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At the top of my property rests a secret forest filled with scrub oak. It’s not very big, but if you take your imagination with you it is big enough. This secret wood hugs a 20 foot tall volcanic cliff that marks the end of my yard. A few years ago we carved a path through the woods to a secret place that overlooked the valley. Mitch loved it. We placed a bench there so, every once-in-a-while, we could sneak away from the world to talk and eat popsicles while the sun set. Every time I go there I feel like a little boy again and am strongly tempted to throw my wallet to the wind and make forts and get lost with my children the remainder of my days. If only life were that generous and simple. 

“... my son and his faithful friend taught me that true strength isn’t found in pushing people down, but lifting people up.”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

One evening Mitch wanted to go to the top of our yard so I gave him a piggy back. He and his best friend, Luke, sat on our bench and started to talk. I was about to walk down the trail and give them some space when I turned my head only to see Luke put his arm around Mitch and say “I’m glad you’re my friend, Mitchell.” I sat there a minute and listened to them talk about video games and a new Nerf gun war strategies.

My heart was filled with gratitude. These two young boys were brothers to the end – and I love them both. When I captured this moment there was no way of knowing how symbolic this image would soon become; that in a few years Luke would come to Mitchell’s side once more and hold his hand, as if to put his arm around him the night before he died. Luke would tell him for the last time “I’m glad you’re my friend” and how much Mitchell meant to him. I wept like a child that night. And I weep again today; not only from sadness, but from a deep love and appreciation for who these young boys are and what they taught me.

When I think of all the tender mercies that were afforded my son and family by a loving Heavenly Father, Luke is chief among them. As fate would have it, or better said divine intervention, Luke was our next-door neighbor. A more fitting neighbor and friend there never was. It was as though they were cut from the same rare quarry. What’s more, what one friend lacked, the other more than compensated. They were each other’s yin and yang. This was a friendship that was forged in Heaven - of that I am sure.

Mitch had a few other dear friends that were also tender mercies - and I’ll write of them another time. But the relationship between these two was most unique and the tenderest of mercies. There was nothing quite like it.

When I look upon this image I can’t help but think about what it really means to be human. So many of the atrocities in the world happen because we forget who we really are. And when we forget, we turn humans into objects, or leverage, or worse. But if we remember who we are, sons and daughters of a loving Heavenly Father, at once our relationship with each other (and how we see ourselves) changes. We begin to see past deficits or disabilities, rudeness or insecurities … we learn to see in others and ourselves what we can become. And that’s a game changer.

Even though I weep for my son and long for his companionship (and oh, how I weep … and oh, how I long), I am also so grateful for him and all that he taught me.

And while I live in a world that tends to confuse rudeness with strength, my son and his faithful friend taught me that true strength isn't found in pushing people down, but lifting people up. And these two young boys did this – magnanimously.

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Last weekend, during the Miles for Mitchell 5K, I began to think about the kaleidoscope of winning. Real winning has so many unique forms, shapes, and colors and it is all beautiful. 

Here are two photos that show 3 ways to win. Wyatt running in honor of his fallen brother … not a day goes by that Wyatt doesn't weep over the loss of Mitch; he would have done anything to save him. Luke, ever the faithful companion to Mitch, encourages Wyatt to press forward when his legs were tired. Lastly, a volunteer scout sitting in the shade of Mitchell’s balloons weeping over the loss of a friend. 

Three forms of humanity. Three forms of winning.

To win is to try. 
To win is to help others along the way. 
To win is to have compassion and love deeply.

These young boys were living life unrehearsed, and living it beautifully. Each of them won.

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We were humbled to learn that one of Mitchell's Journey followers created a piece of jewelry in honor of Mitchell. She is donating all of the profits directly to The Parent Project MD, the organization that came rushing to Mitchell's aid when he was admitted to the hospital in February. We are grateful to Cathy's Creations.

http://cathyscreationsjewelry.com/Mitchells-Journey-Pendant-Mitchjrny.htm

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The night before Mitchell passed away we sensed that time was running out. As the sky quickly darkened the air grew eerily cold … and with each breath we felt a heavy, somber feeling grow within our hearts. That abyss that was inching to devour our son had its mouth stretched wide and was beginning to swallow up my son.

We were preparing to cuddle with Mitch in his room and read him stories and comfort him when we received a call from his best friend and next-door neighbor who wanted to see if he could play. Unaware that Mitchell was already slipping away and was coming in and out of consciousness (mostly out), we asked this young boy if we could speak to his mother … which we did … and described what was happening. We quickly learned that Luke wanted to come over and say goodbye to our baby, his best buddy.

What I then witnessed in the quite of Mitchell’s room was the most tender interaction between two young boys I have ever seen. It was a sacred exchange between two boys made of clay – each being shaped by experience, hardship, sacrifice, and love. 

Lying on the bed was our young boy much too young to die, standing next to him another young boy holding his hand, bearing his young soul … much too young to say goodbye. It was not my place to ask God why such heavy things were required by hands of these two innocent souls. Rather I began to ponder deeply and pray in my heart to understand what we were meant to learn from this hardship. These aren't the only two children to experience this, and they won’t be the last. But they were our kids … and we love them so. And it hurt so very much to see.

This young boy, who had loved Mitch like a brother and faithfully served him with all his heart told Mitchell how much he meant to him, that because of Mitch he learned what it meant to be a true friend and that he would never forget him. Luke struggled to hold back the tears, his voice was broken with emotion, as Mitchell lay unable to move or speak as he listened to tender words of affection and friendship. My wife and I wept as we witnessed love and friendship in its purest form. 

I knew that Luke, Mitchell’s faithful little friend, was breaking inside. I hugged him and told him how much my wife and I loved and appreciated him. I told him that I was sure if Mitchell were awake he would tell Luke that he loved him like a brother and that he appreciated how he was always there to help him when his muscles were too weak, and to cheer him up when he was sad. I told Luke that he taught Mitchell and his parents what it meant to be your “brother’s keeper” and that we were so grateful to him.

Later that evening I couldn't help but think of that tender experience between these two young boys who were forced to grow up much too fast. I pondered the meaning of human suffering and the difficult experiences we are sometimes required to endure. I have learned to appreciate an old Jewish proverb that basically states "Don't pray for lighter burdens, pray for a stronger back". It would seem that in all religious texts, no matter your religion, God makes no apology for pain and suffering. In fact, I have come to understand there is a sacred relationship between suffering and spirituality, if we learn to listen and endure it well. 

I admit the burden of losing my precious son has my knees trembling and hands shaking and my soul in tremendous pain. There exists no word in the human language to describe this pain. It is simply, utterly, bewilderingly heavy. But, like all suffering, the sting of that pain can make way to a deeper compassion toward others, a greater capacity to love, a stronger desire to reach toward God and understand His purposes.

The truth is we are [all of us] no different than these two little boys. We are all made of clay. And with each choice we make, each reaction to events in our life, we carve out something beautiful or something hideous – something that loves or hates. We need only look at our own life experience to know this is true … we have all seen some let the clay in their hearts harden and become brittle or unmovable. Others allow the tears of suffering to keep their clay soft and pliable. 

Today my clay is soggy. But the tears will eventually dry and I will do all that I can to remain pliable.