A few weeks ago I took my wife and kids to a nearby forest to take some family photos. We each held a photo of us and little Mitch as a memorial to a fallen family member we each love and miss very much. Yet despite our sorrows, we remain grateful to still have each other.
This year my heart will still be heavy because I’ll miss how Mitch used to sit by me at family dinners and softly hold my hand at the table. I’ll miss how he used to snuggle up with me on the couch as we watched movies. I’ll miss giving him piggyback rides up the stairs because his muscles were too weak. I’ll miss his laugh and brilliant wit. I’ll miss his … everything. As much as grief weighs heavy on my heart, threatening to sink me, I have 4 other people whom I love with all of my heart and their presence in my life lifts me.
I love my wife. She is as kind as she is beautiful. She would sooner fall on the sword for those she loves than harm them in any way. Self-sacrificing, wise and loving, I find myself always taking notes and learning from her natural ways; ways, that any without thought on her part, that are far beyond me. Each day my sweet wife and friend, without saying a word, teaches me how to be.
I love Laura-Ashley. She is beautiful, smart and kind. I enjoy watching her explore new territory as she pursues the arts and sciences. She is learning to play the guitar, draw and write. Her trouble in life will be deciding what to do – because she can do anything. I hope she comes to feel (not just know) how proud I am of the young woman she is. Ethan, my oldest son, is a remarkable young man who is so passionate about so many things. I love to watch him ride his motorcycle and make jumps with his bare hands and the dirt. I love to watch him skate and play lacrosse. Mostly, I love to watch befriend everybody and reach out to those who don’t feel they fit in. A few weeks ago he got in trouble at the dinner table for teasing his younger brother, like brothers often do. He went to his room and then played the song, “I’m only human.” As we heard that music play in the distance we all fell out of our chairs laughing as Ethan came out of his room with a big smile. I am so proud of who he is today and even more excited to see what he becomes. The future is bright for him. Of course there’s Wyatt. He is a particular blessing to our family. Wyatt has a heart as big as his mind – and they both loom enormous. He is always thinking about others and has learned early in his life the true power of faith and prayer. He reminds me that often it is the least among us, the youngest and most inexperienced, who become the most powerful examples on earth. I know many adults who because they are educated think they are wise – they forget who they are and stop seeing the world through heaven’s eyes. They fumble in the most fundamental ways. Though Wyatt is young, he is a towering example of faith and goodness to our little family. When I think of my many blessings, Wyatt is chief among them.
This Thanksgiving my heart will be filled to overflowing with gratitude. My cup, though cracked and tattered with loss and sorrow, is running over. Though my hands tremble from grief and my heart still quakes because I am tired and weak – I know to whom I must look to find strength for tomorrow. For there are battles ahead and many more tears to shed … but if we stick together and fight on, we'll find victory on the morrow.
Thanksgiving and Christmas are two of my favorite holidays; I love them for all that they are and the greater meanings they point to. Like anything of deep importance, there is often a greater meaning to things – even pain and suffering. The trouble is we can get lost on either sides of the spectrum. On the one hand, we can so get wrapped up in the tinsel and superficial of the holidays that we miss the point of things. Or, we can find ourselves on the other side of the spectrum and become fanatical and shun the fun of the holidays. Neither are balanced nor are they wise, for the things of the heart are discerned like an art and seen only with heavens eyes.
In like manner, when I think of my sorrows, I will look past the paper and things I can see, and listen with my heart for the lessons of the soul Heaven tries to teach me. There is a greater meaning to everything – if only we'll open our other eyes. Then, and only then, will we truly see.
If you ever need someone to paint your puppy like a panda, I just discovered I'm not your guy. Mitch loved pandas and he would have probably giggled at dad-fail #1,000,002.
With Halloween around the corner, I can’t help but think of Mitchell’s last.
Trick-or-Treating was always difficult for him. Because his muscles were wasting away he couldn't go very far … each year his Halloween adventures became shorter and shorter. Even though he had a motorized scooter, getting up and down, climbing a stair or two to reach a neighborhood door was exhausting for him. He usually couldn’t visit more than 6-7 homes before he could hardly walk and wanted to go home.
In order to help him, Mitchell’s brothers or sister would often take his trick-or-treat bag to the door while Mitch sat in his scooter on the sidewalk. Generous neighbors would lovingly place candy in his bag as little Mitch smiled in the darkness. He was always grateful.
There was another aspect to Halloween Mitch loved even more than treasuring candy unto himself. Mitch loved giving candy away at the door. To some of his closest friends who approached the door, Mitch would give them his favorite candy from his own bag.
I took this photo of Mitch on his last Halloween. He wanted to stay home and give out candy instead of trick-or-treating himself. Each time the door would shut he would turn around only to have a big smile on his face.
Mitch learned early in his life that in giving he received so much more than those who got; a life lesson he never forgot.
Later that winter my mother came to visit for a few days. We were cuddled in the basement watching a movie when Mitch struggled to get up from the couch and waddled in his funny way over to his grandmother and offered her some of his favorite cheese popcorn (from Popcornopolis). I don’t think my mother realized at the time (or even to this day) the physical struggle he went through to simply get up and share what he loved. I remember that moment so vividly. It wasn't the popcorn that really mattered to Mitch, it was the giving … and it was his struggle to give that made it all the more precious. To Mitch giving was getting.
Tomorrow will be a tender evening for me – for I will remember my little boy who loved to give more than get. I will miss seeing that big smile on his little face and most especially his warm embrace.
Not a day passes I don't think of my son’s quiet example: he gave freely when he had so little to give, and now that is how I want to live. I often marvel and wonder, “How could it be? A little boy, mortally broken, who taught me how to see ...” One day, with a weary and broken heart, I will fall to my knees and thank my Father for sending me Mitchie.
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.