A few years ago our extended family had a reunion in Mexico. Our generous step-father and grandfather sponsored the trip as a means to spend time together and create memories.
On this occasion, we were at the Cenote in Chichén Itzá, Mexico. Imagine a giant underground pool of water several hundred feet beneath the surface and surrounded in the hardest stone. Were you to look upward you would see the sky, jungle trees and vines draping downward to the water. The water below was exceedingly deep and dark, but it was fresh water and a nice break from the intense heat.
We helped Mitch descend a stair path until we reached a stone platform about 10 feet from the waterline. Natalie, wanting Mitch to have a life full of experience asked if he wanted to jump into the water, she said, “I’ll go with you.” Mitch gladly accepted the invitation. Mitch was afraid of nothing, save dying. I think he only feared death, not because of what would happen over there, but because he didn't want to miss out on everything happening here. Mitch loved life. He often commented how glad he was to be alive. And to think how oft I have lived and never really been alive. Because of my sweet son, I am changed.
I'll never forget the look on Mitchie’s face after he came out of the water. He had the biggest smile because he conquered another one of life’s challenges. Fellow swimmers helped Mitch and Natalie climb the rope ladder so he could jump in once more. Mitch loved this experience. He was so happy to have dove into the water with his mom and he talked about it for a long time.
I love this image because it is symbolic of how my wife and son lived. Mitch loved life and was always up for an adventure. My dear wife postponed any convenience, if necessary, to teach our children discipline, a sound work ethic and to enjoy everything life has to offer. This image exactly depicts my noble, loving wife seeking ways to help our disabled son drink life in; always by his side, always holding his hand.
The night Mitch passed away I remember my wife holding his hand in a similar manner – it was firm and loving, tender and assuring. Only that time she couldn't jump with Mitch. She stood beside our little boy on the edge of a different dark water … a place wherein one cannot see, at least with mortal eyes. Natalie loved our little boy and let him know he would be okay – for soon he would jump to that other place.
It wasn't but a few days earlier Natalie wept at the side of his bed, thinking Mitch was asleep when he awoke and said, “It’s okay Mommy.” I will forever be in awe of the strength and nobility of this little boy … who set aside his own fears to comfort his mother. I am quite certain that was a jump he did not want to make – but he loved his mommy enough to help her feel better.
Mitch lives. He doesn't live because I write of him and that his memory is in the hearts and minds of people. He is not an idea or a memory. He lives as an actual being, a person of consciousness: a child of God who lives on – as will all of us after we leave this mortal state. I know this. I only wish such knowledge took the pain of separation and loss away – but it doesn't. It gives context to loss and sorrow, but it doesn't give us immunity from pain. I miss my 10-year-old son. I want him back and I cannot have him and my heart is greatly pained therewith.
Yet, to look upon this image gives me fresh courage to live a full life and drink the moments in the best I can. I want to live a life like Mitch lived – fearlessly facing life’s adventures and doing it with those I love. If my little son could face all manner of unknowns with such bravery, so can I. And then there’s my sweet wife … a woman I will always love and honor because of the way she lives and loves.
I am grateful for these two beautiful examples in my life: my wife for endlessly severing and loving and my son for his bravery and selflessness – which selflessness at the end of his life was a bravery of a much nobler sort.
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.
Just this evening Natalie and I were on a quick dinner date. When we got to the register to pay, someone had already noticed us and paid for our meal. The woman at the register said the person wished to remain anonymous but that they follow us on Instagram. Whoever you are, thank you. Your kindness lifted our hearts.
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.