It was late August and we somehow managed to survive our first summer without our son. Saturday morning had come and it was a beautiful, almost dream-like day when we went to visit out son’s place of rest. A few moments prior to this photo I captured Marlie sitting at the foot of Mitchell’s headstone staring at it. After a few moments Natalie quietly sat by Marlie. This little girl, this furry friend to our son and family, looked up at this broken-hearted mommy.
I know dogs are intuitive for I have seen their intuition with my own eyes. This same puppy, much smaller at the time, never left Mitchell’s side while he was sick. And the night Mitch passed she curled around his head as if to comfort him – like a mother would cradle her baby. Now there was another person that needed comfort – a mother who was dying on the inside. I wondered at this moment what Marlie was thinking – did she know that Natalie was in pain? Sometimes I think so.
I sensed Marlie missed Mitch because I would often find her laying on his bed as if to wait for him to come home. She would lay on his pillow in the same way she did when Mitch passed away. I was always saddened to see that.
A few weeks after Mitch passed away a dear friend of our family and mother to one of Mitchell’s best friends, Carter (who I will write about soon), approached us and asked if she could start a 5K run in honor of Mitch called “Miles for Mitchell”.
We were so touched by her thoughtfulness. Natalie loves to run - it is her way of coping. Before Mitchell passed away he said in a soft, almost breathless voice, “Hey mom, you can take Marlie running with you every day. I think she would like that.” Mitch wished he could run like other kids but his muscles were too weak. Natalie kissed Mitch softly and said, “I sure will. I will run with Marlie.”
Natalie has kept her promise and runs every day with this sweet little dog.
We were overwhelmed by the love and support from our local community, neighbors and friends last year. They rallied to help us in a time of crisis and great need – and we were deeply humbled and taken to our knees. That run, Miles for Mitchell, did so much for Natalie’s heart on her path to healing. For she was surrounded by people who cared, who loved her and felt after her broken heart. I suspect this year's run will do the same for her. And that makes my heart glad - for she hurts, too.
For those who want to attend our second annual Miles for Mitchell, the run will be held May 3rd. You can find more details on www.facebook.com/MilesForMitchell or you can register here: http://tinyurl.com/ka5qu89.
Last year the run was aimed at helping our family pay off medical bills and cover funeral expenses – for which we were deeply grateful.
This year, and every year hereafter, we will run to raise awareness for DMD and its catastrophic outcomes, to support Mitchell’s Journey, and help others who hurt.
I loved it when Mitch sat on my shoulders as a little boy. When I look at this photo I can almost feel his little hands on my face again and my heart is awash with love. But then the tears come – I cannot stop them – and they wet my face and remind me of what once was, but is no longer. I still close my eyes and reach to feel his little hands on my face sometimes.
Sometimes.
On this day Mitch asked to sit on my shoulders so he could peer over the fence in our back yard and wave goodbye to his big sister who was walking to school. The fence was just tall enough that I couldn't see over it, not even on my tiptoes. But once on my shoulders, Mitch could see the brave new world just over the fence. A world he could always hear but couldn't see. Once on my shoulders he would tell me the things he saw. He would yell out as if to say “Dad, this is awesome! If you could see what I see!”
“A bus!” he would say excitedly. “A twuck!” with another excited burst. To little Mitch the world just over the fence was a smorgasbord of sights and sounds that captured his imagination. When he saw his sister come into view he would bounce up and down on my shoulders and point to her yelling, “I see her! I see her! I wuv you Ash!”
Though I couldn't see his smile with my eyes I could feel his smile with his hands on my face – and my heart grew a foot or two. I then grabbed his hands and pressed them into my face as if to hug him. These are the moments I live for. These are the moments that warm my heart and calm my soul.
My sweet wife, who recognized I was always behind the camera and almost never seen in a scrapbook, took some photos of us that morning. Photos of Mitch and me are rare by comparison to the number of photos I took of everyone else. So I treasure these photos with my son greatly.
We would discover a few weeks from this photo Mitch had a catastrophic muscle-wasting disease that would hurt him, cause great hardship, and eventually take his life. I cannot count the nights I sat at our kitchen table weeping for my son, reading everything I could to understand DMD and trying to prepare for the inevitable journey through the wastelands of grief and sorrow.
I was unaware we were nearing the end of an era for our family. An era of relative peace and ease; an era free of the sorrows we would soon know and then carry the remainder of our days. Oh, I had become acquainted with the sorrows of death – for my father passed when I was 19. But a father is no son; and losing my child has broken me in ways I never imagined.
My son’s journey has taken me on a most unexpected path – a path I was scarcely prepared to sojourn. Were I given the choice I would have taken any path but this. For I have nearly drown in a sea of sorrow, I have stumbled through my wilderness of grief, and I have peered into the depths of the abyss. The loss of my son has become my Everest and I intend on reaching the summit.
Perhaps after a trillion of my own tears have fallen to the earth, when my weary legs and broken heart are about to collapse … when I reach the summit of my Everest … perhaps, then, I will begin see what Mitch sees. A brave new world. A world I can hear with my heart – but I cannot now see.
Marlie, who once brought great comfort to Mitch, now brings a measure of comfort to us.
Only a small measure, but a measure nonetheless.
For that I am grateful.
What you see here are two prototype books of Mitchell’s Journey: Essays on Hope, Healing and Finding Happiness. For the last 6 months I have been quietly putting these together.
This isn't a ploy or an attempt exploit my tragedy – any suggestion of such is foolishness. One need only read this page [even superficially] to know I would rather give to others freely, to lift a heavy heart and love others more than anything. I take no delight in having put these together – in fact, these two bodies of work are the product of deep agony, many tears and a heart that stretches toward the heavens in search of peace. I would have given my life to never have cause to write. I just want my little boy back – and I am pained that I cannot.
Some have commented that there is no need to write a book – for each entry here would seem to suffice – at least it would seem their cup comfortably. Others respond in-kind that a book would reach others who do not use Facebook.
I am going to try to do things with Mitchell’s Journey that are calculated to bless others’ lives – and some of you may want to participate. I am not interested in income, I have a job. But I am interested in outcomes. For every heart that’s lifted, for every life that is blessed, my heart bursts with gladness. I believe the old aphorism “a rising tide lifts all boats.” And as the tide of awareness rises, others who have DMD will surely benefit.
There are still miles to go with these books. I don’t even have a publisher, yet. I approach this task with a measure of trepidation, for I am the weakest of all. I recently wrote in an earlier post that I am no teacher, I’m just a student with a heavy backpack. These books are my homework … homework of my soul. Each page soaked with salt and tears.
Between now and when I find a publisher, I will focus on the purity of Mitchell’s Journey and its message of hope, healing and finding happiness. When the time is right I’ll take the next step toward publishing. But for now, for those who are curious and have been asking, know that I am working on this – not for me, but that others may be blessed. I am also working on a few other things that I will share in due time. Things, too, I hope will bless lives.
A portion of the book sales will be donated to Parent Project Muscular Dystrophy (PPMD), the organization that raced to try and save Mitch. Another portion will be reserved to help Mitchell’s Journey accomplish its own mission, which is not only to raise awareness of DMD but to share a message that transcends life and death ... a message of love, family and faith.
There was no master plan with this journey. It was just a simple Facebook page with 80 followers who wanted to keep tabs on my son. In the grand scheme of things, this page is just a pebble in a vast ocean; certainly nothing to boast about. But if this journey can help raise the tide of awareness an inch or two, if it can lift a person out of despair, or to help someone see the world with new eyes … then it is all worth it.
I really don’t want any of this. I would rather be invisible if that meant I could have Mitch in my arms, if I could kiss his cheeks and hear his voice. That is what I want. But such was not my lot. I was given a different lot, and a heavy lot it is.
Though my heart is broken I have hope. Each day I am healing and finding happiness. I hope, through Mitchell’s Journey, others do, too.