It was a cold January afternoon when a kind man walked up our steep driveway with a tattered cardboard box in his arms. Inside that box was a tender, shivering puppy for one sick little boy. Mitch was so excited to have a little furry friend to call his own.
I think on some level Mitch was beginning to feel increasingly lonely because all of his peers were moving far past him. It wasn't that they didn't care about him … to the contrary, his friends loved him. But as they were getting older and physically stronger, Mitch was growing increasingly weak. The world Mitch used to know was beginning to pass him by and he was beginning to feel more and more isolated. He didn't complain about this, but as his father, I knew what was happening. I sensed it as only a parent can.
About a week before my son passed away he lay on the floor in tears saying how much he wished he could do in real life what he was only able to do in video games. He had just played a skateboard game and wanted so much to do those tricks “for real.” My heart broke as I saw my little boy long to be like every other little boy. Life and hardship would take that away from him and that pains my heart.
I don’t know what drove my father-in-law to give little Mitch a puppy, but the timing of that gift was nothing short of miraculous. Two weeks later Mitch would go to the hospital, then be sent home to die. This little puppy was such a comfort to Mitch. I will share more about those tender mercies in future posts, and some are especially tender, but there is no doubt in my mind this little gift was an act of inspired kindness. Heaven’s hand was very much in this gift.
I posted a short video of that sweet exchange here: vimeo.com/58228257
At some point, as Mitch was getting to know his puppy, I turned my camera toward my father-in-law and captured this image. This good man, who bore the scars of age and experience on his face, stood quietly against the wall and seemed to find great joy in the happiness of my son. I love everything about this photo … not that it is a good photo (because it is not) … I love this image because it captured someone in the very act of goodness. This is what goodness looks like.
I admire the person who thinks less about heaping riches unto themselves and instead looks for ways to love and lift others. I am convinced the key to a rich life isn't found in what we keep, but instead what we give.
I think there’s a special place in heaven for this good man. When I grow up, I want to be just like this man. For he is good and he has a rich life.
As Thanksgiving nears, I can’t help but be overwhelmed with gratitude. Though I lost my son, a little person and friend most precious to me, I am grateful I had him in the first place. I am grateful for my family, true friends and all of you. I am grateful for goodness.
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 September Mitchell’s Aunt Sonya, who had become almost a second mother to him, got married. Up to this point, her personal and professional life was more than coincidence – it was nothing short of providential. I will write of that another day.
Emotions were especially tender this wedding day because a very special boy was absent. Though I was happy to be with family and I loved then so, my heart was quietly searching for the one who was missing. Though my mind knows where he is, my heart will ever search for him. I remember being on the verge of tears the entire day and I felt like the slightest bump or pebble would break the emotional dam holding back a flood of painful emotions. There were times I had to excuse myself to let the tears flow.
As the wedding photos were being taken I noticed Sonya wearing a special gift given to our family by Cathy O’Grady, perhaps one of the most charitable and loving people I have ever met. She had been following our son’s story and felt moved to make some pendants in honor of our fallen son; a gift for which we are forever grateful. Cathy, having been touched by Mitchell’s Journey dedicated the sale of her pendants to the fight against Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy – my son’s killer.
The wedding photographer, knowing our family’s loss and Sonya’s tender relationship with Mitch, took special photos of Sonya and her pendant. While these two photos are not mine, I love them because they remind me to be grateful for the gift givers of the world. When I look at these photos I see many gifts and my heart swells with gratitude.
- I see my son, though a source of deep love and great agony, Mitch was a gift to me.
- I see Sonya, a gift to our family and son from a loving Father who knew we needed and angel, and sent us one.
- I see Cathy O’Grady, once a stranger, now a friend, the most loving of Samaritans.
- I see the hand of my Father, who is gentle and wise … patiently teaching me to open my eyes.
I am grateful.
My wife took this photo of Mitch and me at his Make-A-Wish trip in Florida a few years ago. I loved carrying my son and I loved the feeling of his little arms around my neck. I miss that. I miss everything about him. As Mitch grew so did the burden of his care – but those burdens were an easy price to pay for the gift he was to us.
Moments prior to this photo Mitch had tripped and fallen to the ground. (see: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=629906097039055&set=pb.192859897410346.-2207520000.1388340960.&type=3&theater)
DMD, a progressive muscle wasting disease, made walking increasingly difficult for our son. While boys are young and still able to walk they begin to fall easily – and falling becomes more and more frequent until they cannot walk at all. And when they fall, they fall hard because they do not have the strength or coordination to break their fall. Gravity and ground make for unfriendly opponents to these children. The moment Mitch fell on the curb his sister came rushing to help him and I remember getting teary eyed when I took that photo of her lifting him up. I had tears of sorrow for my boy who was innocent and good yet was required to carry a heavy, fatal burden; I also shed tears of gratitude for my daughter who was also innocent and good and did all she could to love and protect her brother.
I ran to Mitch and said “I’ll carry you” and in that moment he lifted his little arms toward me. My heart swelled. I held him tight as if to hug him as we walked a short distance to our car. I kissed his cheek and whispered to him. I wanted Mitch to know I would always carry him – for as long as I could – and so would his mommy. My wife took my camera so I could hold Mitch and she took this photo. I didn't realize the expression on his face at the time and I am so grateful to have it now.
There are so many ways to carry each other. Sometimes we must do it physically – but more often we can carry each other in other ways that are just as helpful. I believe one of the reasons we are born with weaknesses is not only that we might be humble and [with God’s help] turn those weaknesses into strengths, but that we might learn to set aside our own pride or self-interests and serve others who may not have the same weaknesses we possess. The economy of lifting others and carrying them with love and concern pays heavenly dividends if we jump in and do what we can.
I have never served someone with love and concern and thought to myself afterward, “I wish I didn't do that” or “that was a dumb thing to do.” To the contrary, every time I tried to lift another I felt a lift within me, too. There exists a profound doctrine that teaches that we not only grow grace by grace (step by step) but also grace for grace (we get what we give others). And when we carry each other the best we can we get what we give… and we grow.
Losing my son has broken my legs and my heart and every bone in my body. As a result, my steps have felt smaller, more tender and timid. But as my heart and bones are healing my footing is becoming more secure and more sure. I have spent my life trying to carry my son and now that he is gone, I get the sense he is now carrying me … as I am now the broken one.