I took this photo a few weeks ago. It was one of the colder nights of the year and all I could think about was how I wanted to take my son home with me where it was warm. Sometimes thoughts like that barge into my mind and heart unannounced and uninvited and I cannot help but experience the fatherly instinct to protect and care for my son. I know better, but that doesn’t stop those thoughts and feelings from happening.
On my drive home I had a few ideas about what I might say but as I sat down to write them my mind emptied while my eyes filled with tears. All that crossed my mind was how grateful I was for the gift that lay at the bottom of these two Christmas trees.
Although part of my heart died with my son … leaving in my heart an emptiness because he is gone … part of my son’s heart is with me and that is what I shall carry the remainder of my days. It doesn’t fill the emptiness but I have a feeling that in time it might.
I don’t know what emotions tomorrow holds, but today I feel a certain peace in my heart – and for that I shed tears of gratitude.
Luke, Mitchell’s best friend also came with us. We love Luke as though he were our own son. He misses Mitch.
It was a sacred night of love and remembering. At the end Kristin asked if it would be appropriate to have a closing prayer – which I volunteered to give. I thought I’d be able to keep it together but found myself immediately broken inside as I struggled to utter a word. My eyes filled with tears as words stuttered and fumbled out of my mouth. I was overwhelmed with gratitude and sorrow, faith and heartache. Eventually I was able to find a few words and thanked God for gift of Mitch and asked that we would remember my son’s goodness and somehow find ways to pay that goodness forward.
Mitch loved Christmas, he loved family, and he loved to love. My heart was both heavy and light.
A thick fog had crawled across the landscape and it seemed as if the city lights and the hustle of world had all but disappeared … one could scarcely see past the cemetery. The fog had drawn focus to what was happening at that moment … all we could see was my son’s burial plot and each other. It was beautiful and strangely comforting. It was a goldilocks event; the songs were perfect and thereweren’t too many … it was just right. The carols started with some of Mitchell’s favorite holiday jingles and gradually became more spiritual in nature. I found myself on the perimeter a bit because I was emotional but also wanted to capture what was happening with my camera. It was a beautiful evening and while our bodies were cold, our hearts were warm.
A local restaurant owner gave our family hot chocolate. She was such a kind and compassionate woman and has been following Mitchell's Journey. We were so touched by her goodness and generosity.
I knew my wife was up to something a few months ago when she was busy at work on her laptop and periodically asked me to help her find some specific photos. She had a certain energy about her but kept everything secret. Then a few weeks ago she had her parents and Aunt Sonya come over to our home to do something special. I am generally aware when something is up – but this time I didn’t see it coming.
We had dinner as a family and enjoyed each other’s company for a while and then we went downstairs for the big reveal. To our surprise Natalie had made custom Christmas tree decorations in honor of our son. On our table was an array of UNO cards, Nerf guns, dragons, stuffed animal huskies and Angry Birds, Legos and more. Each of us also received a block with photos of us and Mitch. It was the most unexpected and thoughtful surprise.
I was overwhelmed by emotion and quietly stepped out of the room and went down the hall … the same hall I stepped into, slid my back down the wall and wept like a child when Mitch told me “Well, at least I’m alive.” I sat in the darkness a moment and wept like I did when I knew I couldn’t save my son. I tried to dry up as quickly as I could and then went back in the room to participate.
As I walked back in the room everyone was busy putting decorations on the tree and I was so grateful for family. As we were wrapping things up, Natalie showed us a star she made with Mitchell’s face in the center.
Every time I see this tree I think of my son; and when I do, I do not have sad thoughts but thoughts of love and appreciation … thoughts of comfort. I am also reminded of what it means to be innocent and good. Mitch gave that to me, as did my other children – and for that, I am grateful.
I know there are some who bemoan the commercialization of Christmas (or any holiday for that matter) worried that people are obscuring its original meaning with all manner of distractions; and I understand the importance of remembering the origins of what we do and why we do it. But I also believe there is room for symbols, customs and traditions that remind us to be good. And if there are any such things, I seek after them.
This humble tree adorned with things my little boy loved serves as a reminder that family is a gift I cherish – a gift I will never again take for granted.
I was looking at an old Christmas card I made in 2005 which included a mini audio CD of my kids. Mitch was only 3 years old and had been diagnosed with DMD earlier that year. In the months leading up to this little interview I spent many tear-filled nights under the dim light of our kitchen table reading everything I could about this fatal disease. From the moment of his diagnosis time became more precious than money or possessions and I did everything I could to capture as much of life as possible. Until the moment of his diagnosis I had always taken as many photos of [all] my kids because I knew they would only be little once – but suddenly there was a certain urgency I didn't have before.
I had all but forgotten about this little interview with Mitch (and my other children) and upon finding it my heart exploded.
I just threw a couple of visuals to go along with the audio. The photos herein were taken the same day as the interview.
This is short, but it’s worth listening to: https://vimeo.com/81344738
This holiday season I won’t forget the gifts that matter most shouldn't be wrapped in paper, but wrapped in love. I am forever grateful for my family.