After little Mitch realized his hand was going to be okay his mother picked him up and held him as only a mother knows to hold her child. To a young one, there is a certain comfort that comes from blankets and Sippy Cups, but then there’s the comfort that comes from a mother; and no blanket on earth can replace the warm embrace of a loving mother.
Though not an envious man, I am sometimes sorely tempted, when I see the tender bond between mother and child. Though my heart loves deeply, I recognize there is a sacred place for a mother’s love. I wish I had a piece of that because it is beautiful beyond measure. Instead, I’ll take what I can get while sitting on the sidelines and consider myself blessed.
So there I stood, in my dorky way, trying to comfort my son. I didn't stand a chance against the blanket and Sippy Cup, let alone his mommy’s embrace. I made funny faces and danced like a fool for him and he started to chuckle. His smile, this very smile you see here, and eyes shrunk-wrapped in tears melted my heart. Though I offered a little sideshow entertainment for my boy, the real performance was already underway by his mother.
I think, on some level, I’m beginning to understand Kate Bush’s lyrics “I stand outside this woman’s work … this woman’s world. Ooh, its hard on the man, now his part is over, now starts the craft of the Father.” There is a sacredness to motherhood … something far beyond my reach. Though I do my best to be a good dad and husband, I am beginning to realize I am a small player on a much grander stage. However much I do my part, it is minor by comparison.
Neal Maxwell wrote, “When the real history of mankind is fully disclosed, will it feature the echoes of gunfire or the shaping sound of lullabies? The great armistices made by military men or the peacemaking of women in homes and in neighborhoods? Will what happened in cradles and kitchens prove to be more controlling than what happened in congresses? When the surf of the centuries has made the great pyramids so much sand, the everlasting family will still be standing…”
When we started our family we had no idea what we were doing. We still don’t on some level because each phase of child-rearing, at least for us, is undiscovered country. Yet we’re learning things each day that we try to apply in the things we do and say. I wish I could wield the parenting power my wife seems to shoulder so gracefully. Such is the power of motherhood, I suppose. I’m just an ordinary dad with more weaknesses than most. So I’ll just try to pave the way, moving obstacles where I can and make life a little easier for her each day.
Our journey of grief, like everyone who hurts, is painfully unique. It’s a delicate balance of looking forward to sights unseen, while giving myself permission to hurt because I’m still a human being. That’s the thing nobody told me … healing hurts.
Though I’m still hurting, I’m also healing … and that is a wonderful, wonderful feeling.
When Mitch was a chubby little boy he injured his hand. It wasn't serious, but tiny Mitch thought it was so Natalie lovingly wrapped his hand in cotton wraps to let him know she cared and that everything was going to be okay. These bandages were to his hand what his blankies were to his heart and soul.
I remember sitting on the floor in Mitchell’s room watching his dimpled fingers move carefully to make sure everything was okay. I marveled at the miracle of life – for there was a little boy I helped create. How could it be? Just a few years prior he didn’t exist and my heart was none the wiser. Yet there he was – this miracle of life and love. I marveled how this little child could come into my life and not divide my love, but multiply it. Not a day passes I don’t thank my God for my children … for trusting me with His children.
Mitch was so concerned about the pain he felt and whether he would even heal. As his father, I could tell he was young and didn't know what I did. To my sweet baby boy, his injury was the end of the world … for all he knew at that moment was pain. But, having a little more life experience than my son, I could see things he couldn't and I assured him the pain would pass and that he would look back and be better because of it.
Sure enough, a few hours passed and the throbbing pain that had him so concerned disappeared like a cloud on a summer day. All was sunny and well. Mitch, too, understood the importance of not putting his hand in things that could hurt him. He was, indeed, wiser because of that experience. Though it pained me to see my son in sorrow, I did my best to help him learn from that experience and assure him things would be okay.
Losing my son has introduced a pain that goes far beyond the reach of man and medicine. I wish there were mortal bandages to soothe the pains of death. Suddenly the tables have turned and I find myself in a great deal of pain, carefully moving here and there to make sure everything is going to be okay. Like Mitch was back then, I am the child this time, learning lessons from my Father. I hope I’m listening. I hope. And though I stumble and fall a million times, though I may disappoint Him because of things I should have done better or known better, I keep trying. I know He still loves me as I loved my son.
When I see this photo of Mitchell’s little hands my heart swells with great love and deep sorrow. I remember that I, too, am a child learning how to be a better person tomorrow.
I had no idea a few years from the time of this tender photo, years that would pass by in the blink of an eye, that I would hold these same, tender hands in the quiet of night and whisper into my son’s ear to not be afraid. That I would softly tell him how proud I was of the young man he had become … and that one day, when I grow up, I want to be like my son.
These tender hands, so innocent and pure, were put through hardship I wouldn’t understand for a few more years. Looking back now I know, my son was here to teach me how to learn and grow … to worry less about the body and more upon the soul.
I cannot help but think about what it means to hurt and to heal. It is a painful process and oh, so real. But like I tried to teach my son, and my Father is now teaching me, that the pain I feel shall one day pass and soon I shall see.
Laura-Ashley really loved little Mitch. She cared for him on a deeply personal level, and Mitch felt it. Mitch really loved her, too. I would often find him hanging out with Laura-Ashley just to talk. She always offered him her time and most importantly her attention. Nothing shows love like caring attention.
I took this photo late March, 2012. Sunday the 25th, to be exact. Winter’s bitter chill was retreating and the first real glimpse of spring had arrived. Natalie and the kids were excited to go outside and get some fresh air, so we went to a small park just down the street.
When I think back on this time in my life, things were especially hectic and my mind was weighed by a million things pulling for my attention. I had just returned from a trip to Honduras and had a lot of catching up to do and I could have told Natalie I was too busy to go with them. I am afraid, as much as I’ve tried to be with my family, I may have said that more than my broken heart wants to admit. Surely it isn't reasonable to be everywhere, all of the time; but if I’m honest with myself, I know I could have done better. I wish I would have done better … and from now on, I will try to do better. Looking back on our lives is always a tricky thing … and it seems everyone’s a genius in retrospect. Hindsight displays everything so clearly: how much time we didn't have, the better path or smarter choices and the times I should have recorded my children’s voices. Like an old film in the attic, I replay my memories, my loves, my joys, my heartaches and regrets. I must be careful to not feed my regrets – for they can devour me if I'm not careful.
I believe regret should hurt just enough so we know not to do [whatever] again; almost like touching a hot stove … heat enough to teach, but not enough to scar or debilitate.
I’m glad I went with my family this day because I was able to take some once-in-a-lifetime photos of our kids playing, Natalie nurturing and Mitch smiling. Had my priorities been on important but lesser things, I would have missed out on life’s most beautiful things. My reward for time well spent are warm memories and photos like this ... which make my heart sing. These two children taught me something about love this day.
Two months from this photo, almost to the day, we would learn Mitchell's heart was broken and he was in trouble. I made this video that very night: vimeo.com/42931543
In less than a year, everything I knew and loved would be turned upside down and my son would pass away. Ask me now the value of this day ...
I wonder how often I have been suckered into believing only the big, rare things are once-in-a-lifetime. Mitch taught me, in the most painful way, every moment of every day is once-in-a-lifetime. I don’t get to go back and do this, or any time over. Time passed is time past. All I have to take with me into the future are the memories I made ... and they can soothe like silk or draw out like the sharpest of blades.
When I see this photo I feel more love than sorrow … and like the hot stove, I hurt for a moment, forever reminded there’s no promise of tomorrow. My wife, children and fallen son are once-in-a-lifetime blessings that I won't squander, not a single one.
Mitch taught me to drink life in like a thirsty traveler: for when the journey’s done, it’s done. And that sounds like once-in-a-lifetime thing, if I ever heard one.
I took Wyatt to work with me today and had a most wonderful time. He is on the track system and has the next few weeks off and wanted to spend some time with me at the office.
So, he sat patiently while I was in meetings and never once complained. Just after one particular meeting this morning he asked me, "Dad how long was that meeting?" I responded, "Oh, it was about an hour." Wyatt said "Wow, that felt like 4 hours." I smiled, pat him on the head and told him that I loved him. I said, "One day, time won't seem to go so slow ... and you'll wake up and wonder where all the time went. You'll wish for it to slow down, but it will only seem to go by faster."
I then took Wyatt with me to see one of my clients - someone I've worked with for many years and has become a dear friend to me. We've traveled the world together and done some great projects.
My client-turned-friend even attended Mitchell's funeral, not because he had to, but because he cared.
So as I sat at his table ready to talk about some upcoming work for the year, he pushed everything aside, reached into a cupboard and pulled a bucket of treats, placed it on the table and just sat and talked to Wyatt for a while.
My heart swelled, because this good man cared about people ... and at the end of the day people (and relationships) matter most. My heart was especially touched because my friend's mother is dying of ALS right now. Though not the same as DMD, they share many outward characteristics ... most notably catastrophic muscle wasting; and at the end stage an inability to breathe, swallow or move on ones own. The timing is unknowable, but she might only have about a week left. I know his heart is heavy ... but not so heavy that he can't lift the heart of a little boy and help him feel important and good about himself.
Wyatt left his office feeling a lot more confident ... and as small as he is, that he still matters to big people. I am so grateful for good people like my friend Jeff. If the world were a cup, it would be overflowing ... correction, it IS overflowing with good people, just like all of you.