Earlier this spring my wife grabbed my arm and escorted me to a corner of our home quietly pointing to a small gap in some rocks and said, “Look.” Because we live on the very edge of our valley, at the foot of the desert mountains, I thought there might be a tarantula or snake den or something strange I was being asked to catch … so I carefully peered into the shadows of the rocks – unsure what mystery lurked below. To my surprise I saw something tender and it grabbed my heart.
Tucked carefully in a tiny cavern within a rock window well was a stash of Mitchell’s favorite water balloon grenades. He placed them there the summer of 2012 to keep others from wasting his prized ammo. I still remember the epic water battle our kids had that summer – Mitch giggled a lot but he was also a fierce competitor. When I saw this weathered plastic bag I could almost hear, like a faint whisper, all of the neighbor kids and Mitch laughing and playing in the background. This was a relic from the last of the water wars that year. I thought little Mitch had used all of his balloons and was surprised to see this little treasure of water weapons hidden in the rocks by his little hands.
Natalie and I stood in reverence at this unexpected discovery and our eyes welled with tears. We felt a strange blend of grief and love at the sight of this little breadcrumb our son left behind. This time there was more feelings of love than grief. But there was still grief … there will always be grief. Like an archaeologist yearning to know the story behind a long-lost artifact, I wondered what my little boy was thinking when he hid away his balloons. Was it a fallback stash if he lost ground in one of his battles or was it his primary weapons depot? All I know is he loved those water balloons – and because he loved them, I loved them, too.
Having lost my little boy I have become sensitive to the breadcrumbs he left behind, for each of them tell a story – and those that don’t will leave me forever wondering.
I know this isn't the last of the breadcrumbs, either. There will be more unexpected discoveries in the months and years ahead and I don’t believe all of them will be painful. Like this little discovery I believe they will be more lovely than languished.
Though I always tried to be an attentive husband and father I know I have missed out on breadcrumbs of days past. I know this because whenever I found myself in trouble … whether from a strained relationship or almost any difficulty, it was because I didn't notice the breadcrumbs others left behind. There is an old Chinese Proverb that says, “There are no secrets of the soul conduct does not reveal.” Little Mitch taught me to look and listen and notice the breadcrumbs. I have a long way to go – but at least I know what I need to work on. I hope to always be alert to breadcrumbs and other things, the kinds of breadcrumbs you can hold in your hands or see with your eyes and the other kind you can only feel with your heart.
Everything is in the breadcrumbs.
Last night Natalie and I participated in the final leg of a short documentary that is being produced about Mitchell’s Journey. It will air in October and I’ll be sure to post a link to it on this page.
A few months ago I received a message from Candice Madsen who is a producer for KSL, the same news group and producer that aired stories about Mitch while he was still with us. She wanted to see how we felt about them telling more about Mitchell’s Journey and the effect it has had on others. We were so humbled by their request – and because we trust them we gave them permission. Since then they have flown around the United States and interviewed some people who have been touched on some level.
At some point during the interview I was taking snaps with my iPhone and everyone started to laugh and take pictures at the same time. It is my deep belief one can never take too many photos. This was the photo Candice took while Natalie and I were being interviewed by Brooke Walker, a co-host to Studio 5 and the narrator to the Mitchell’s Journey piece. She was also so loving and kind.
Although we have had little to do with the production of this documentary, save pointing the producers to a few followers, participating on some level has been a tender and humbling experience. Listening to my wife talk about Mitch and our family and her philosophy on life reminded me why I fell so in love with her many years ago.
I sure love my wife and I want to be more like her. She is so loving and kind, wise and thoughtful. I am so grateful that she puts up with me and I hope at the end of my days, when I am old and about to see my son again, that I can look into my wife’s eyes and know I did my very best to love and serve her. For the best way to honor my son is to love his mother … and love her, I do.
I posted this image on Instagram last night. We spent some time in front of our home as Natalie drove Ethan's motorcycle for the first time. We all laughed as we saw this sweet woman, who with sweaty palms and a nervous heart, do something she had never done before.
Mitch adored his mother. I believe much of his sense of humor and sweetness came from her.
I have heard it said couples who lose a child are at higher risk of divorce because, among other things, the very sight of their partner reminds them of their fallen child and that becomes a source of great pain.
When I look at my wife, I see a wonderful woman who is fearless and kind. I see a soul that I love and admire greatly. I also see echoes of my sweet son. Each day I fall in love all over again.
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My dear wife wanted to take our kids out last night so we could spend time as a family. Ethan is on a scout trip, but Laura-Ashley and Wyatt were with us. We visited a nearby pond Mitch loved to visit and capture sunsets with his iPod. Soon I will start exploring his iPod with his many photos, videos and other things he created. I will share some of that here, too. It is sure to be a tender, emotional experience.
Natalie and Laura-Ashley ran to the store to get a loaf of bread while Wyatt and I waited on the dock. Wyatt and I talked about our plans for the summer and I was as excited to spend time with him as any person on earth.
It wasn't long before the girls returned and we began to feed the gaggle geese and all manner of web-footed creatures that seemed to know the party was just about to start and came racing to the dock. Our aim was to throw little pieces of bread near the baby ducks so they could eat first. These baby ducks were so little, fast and light they could almost run on top of the water. They were so very cute. Mitch loved baby animals.
I loved last night. I loved every second of it. There couldn't have been a more perfect night. Well, if Mitch were with us, in the way we want him with us, it would have been whole. But, like my friend and author John Michael Stuart taught me about what it means to be human, “Perfect is a relative term.” With what we had, last night was perfect and for that I am grateful.
My heart was at peace last night because I was so grateful to be surrounded by people I love with all my heart. I’m just an imperfect man and I know I am hard to live with at times – and I am grateful they still keep me. Although imperfect I love my family perfectly – at least I think I do. That is until I fall deeper in love with my wife and kids and realize all the love I thought I knew was just beginning. To my surprise the depths of love grow deeper still.
I miss my little Mitch and I am slowly learning how to live without him. One of the great challenges for those who grieve the death of a child is learning how to reconcile the past, make peace with a painful present and look to the future with a hope of an easier tomorrow. No small task.
I love the words of Elana K. Arnold, “Perhaps that is where our choice lies -- in determining how we will meet the inevitable end of things, and how we will greet each new beginning.” It seems to me that is the quintessential story of life; a series of painful ends and hopeful beginnings – and how we respond to them shape us in ways we do not yet realize.
I am grateful for each new day, a chance to begin again. Yet, I needn't wait for tomorrow to begin again … for every moment of every day is a chance to begin anew.
Last night was a blessing; for there was peace in my heart, beauty all around and most importantly more love than I knew what to do with. Every moment I am learning, and when I stumble with grief or life, I choose to begin anew.