Posts tagged Hope
WHAT EVER YOU DO, DO IT WITH LOVE
Sometimes, when I’m listening, I think Mitch still beckons me to see the things my mortal eyes are blind to, yet my spirit seeks eagerly.
— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

When Mitch was a tiny boy he’d softly say in a childlike tone, “Dad, come wiff me, I show you sumping.” With that, his chubby little hand would grab my fingers and gently tug me toward something he discovered. He was never overbearing but with great love in his heart would gently lead me along. Until his dying day, that softness never left my son – though he probably could have found any number of reasons to be angry with his lot in life. He was kind and pure and overflowing with a faith I scarcely comprehend. I think when my mortal eyes fall away and I see my son for who he truly is, I will see that he was my older brother and that he was here to teach me.

I was always fascinated by the things he found interesting; the way an ice cube melted on the kitchen table, or how bees would land on a flower and not fall off the petal, or the sheer magnificence of a sunset that captured his heart. Little Mitch was easily entreated and marveled at the little things in life. To Mitch his cup was always overflowing and he stopped at nothing to drink it all in.

On this spring day, while taking a walk as a family, my sweet little boy offered that familiar invitation “Dad, come wiff me, I show you sumping.” With a little tuft of grass in his hand he led me to a corner behind a tall tree and said in his tiny voice, struggling to pronounce the letter “L”, “Dad, wets make a fort.” I don’t remember the other things he said … I only remember getting choked up by his tenderness. I wrote in my journal that night, “How great are these little ones. Indeed, of such is the kingdom of heaven.”

When I look at this tender photo of my son I am reminded it isn't what we do together as families that matters as much as how we do it. My most treasured memories with my family aren't the big trips to Disneyland or other attractions, which things were always significant financial investments. Instead, the memories I treasure the most were the emotional investments in my children … it was the tiny adventures just down the street from where we lived; it was the cuddles on the couch, the heart-felt talks about whatever was on their mind, or the wandering conversations on the grass. Those memories are where my heart yearns to go – for they were woven with love. I would rather have one loving conversation with my children than a thousand trips to all the wonders of the world. In every way that matters, our children are the world’s greatest wonders.

Even in his later years, before he passed away, Mitch would often come to me and just as tenderly say, “Dad, come with me, I want to show you something.” I was always anxious to see the world through his eyes.

I can almost hear his whisper now, ever so softly in my mind. Only this time he see’s things that I cannot – for he has traveled down a path far from mortal view. So, I must listen closely now … I must listen with my heart and mind; for gems of the soul are, on purpose, not easy to find. 

Sometimes, when I’m listening, I think Mitch still beckons me to see the things my mortal eyes are blind to, yet my spirit seeks eagerly. 

I am so thankful for my little son who taught me one the most important lessons on earth and heaven above: whatever you do, do it with love.

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IT’S OKAY TO HURT, JUST DON’T HURT YOURSELF

A few years ago Mitch came dashing into my office and said, “Dad, come quickly! You have to see the most amazing rainbow.” I put Mitch on my back and quickly carried him upstairs to our front door. Indeed there was a rainbow, and it was beautiful. A summer storm had just broken and the afternoon sun revealed a most amazing spectacle of light against the backdrop of deep storm clouds and mountain shadows. 

Mitch pointed to the array of colors and shadows and said, “Isn't it amazing, Dad?” I kissed his forehead and said, “Yes, son, it is amazing; but not as amazing as you. You, little boy, are more amazing than all the rainbows combined.” Mitch reached up and gave me a tender hug.

I stumbled into this photo recently and was brought back to this sweet exchange with my son. As I looked at this photo I had a moment of clarity that is difficult to describe; clarity about love and loss, grief and coping, and life after the storm. I am new to all of this grief stuff and I am sorting it out a little every day. 

Recently I've been thinking about the notion “Your loved one wouldn't want you to be sad.” I believe this is an abused and confused statement. Surely our loved ones want us to be happy, but they also understand our sorrows in ways we do not - and it isn't necessary to feel guilt or veiled shame for hurting. Hurting is hard enough. 

I believe Mitch knows, with great clarity, every tear I shed is a symbol of the deep love I have for him. They are also tender prayers to my Father that my weary heart might someday find rest. I believe our loved ones who have passed on, if they are permitted to see our sorrows, don’t look upon us with pity or disappointment that we hurt, but rather deep understanding. For they know the depth of our grief is matched only by the depth of our love. Yes, they want for our happiness, but they also understand our hurt. I believe they reverence our grief more than we appreciate.

At least for me, coping with grief isn't about faux bravery or denying my most tender feelings for my son. It isn't about somehow stepping out of the shadows of sorrow – as though such shadows don’t exist. Coping with grief is about learning to see the light despite the inescapable shadows of sorrow. 

I see the light. 

In my quest for peace and understanding I am learning that it’s okay to hurt, so long as I don’t hurt myself.

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FOR TIMES OF TROUBLE

I purchased this coin at the gift shop at Primary Children’s Hospital. 

It was only a few days earlier we were told our son would die and likely only had a few days to live. Shocked and bewildered, my wife and I began to navigate a sea of trouble and grief for which we were scarcely prepared. Hell came barging into our lives and spared no one.

Each night I sat at Mitchell’s hospital bed and watched various monitors tethered to his body display the chaos that was unfolding beneath his skin. This catastrophe of hurricane proportions was so great, and in the doctor’s minds unstoppable, they turned off the audio alarms because they wouldn't stop beeping. I have seen many scary things in my life and none were as scary as what I saw on those screens. I watched my son’s chest pound as though a grown man were inside his body punching his way out. His tender heart was struggling so hard to support his little body. By this time my son had also lost a great deal of weight and he looked sickly. My young son and soul mate, my baby made of sand, was slipping away and no medical intervention could save him from DMD. If ever I found myself in a time of trouble, there was none so great as this. 

One night, at about 3AM, unable to find rest, I sat by my son and posted “Mourning with Those that Mourn” thanking those who were following our son and offering him words of love and encouragement. I was reminded that no matter how impossible some challenges seem, there is always something to be grateful for. And in that moment I was grateful for many of you who took time to love a stranger. If ever there were a testament to the goodness of humanity, it is seen in your goodness to my son. Thank you … from the depths of my soul, I thank you.

In that post I wrote: “While navigating the labyrinth of pain and sorrow, Natalie and I often talk about finding joy, and we believe it is all around us. I think joy is a natural byproduct of gratitude. It's so often the little things, if appreciated, that bring joy to life and amplify happiness. There is so much to be grateful for. There are tender mercies all around us, every day.” 

In times of trouble, gratitude is a lifeline; in times of joy, it is an amplifier. If I believed that then, I believe it even more today. In fact, I don’t just believe it, I know it.

I have also found gratitude an effective means of rising above that which would take us down. It doesn't prevent sorrow but it gives context to pain and suffering and keeps us from getting so dizzy in grief we forget there is still something to be grateful for. If our soul is to be likened to soil, gratitude is the great fertilizer. It lets light in, it nourishes and softens our hearts so other things may grow. I have never known a bitter man who was grateful, nor a grateful man who was bitter. Gratitude is divine. Gratitude is a gift from God.

It is to this end I will always pray … to be blessed with the gift of gratitude every single day. And if I am blind to the gifts my Father so generously gives me, I pray for eyes to see. For gratitude can fill our hearts even when our arms are empty.

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HOPE, HEALING AND FINDING HAPPINESS

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.

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