At the head of my son’s bed lay his favorite Halo mask and toy gun.
I purchased that mask when Mitch went to work with me, just before his last Halloween. He loved to have pretend battles with his friends; many of whom would call him “Sir” or “Master Chief” to show their willingness to follow his lead. While Mitch was physically weakest among them, he possessed a strength and influence that transcended muscle and bone. Mitch, unaware, was a quiet but natural leader.
Even to this day, almost two years since I lost him, he leads me in the battle field of life. Whether I wrestle with enemies of the mind and heart, or take refuge from a sudden onslaught of grief, Mitch has shown me what it means to fight the good fight and to endure suffering with a grateful, loving heart. Though I cannot always control the struggles of life, I can decide how to respond to those struggles. How I respond makes all the difference.
I draw strength and inspiration from my timid little boy who struggled to walk, breathe and eventually live. I'll never forget little Mitch laying in this very spot, saying in shallow breath, “I don't think I can survive.” That quiet utterance broke my heart then and it breaks it again today.
Little Mitch faced an implacable, fatal enemy; and though DMD took his life, he fought the good fight, and he won. Mitch reminded me the battles that matter most in life have less to do with the body and more to do with the soul.
He taught me how to look past my troubles and find gratitude with what I have. Mitch taught me whatever I have is enough … and when there isn't enough, to share anyway. Mitch taught me how to bear my burdens with a glad heart and cheerful countenance. He showed me a heavenly paradox … that to lift another’s burden strangely lifts my own. These lessons, and many others, have sunk deep into my bones.
My sweet boy fought the good fight, and though he died, he won. As I face different battles I hope to fight the good fight so that one day, on some distant field, I might see my son.
There are a lot of moments in life I wish I could do over so I could do them better. Then there are some moments that are so wonderful I want to do them over so I can re-experience them. This was one of those moments I wish I could do over.
It was January 9th, 2013 when my sweet wife sent me a text message about a lunch date I had with my son that day. Because I’m an impulsive memorist, I screen captured her message the moment I received it. Looking back, I’m so glad I did.
This was just a few short weeks before Mitch went to the hospital for end-stage heart failure. On this day Mitchell’s school invited parents to have lunch with their kids in the cafeteria. I had known about this for a few weeks and I was so excited to hang out with my son. At his request I brought him an Arby’s sandwich, curly fries and a chocolate shake. That was his favorite, and mine too.
As we sat in the cafeteria Mitchell’s aide, Alex, asked if he could sit with us. I was excited to have him spend time with us so I could learn a little more about how Mitch was doing at school. Mitch liked Alex and trusted him and seemed to always feel safe around him. Alex doesn't know it, but Mitch talked about him at home often and our hearts were always relieved that he had him as a friend and aide.
Mitch, being soft and shy, sat at the table quietly dipping his curly fries in a generous pool of Arby’s sauce and saying hello to the kids who wandered by and waved at him. I loved to see Mitch in his element and to see that he had friends all around who cared about him. I was also able to watch Mitch play UNO during recess and was reminded that life doesn't have to be perfect to be great. I know that little Mitch had a great life and that soothes my broken heart.
At one point during our conversation Alex started to tell me something about Mitch and his older brother that touched his heart and in turn touched mine. He said that every day, without fail, Ethan (his older brother) would come up to Mitch at lunch and say hello and give him a brotherly hug. Alex mentioned how that act of kindness affected him and he started to tear up. This grown man, a retired commercial pilot and former military officer, who has seen more in his life than Mitch and I combined was moved to tears by that gentle act of kindness between two brothers. I remember being almost moved to tears by what Alex said and how it affected him. I was grateful then, and remain today, that this good man was part of my son’s life.
I was also reminded that Mitchell’s Journey was so much more than the journey of my broken boy. As I wrote in a recent post … “I used to envision life's journey as a single, straight path. But the older I get, the more I'm beginning to see, just how intertwined our lives really can be. Life is not a path to be tread by one, but a web so intricate and woven … it is, I am certain, heavenly spun.”
This was my last school lunch with Mitch … almost 2 years to this very day. I wish I could go back in time and drink in this moment more deeply. I wish I could do this day over, not because it was bad, but because it was that good. I can’t think of a single business meeting that was more important than spending time with my son at this very moment. This day was an investment in time and attention that is paying dividends far beyond grief and loss.
The truth is, I've made a hundred million mistakes in my life. In so many ways I identify with the phrase, “O wretched man that I am.” But once in a while I get things right. On this day I got it right. I spent time with my son and lived what I valued – and that is worth more to me than all the treasures of earth. On top of that, I spent a moment with this good man who loved my son and shared something I wouldn't have ever known … and because of that, I learned a lesson of love that day I shall not soon forget.
So, although I wish I could do this day over so that I might re-live the love that I felt for my son, because I did my best to be with him, instead of wishing for what might have been, I can at least be grateful for what has been. I can’t re-do moments – but I can re-live them in my mind and heart. And that’s close enough. Today and forevermore, I hope to live a little better than the day before – so that when I am old and tired … anxious to pass over so that I might see my little son again … I hope to look back and be glad I lived the life I lived. Perhaps when I truly have heaven’s eyes, I'll look back and want to do my life over … because, despite the weight of grief and depths of sorrow, it was that good.
Natalie took this photo of tiny Mitch on my shoulders while we were on some adventure deep in the wilds of Wyoming. Every time he sat on my shoulders he would pull my hair with his chubby little hands in the direction he wanted me to go. Mitchie would giggle as I winced and moaned from the pain of pulling my hair. The hurt I felt was a nothing compared to the joy I experienced when he laughed.
On this day we were playing by a swift but smooth flowing river. Mitch would use his same chubby fingers to scoop up a pile of pebbles and hurl them into the water – sending a cascade of ripples downstream. To Mitch, it was like fireworks in the water. To me, watching my son was fireworks to my heart.
Although Mitch was young, I felt even younger than him. In many ways, I felt like a child raising a child. In those early years, when the realities of being a father settled on my mind and shoulders, I would panic a little on the inside because I felt wholly inadequate and unprepared for such a responsibility. Oh, I loved my wife and kids with all of my heart, but when I went to college, I never learned how to be all of that. I suppose, as with most things in life, we learn by doing.
What I wouldn't do to go back in time and talk to the younger me. I would tell myself:
- You will make mistakes. Just remember you are not your mistakes … but you become what you do with them.
- Relax, you’re okay.
- When you fall, try to fall forward.
- Read that extra book at bedtime.
- You will never have now again. Cherish … everything.
- Slow down and let tomorrow be. Tomorrow is coming soon enough.
I tried to do all that stuff … but I wasn't always the best at it.
As I reflect on this tender time with Mitch I can’t help but think of that fast moving “wivo” that entranced him so much. Today I can see a different kind of river and it is fascinating to behold. I cannot see where it is going, I can only see backward … leading up to this moment.
As much as I thought I knew what I was doing in my younger years, I can see that I had no idea. However much I tried to peer into the horizon as a young parent and professional, there were currents in life that were taking me places I wasn't wise enough to pursue on my own. I thank heaven for the currents of life that have gently guided me along my own path. I am grateful for the people I have met whose currents blended with mine, even if only for a season. My life is better because of it.
I have learned to trust the current. Yes, I need to make wise choices while in the river … and there are rapids, undertows, and hazards of all kinds. If I'm not careful I can certainly drown. But I have come to learn I can no more stop the current of life anymore than I can stop Niagara Falls with my bare hands. So, rather than swim against the current or pretending such heavenly currents don’t exist, I am trying to swim where I am supposed to swim.
One day, I pray the current will take me to that place beyond the hills; where I will stumble from the shore tired and tattered … longing for rest. And on that day I will see my son again and my tears will fill the river to overflowing. Niagara, by comparison, will seem like a dripping faucet.
As much as I yearn to, I cannot see the river ahead. So on my journey, I have learned to trust in my heart as much as my head. Sometimes I’m not sure I'm swimming in the right direction … but this much I do know … I'm learning to trust the current.
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.