Toward the end of summer 2012, before I left on an extended business trip overseas, my wife and I took our kids camping. I had a certain uneasiness about me. I couldn't put my finger on it. Though used to travelling, this time was different. I was going to be on the other side of the earth for a few weeks and my mind and heart worried I might not see my family again. I knew this time was precious. How precious, at the time, I knew not. In the end, I believe my feelings were magnified because I knew time was short for my son. This was our last camping trip as a family.
We settled by a reservoir near Park City and the weather was beautiful. Whenever we went camping Mitch always wanted to sleep next to me – so as we pulled into the campground Mitch was the first to call dibs to one of my sides. I love him.
The tent was set, the kids were playing and I had just started a campfire when I looked to a nearby road only to find my daughter pushing Mitch on his wheelchair as fast as she could. Mitch laughed and smiled as Laura-Ashley took him for a ride. Mitch loved the wind in his face – but he loved his sister even more. His right knee, bearing a nearly-healed wound from falling a few weeks prior, was a reminder that walking was difficult for him and running impossible. What’s more, it was a subtle reminder that being outside the safety of a wheelchair was becoming increasingly risky for him. There was safety in a wheelchair because he wouldn't trip or fall – but it was also limiting. Laura-Ashley, knowing he couldn't run like others, gave Mitch the next best thing. In fact, it was far better.
I was struck by the beauty of this moment and also by the inward beauty of my daughter. I have always thought she was beautiful on the outside – but, to me, she is angelically beautiful on the inside. I admire her on so many levels. I once wrote of her: “My remarkable daughter: Kind to people who hurt her. Loving to others that hurt. Deeply artistic. Intelligent beyond her years. A fierce protector. A loyal helper. Astute observer. Simply beautiful. Beautifully complex.” She is all of that and so much more.
My sweet daughter had a very special relationship with Mitch. She was always so tender and kind to him – ever looking for ways to keep him safe and feeling loved. In my mind I can still hear her sweet tone every time she spoke with him. It was so unique. So loving. Her love to him was a warm blanket.
I’ll never forget her reaction the night Mitch passed away. It was about 4AM when I went to Laura-Ashley’s room to tell my daughter her little brother was gone. I gently placed my hand on her shoulder and woke her then whispered Mitch had passed away and tears immediately filled her eyes. Her little brother, whom she had given her heart and served with all her might, was gone. My heart, already broken from losing my son, broke even more to see this loving sister, my sweet daughter whom I also loved with all my heart, in great pain. I would have given my life to keep my son alive and save my daughter from hurt and sorrow. I wish death didn't have to hurt so much. But it does. And that kind of hurt is exquisite.
I will always remember this moment of love and service – how my daughter tried to give my son the next best thing but in reality gave him something far better.
Like my son who wished to be like “regular kids” and run free of his handicap, I am sometimes tempted to want for a “regular life” [if there ever was one] free from hardship and sorrows. But like my daughter taught me, the things we gain from adapting to hardships are be far better than what we get when we run free of the hard things that teach us what matters most ... and that is something far better.
On December 24th, just as we were about to spend time at home as a family we delivered some gifts and quilts to Primary Children’s Hospital CICU (the same place that cared for our little boy). Nobody has cardiac failure on their schedule so you almost always end up unprepared to stay there. With that in mind we took some quilts that were donated to Mitchell's Journey and other gifts we gathered along with messages of hope to give to some of the families that found themselves there Christmas Eve.
We would like to involve as many Mitchell’s Journey followers as are interested next year and try to bless as many lives as humanly possible.
These quilts were donated by loving hands and hearts from Pipestone Minnesota. A follower of Mitchell’s Journey, Nichole Rieck, who has since become a dear friend to our family mobilized people in her community to help Mitchell’s Journey last spring and the echo of that effort continued on this day as these quilts found a home and tender hearts to comfort. A few of these quilts were made by Mavis Holt, an 87-year-old woman, who hand sewed the most intricate works of warmth and art. Karla Whipple, also from Pipestone, Nichole, and others generously made beautiful quilts and donated them in hopes that it might help.
Our greatest desire was that those who found themselves away from the comfort of home and the flickering light of a fireplace but instead lay under the flashing lights of monitors and endless beeps found a little comfort that night.
As we parked the car and walked to the hospital I found myself struggling to breathe. For a moment it was hard to go back there. Part of me wanted to run down the hall in desperate search of my son. My knees were weak and my heart was racing as my eyes began to swell. Even though it has been almost a year, it felt like we were just there a few days ago. But as we walked toward the building and I saw my wife and kids cheerful and anxious to help others, my tears turned from sorrow to love and appreciation. Suddenly my heart, which moments ago, was heavy as lead became light as snow.
I don’t know many things, but what I do know is our sorrows can be swallowed up in the service of others. The moment we set aside our own hurts to lift someone else, who also hurts, both burdens are made light.
Be the spark: https://vimeo.com/81345868
It was January. The air was bitter cold and the clouds lay low, thick as London fog. Up the driveway walked loving grandparents to deliver a special gift to lift the heart of a young boy who was very, very sick. We thought we had a little more time with Mitch but the hour was later than we imagined. In retrospect the timing of this little gift was more than a puppy, it was a tender mercy. Over the next few weeks this little girl would perform a very special role in helping calm the heart of my dying son – and would be by his side to comfort him as he passed away.
After Mitch was denied a heart transplant in November we started searching for a puppy because he always wanted one to call his own. We wanted our son to be happy with whatever time he had left and we felt this was one way to bring comfort to him. My wife and I explored every lead and looked in every corner, each time returning empty-handed. Then, one afternoon we got a call from Natalie’s father who said he found one. We were unaware that he had diligently been searching, too. He also felt moved upon to do something for him. We were so excited for Mitch and we were so very grateful.
Mitch was in our basement playing a video game unaware the gift he would soon receive. I ran outside to greet my in-laws and take photos of everything that would follow. As my father-in-law opened the box to give me a peek my heart leapt from my chest and sprouted wings. I fought back tears because I knew what this would mean to my sweet son.
I’ll never forget the feelings I had when I first laid eyes on this furry little snowflake. Inside an old cardboard box was timid, sweet and loving little puppy. Carefully placed next to her was a Ziploc bag with handwritten instructions and some puppy food. She was also sent away with a knotted cloth that had her mother’s scent to comfort this sweet little girl as she stepped into a new and unfamiliar world. This old man and this young puppy were on a mission of mercy.
In every way, she was perfect. Just as sweet and shy as our little Mitchie, they felt like familiar souls. It was as if they were meant for each other.
I posted this video of their first meeting: https://vimeo.com/58228257
Every time I watch that video I feel a spectrum of emotions. One of my favorite parts is seen at 1:40 when you see Mitchell’s grandfather smiling as Mitch loved his new little friend. That image is heavenly to me. It shows the satisfaction one gains from heart-felt service and seeing joy in another. I can only imagine the face of our Father when he sees us being good and kind to each other.
Within minutes of meeting his little friend Mitch would name her Marlie and they went from strangers to soul mates almost instantly. Through her body language Marlie seemed to figure out quickly that Mitch was very, very sick. She seemed to know what we didn't know … couldn't know, at the time. Whenever she wobbled near my son she would lay softly next to him as if to comfort him. She almost never left his side.
This winter I will sit by my fireplace with my wife and other children with gratitude in my heart. They are all gifts to me and I treasure them. Although I am grateful for them, I will ever long for the warmth of my fallen son. And whenever I’m tempted to think the world as unforgiving and cold, when the fog of sorrow descends upon me and the pains of grief limit my view … I will remember this special delivery … this gift from a loving Heavenly & Earthly Father who worked together to bless the life of my son. And that warms my heart and soul.
During the time Mitchell was home under the care of hospice he received a lot of love and encouragement from strangers all across the world. There wasn't a continent or culture that didn't reach out to him in love and compassion. Mitchell was so humbled by that outpouring of love and concern and he read every letter, email and Facebook message that was sent to him. All the while he kept telling me, “I don’t understand, I’m just an ordinary kid.”
The day after Mitchell passed away we received an envelope in the mail with the return address “mystry helper #910”. Inside this envelope was a tattered $1 bill and a torn piece of paper that read: “Chris & Natalie, $ is for Mitch’s medicine. Sorry if it does not help. :(” When my wife and I read that humble note written by tiny, concerned hands we both sat on the floor and wept … and wept. What this young child didn't know … couldn't know … was the impact that gesture of love would have on us. It wasn't the money – it was the heart … and so it is with everything.
Another young child named Samuel sent a package to Mitchell that had a Ziploc bag containing his very favorite Legos. By the look of them, it was clear he took those Legos from his own personal collection. They were choice Legos that would have been the envy of any boy and it was a clear sacrifice on that young child’s behalf. This package was also accompanied by a most thoughtful and touching letter by his parents.
Other wonderful children, feeling after our son wrote letters, drew pictures, and donated their allowance to help him. We were so humbled by the goodness of these little hands and big hearts. Each of these young children was remarkable in their capacity to love a stranger and to be so free with their substance so as to bless someone in need. I wish it were possible to list every person who wrote and loved Mitch … but we have saved everything … and slowly, we’re working on it. Not a letter, package or gesture of love toward our family went unnoticed or unappreciated. And, to every adult who reached out in love and support of our family, we are just as moved and grateful. Thank you.
Mystery Helper #910, Samuel, and everyone who raised their hands and hearts to help little Mitch in any capacity, you are all simply amazing. I wish it were possible to meet each of you who reached out to my son and family … so I could look you in the eye, with tears in mine, and say thank you for your goodness, thank you for teaching me.
We hope to pay your goodness forward … and to make every day a day of thanks and a day of giving.