Yesterday I was with the people I love, honoring a little boy I love.
My in-laws and extended family met at the cemetery to honor and remember little Mitch. I was glad to see everyone – and it was nice to see them go out of their way to show they cared – but my heart was tender. I think it will always be tender for as long as I live. It always seems that tears are just a thought away. I guess that’s part of grief and I’m learning to accept it.
We gathered around Mitchell’s headstone and my father-in-law passed around a bag of salt & vinegar chips (Mitchell’s favorite). To each was given a chip and then shared something they remembered about our son. We all laughed and cried as we reminisced about this neat little boy that had found his way into everyone’s heart. I quietly put my sunglasses on to hide my eyes that had become red and filled with tears. I didn't want anyone to stop sharing for fear they were upsetting me. I wanted to hear what people remembered.
My sweet wife smiled and was gracious to everyone, but I could see beneath her smile a broken heart that missed her baby boy. My heart broke for her, too. But we kept our chins up and we remembered the sweet times.
At some point two of Mitchell’s aunts, Sonya and Mindy, reminded me of our last Thanksgiving with Mitch. We had all gathered at the grandparents’ home and sat around their living room, each sharing what we were thankful for. When it was Mitchell’s turn he said in his quiet and humble voice, “I’m thankful for life.” The moment they reminded me what my son said, everything came back to me and I remembered it, too … and my heart fell to the grass.
I think somewhere deep down Mitch knew his life would be shorter than most. Actually, I know Mitch knew it, but he didn't realize what he knew. Perhaps that is why he valued life so much. If my son valued life, I will value it, too.
I wish I could have learned some of life’s lessons a different way … I wish my broken son didn't have to teach me what it means to be whole. Although I miss my son, I have so much to be thankful for and I will not waste another moment of my life. I will live for my family. I will live for my son.
Today we received a package from a kind follower of Mitchell’s Journey. Not a single gift or letter from any of you has gone unnoticed or unappreciated. To the contrary, we have taken careful notes and saved every act of kindness from the beginning of this journey. One day, somehow, we hope to personally thank each of you who have reached out in love and support.
I will share more of the thoughtful gifts we've received in the months ahead but because this one came today, I thought to share it now. My wife and I were so touched by this star.
To the family who sent this, we thank you.
As I looked at this gift, this thoughtful star, tears filled my eyes.
I thought to myself: How can a fallen star shine so bright?
Then a whisper: Because what they give is spiritual light.
Sometimes it is on our knees and in our deepest sorrows that we find God anew – and strength to face tomorrow.
We had just arrived at Primary Children’s Hospital and sensed things were serious, that we were running out of time and we needed to hurry. Natalie began the process of admitting Mitch as I pushed his wheelchair to the waiting room. I sat across my little boy and started to talk to him. Over his shoulder I saw my sweet wife taking care of the paper work. Mitchell’s breaths were shallow and he grew pale as the minutes continued.
I couldn't help but notice the paper hearts attached to the wall behind the receptionist. I was reminded Valentine’s Day was approaching and I began to contemplate the many layers of love. I thought to myself how sweet and tender Mitchell was and how deeply I loved him. The moment my wife told the front desk Mitch had DMD and Cardiomyopathy and we suspected he was in heart failure, they immediately dispatched a nurse to check his vitals. Within less than a minute they rushed our son past everyone in line. Things were more serious than we thought.
As we sat in the examination room I recalled a saying I had seen throughout the hospital that said, “The Child First and Always.” That phrase always brought me some level of comfort but it was then I realized this was no slogan – that, in fact everyone at the hospital truly cared. As things escalated, doctors and nurses gave our son tremendous care and attention. It was clear my son wasn't a number on a patient file; he was a little boy with feelings and they knew it. Though medically broken, they treated him like a little boy who loved, played, wondered, and hoped. This wonderful medical staff gave us a dose of compassion, which is medicine for the soul.
I cannot help but feel intense emotions when I see this image … for I see my sweet wife fighting like a lion to save our boy. I see my tender son who was in so many ways my soul mate – only he was the greater soul. He was my teacher. Mitch, a gentle as anything I know and was slipping away. My little boy who was broken and would soon lose everything – if I could only go back to this moment and love him even more.
Perhaps one of the hardest things with grief is wanting one more. What I wouldn't give for one more hug, conversation, kiss, or cuddle. What I wouldn't give for a day. An hour. A minute. How I would spend that time differently. When I see this image I feel great pain because my son is gone and I want him with me. But I also feel an even greater love. It is a funny thing that love is both the source and solution to our pain. I am in pain because I love him. I am healing because I love him.
Mitchell’s Journey has taught me life is a story and we are the authors. Only we cannot pen what happens tomorrow, we can only write the story one step at a time. I am beginning to see my son came to earth broken so he could teach me. I am no teacher. I am just a student with a heavy backpack. But I am taking notes. I am listening and am learning.
Tonight my wife and I will take our kids to The Olive Garden in honor of our little boy. We will spend time as a family because family is what we love the most. We will laugh, we will smile, and we will remember.
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but with each step I take I will write my story … and mine will be a story of love.
Excerpt from my March 7, 2013 post “Fingerprints on the Wall”:
“There is a poem I have long admired that reads: “It will be gone before you know it. The fingerprints on the wall appear higher and higher. Then suddenly they disappear.”
While Mitchell’s fingerprints on the walls of our home may disappear, he has left an indelible fingerprint on the walls of my soul. In life, he taught me how to love deeply, how to laugh loudly, and how to play freely. In death, he taught me how precious and fleeting time really is. He helped me understand with great clarity time is finite and perishable.
It is safe to say we are prepared for [the funeral] … except saying our final goodbye ... goodbye to the fingerprints on the wall.
But alas, his fingerprints, the ones that matter ... remain.