To those who've fought for freedom and peace,
And those left behind to battle wars of grief,
I reverence you.
To military officers who reached out to my son,
To love and encourage him, as though he were the only one,
I thank you.
To the men and women who stand in harm’s way,
So little boys like mine might have lived another day,
I honor you.
To those who have fallen, in love or in war,
And the souls left empty handed and yearn for “just one more”,
I understand you.
On this day of remembrance may we never lose sight,
Those who fought battles and surrendered their life,
I love you.
May we remember those who gave life their best,
And live in a way that honors them, whatever days we have left,
I promise you.
And though our hearts may be weary and in need of rest,
May we remember our fallen, and life’s greatest test,
Lest we forget.
Last year an anonymous follower arranged to have a bracelet made that bore my son’s handwriting of the last thing he ever wrote me. When I opened the package and saw it for the first time, I wept. I had posted a photo of Mitchell’s handwritten note when he was home on hospice many months prior and this kind person used that photo as the source for the bracelets inscription. I was profoundly touched by this gift. Whoever you are, thank you. I wish I knew who you are so I could thank you personally.
The woman/artisan who was hired to make this bracelet was the same woman who sent my wife a gift just after Mitch passed, again with his handwriting that read “I Love My Mom.” I will write of that sweet story soon.
I have treasured this bracelet greatly. Although I have many weaknesses, this memorial around my wrist serves as a reminder to always do my best. While in Mitchell’s eyes I was the best, I knew I fell short in so many ways – but I always tried my best. Like the saying, “fall down seven times, stand up eight”, that is what I will do until my dying day.
As I approach Memorial Day I have a certain heaviness in my heart. I am grateful for the men and women who sacrificed their lives for peace and freedom –and I will always reverence them. At least for me, Memorial Day also represents another layer of fallen ones … the ones who fought a different kind of war and died while fighting to live. My son is one of them; along with so many other children who fought a battle with DMD and lost. In fact, that is a battle no one survives. Not one.
So this weekend I have a reverent heart for those who fought violent battles behind enemy lines - and also for my son and many others who fought an invisible biological enemy and died.
I have long lamented the tradition of honoring someone after they've died when they could have used the boost while they were living. I never go a day and not tell the people around me how great I think they are - for they may be fighting an invisible battle of the soul and dying a little inside each day. Everyone is fighting a battle of some kind ... so why wait to compliment, honor and build up the ones we love until they are gone?
What's more, we write funeral talks, paint masterpieces, sculpt statues and build all manner of memorials in honor of the fallen. And while those are good and worthy endeavors, I would rather become a living memorial than build one. I would rather take the lessons learned at so high a price and become what I learned rather than point to a statue of an ideal. This day, and every day here after, I will try to sculpt my life in such a way that I bring honor to my son – a much worthier soul than my own.
As I make my journey to that place beyond the hills, I know I will fall down seven million times … but I will stand up seven million and one – because my little boy believed in me and saw something I didn't.
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Bracelet created by: www.facebook.com/SugarplumsJewelry
Goodnight little Mitch.
Tomorrow we run in your memory.
Forever I run to you.
Mitch nervously reached for his mother’s hand, unsure of the adventure that stood before him. Natalie whispered, “It’s okay, Mitchie, mommy will help you.” This was Mitchell’s first day of pre-school and his first step into the brave new world that lay just beyond our fence. Mitchell’s little Spiderman backpack, tenderly filled with his blankets and favorite treasures, would bring him comfort while he was away from home.
It isn't uncommon for children with DMD to need a little boost at the beginning of their school career. Little Mitch attended a pre-school for kids who needed that special boost. It didn't take much for Mitch to catch up and become mainstreamed. But his first day was delicate.
Natalie wanted Mitch learn independence, so she arranged to have the school bus make a special trip to pick him up. Each day she would help Mitchie board the bus, get his seat belt on and then kiss his face. Mitch would smile and say “Bye mommy.” Every single day, as the bus left our neighborhood my noble wife would jump in her minivan and shadow the bus that carried her precious cargo. She could have easily drove him to school each day and avoided the hassle of boarding and un-boarding – or she could have had the bus bear the burden altogether – but Natalie traded inconvenience for love.
Because climbing stairs was difficult [almost impossible] for him, she would greet Mitch at either stop and lovingly help him on or off the bus and into class. But she didn't encourage this routine to help him transfer from bus to pavement (others could have helped him with that), she did this so Mitch could learn to believe in himself – to know he could do hard things. That he was always capable of more.
I marveled watching Mitch hold his mother’s hand on his first day as he took unsure steps toward a new adventure. But even more, I marveled how Mitch became a little more confident and surer with each passing day. That was the gift she gave our son.
Within about 7 years of this photo Natalie, with a broken heart, would hold Mitchell’s hand before he passed away: loving him, encouraging him and letting him know she was there – like always. At my son’s bed I heard her say those same words she lovingly said on his first day of school, “It’s okay, Mitchie, mommy will help you.” This time Mitch would take nervous steps toward a brave new world, just beyond a different fence. Because of his mother, who traded inconvenience for love, Mitch knew he could do hard things.
Today is Mitchell’s birthday. He would have been twelve. When I think of all the gifts he was given as a child, there was none so great as what his mother gave him. The gift of confidence and assurance. The gift of love. For those are gifts money cannot buy – and oft purchased by inconvenience and love.
We will be doing something sacred in honor of Mitch this morning. Tonight we will go to The Olive Garden as a family and enjoy his favorite meal. Though my heart is broken and heavy, I am grateful for my son and my wife – who taught me how to love and so much more about life.
When I look at this image I can’t help but be reminded of the meaning of life. I can see the Father of my soul do the same things to me: from holding my hand as I take nervous steps into the unknown, to the whisper “It’s okay, I will help you” and “You can do hard things.” I sense a greater purpose to everything.