his love and support. He lived so far away from us and probably had a million-and-one reasons to not go, but he made it a point to offer love and kindness to our family. I quickly broke formation and gave him a hug just before we entered the chapel. Suddenly, in my mind, I heard Mitchell’s voice, almost like a whisper, “Dad, that man was really nice to me.” In my heart I said to my son, “Mitch, you were right, that man IS really nice … and nothing else matters.” He doesn't know this, but Corey’s gift of kindness to Mitch was also a gift to me because he gave my boy the gift of time and attention and made him happy.
I am grateful for people like Corey … who make a choice each day to love and lift others – even when they don’t need to. I cannot help but be brought to tears when I look at this image; for I see two sons of a loving Father who wants only for us to be nice and help each other along the way … because that’s all that matters at the end of the day. Kindness is always the better way.
My daughter took these photos the day after Mitchell came home. He was so excited to be surrounded by all that was familiar to him. Most importantly, he was grateful to be with his family – for above all else, family is what he loved the most.
My wife and I were anxious to hold, hug and kiss him without the spider web of cables, tubes and IV’s. It was a surreal time for us. 48 hours prior to this very moment Mitchell had a team of 12 medical professionals all working vigorously to keep him alive. At home he had 1 hospice nurse whose job was to help him feel comfortable and usher his body through the painful process of organ failure and death.
For Mitchell, touch was very important to him. There was no blanket that could replace the warmth that came from his parent’s embrace. Ever since he was a baby he would rub his forehead against mine -sometimes for minutes at a time. He wouldn't say a word and neither would I; we didn't need to. We spoke more in our silence and gestures than could ever be communicated by words alone. This was one of his ways of loving deeply and I never tired of it. I yearn to do it again today and my heart sinks to the depths of my soul that I cannot.
Within a few days of this photo Mitchell lost the ability to smell. It never came back. He would tell me later how much he missed smelling the things he loved. He yearned for the scent of his favorite shampoo, the smell of popcorn and his dad’s cologne. He had an appreciation for the little things in life and I admired that about him greatly. A week before he passed away Mitchell asked if we could go to the store to buy shampoo that had a stronger scent … so that maybe he could smell again. I hugged him and quietly started to cry. Oh, the little things we so often take for granted …
I will never smell things the same again. Never a scent my nose encounters that I don’t thank my God for all that I have.
Over the last 2 years I would occasionally ask Mitchell what advice he would give people about life. Without fail he would respond “Be nice to each other and be glad you’re alive. Nothing else matters.” With this philosophy he never varied. I found it fascinating that a child so young was so attune to the intrinsic value of life. What’s more, he understood the deeply spiritual value of kindness. Most young children seem to worry more about play things and consumption (perhaps too many adults do, too) – but Mitchell possessed a sobriety about life and relationships that was far beyond his years. It was as if his soul knew what was to come long before his mortal body failed him.
I was raised to accept the reality life is tough, because it is. And at some point the world tells us we have to suck it up and take it like a “man” or a woman, or a lion or a bear. But I also realized in the privacy of our bedrooms or the quite of our minds there is often an unspoken dimension to us . . . a part of us that is vulnerable and mortal; a part that loves deeply and hurts honestly.
Years ago I stopped pretending to be a lion or a bear. I decided to be human – and that has been liberating.
Three weeks after my daughter took these photos, Mitchell’s weary and scarred heart, after having fought valiantly to survive, fluttered and stopped.
I would give everything I own, or could ever hope to be, to have my little son back with me. His broken heart, a heart that loved deeply and hurt honestly, was more noble and worthy than all the lions and bears on earth. Mitchell reminds me what it means to be human and that the lions and bears we often pretend to be are just a mirage. My son taught me there are no lions or bears, only humans … and to pretend otherwise is to cheat others and ourselves.
One day, when we all have eyes to truly see, we’ll come to know there was so much more to mortality. That to be nice to each other and grateful for life are among the prerequisites to spiritual sight.