We decided to take our kids up Big Cottonwood Canyon (near Park City, Utah) before the snow came.
The leaves had fallen and covered the ground like crunchy wrapping paper on Christmas morning. Nature’s blush was fading fast and all the world was about to fall into a wintry slumber. Because the ground hadn’t frozen yet, you could smell the dirt, pine and leaves like a sweet potpourri made by the loving hands of Mother Nature.
Mitch loved smells and breathed in deeply with his nose and said, “Dad, doesn't it smell good outside?” I smiled softly at him and said, “Yes, son, isn't earth awesome?” He smiled back at me then a little while later took another big whiff of Mother Nature’s perfume. I couldn't help but notice how Mitch kept stopping to smell the air again and again. It was almost as though, without knowing it, deep down he knew this was his last chance to drink the season in.
This was his last outdoor adventure before it snowed.
We were high in the mountains, parked next to a natural marshland. Wooden walkways carved a path through some of the marsh, then to a dirt trail that circled a small lake. Mitch loved going here because he could see ducks, fish and all manner of wildlife. At one point Ethan and Mitch raced ahead to explore like young boys love to do. I took this photo of them peering over the edge of the walkway at some fish swimming near the surface in hopes of something to eat before the water froze.
Because DMD had weakened his muscles, Mitch couldn't walk long distances and used a scooter to get around. Ethan was always careful to make sure he never left Mitch behind. That simple gesture to wait for those who struggle to keep up; that is a measure of love and charity in my book. When I saw this quiet, unrehearsed act of love I wondered how often I had left others behind: others that could have used loving encouragement, a helping hand or a shoulder to lean on. There before me were two young boys unaware of the lesson they just taught me. They were just simply being young. They were just being good.
Mitch seemed to always care for others, too, and was mindful of those left behind. One Sunday, as the kids were getting ready for church Natalie noticed an extra set of scriptures in Mitchell’s bag. When asked about it Mitch said, “Oh, mom, those are for Luke because he sometimes forgets to bring his own.” Little Mitch didn't want his friend to be left behind or feel left out; he was naturally his brother’s keeper. When Natalie first told me that story I wept tears of love and gratitude. Not all tears are sad … some come from another place that make your heart feel glad.
I learned something this day I will not soon forget …
A measure of love is looking back to see who you can help. It is the deepest form of charity because it requires you to forget yourself. The funny thing about what it means to love and lift another, you never lose ground when you reach down to help a sister or a brother. In a world saturated with fear and hate we ought not throw sharp stones, but rather find those who are heavy hearted and seek to mend their bones. A strange thing indeed, the paradox of love … you cannot give it freely and not feel closer to heaven above. Looking back and helping others, that is a measure of love.
Mitch has gone far beyond … where mortal eyes can’t see. Though I stumble forward, trembling with grief and feeble knees, I sense somehow that he is helping me. Perhaps one day, when all is said and done, we'll see there was an unseen army helping us, when we felt like only one.
After all, isn't that how things in heaven are done? Its not so much about the 99, but rather looking back to find the one.
A beautiful measure of love, if I ever heard one.
In the two years leading up to Mitchell's death, he would come up to me and say, "Dad, can I help you make a Christmas video?" He didn't know how to make graphics or edit video, so he would just sit next to me and talk while I put things together. Mitch would help direct the flow and wanted each video to end with a magic Christmas tree. I miss him being my co-pilot.
I wish I had more time to do things like this, not because they're terribly interesting but because they're fun to make and they remind me of the time I spent with Mitch. Though clunky, this less-than-polished piece will have to do.
In this video you'll see a short update on our family.
The opening narrative in the video reads:
Let me tell you a story this cold winter's eve ...
About a little family huddled together, long after the fallen leaves.
It's a simply story.
Not very profound.
Just a story of a family
And where love can be found.
So cuddle up and listen close,
and well share some things we love the most.
At approximately 1:40 you will see clips and photos of Mitchell's last Christmas and the wonderful things people did to lift his heart and let him know he was loved. Those gifts of compassion and love were also gifts to our hearts, already in mourning. So, to all of you who reached out to him, we sincerely thank you.
After that short piece on Mitch the video shifts attention to a much larger contemplation. It begins with the concept of darkness and grief and remembering to look past the darkness and to the heavens. For the heavens are vast and they are deep ... and many secrets do they keep. If we can scarcely comprehend the heavens we CAN see, perhaps we could have faith in the heaven we cannot yet see.
The video concludes with a few more thoughts and an invitation to come with us on the journey ahead.
Our most sincere prayer this holiday season is that each of you who follow Mitchell's Journey, whether you comment or join conversations ... or simply watch and quietly listen; our prayer is that each of you will find joy in your life and that your own journeys will be blessed.
Though we grieve the loss of Mitch, we have found joy despite the pain. We are grateful for all that remains.
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For those who are curious to see the earlier videos you can visit our Christmas Channel here: vimeo.com/channels/852236
2014 Video: vimeo.com/114511333
2013 Video: vimeo.com/81968479
2012 Video: vimeo.com/55333684
2011 Video: vimeo.com/43011694
A few weeks ago I stumbled into an old 2004 Christmas card I made with my little family. Each card was a chocolate bar covered by custom wrapper with a short update on our family. I don’t recall any companies making such things back then but that never stopped me from trying something new. Natalie and I printed, cut and adhered each wrapper to every bar.
I wasn't a designer and this was my first crude attempt at doing this. It wasn't very sophisticated and was more a labor of love than anything. We got better at it over the years but I learned early on it is never really the thing we give that matters; but rather the meaning behind the thing that makes our heart sing. So, when I saw this chocolate bar my mind was awash with memories and warm feelings of a time long gone; a time my children used to crawl over me and wrestle me to the ground when I came home from work. A time before Mitchell’s diagnosis. A time before grief, disappointment and darkness.
When I saw that clunky little card I was grateful I had the gift of my children and felt a glimmer of hope there will be gentler days ahead.
On the back of the chocolate bar was something that looked very much like any chocolate bar you might purchase, only the words were about our family.
There was a block of text that read:
Laura-Ashley (6 years old) is an artist. She spends a great deal of her spare time drawing pictures and constructing stapled paper books for us to read. She is the top student of her Kindergarten class.
Ethan (4 years old) is an absolute sweetie. Very kind to others and has become quite an entertainer of adult audiences. He likes to sing and build things with blocks and Legos and is rather proficient with a computer.
Mitch (2 years old) is a wonderful cuddler. Mitch has learned to stand up for himself and often provokes his older brother by slapping his back and running off laughing. We’ll have to keep an eye on him. ;)
Where you might ordinarily see “Nutrition Facts” I replaced with the following “Spiritual Facts”
_____________________________
SPIRITUAL FACTS
Serving Size 1 Child (between 15 & 30 lbs.)
Amount Per Serving
Joy & Rejoicing ………………….100%
Love ……………………………... 100%
Patience
- On a good day …...….……. 50%
- On a bad day …...……...…. 100%
Laughter ………………………… 100%
Compassion …………………….. 100%
Fulfillment ………………………. 100%
Happiness ………………...……... 100%
Heartache ……………..………… 20%
Empathy ………………………… 100%
_____________________________
FAMILY IS GOOD FOR THE SOUL
We replaced the actual ingredients with the following:
INGREDIENTS: MILK CHOCOLATE, A LOT OF LOVE AND APPRECIATION FOR FAMILY, SOME GOOD MEMORIES, A COUPLE OF BUMPS AND BRUISES, AND A LOT OF LAUGHTER.
There were a few other things on it, but you get the idea. Knowing what I know now, I might change a few things: heartache, for example, would go from 20% to 2,000,000%. Love, from 100% to infinity and far beyond.
We only made 100 of these and I kept 2. The chocolate has no doubt gone bad by now and lost its savor; a reminder that everything material has a shelf life. Unlike the chocolate, however, the sweetness of family gets better and better over time. A reminder, too, everything that matters only gets sweeter if we are true.
This afternoon Natalie huddled around Mitchell's Christmas tree with our kids and some of their cousins to make blankets for children at Primary Children's Hospital, the same hospital that cared for our son.
Mitch was so grateful for the blankets he received from loving supporters. Because it meant so much to him and our family, we want to pay that goodness forward.
There are many across the United States and the world who have expressed interest in shipping quilts, blankets, toys and books in memory of Mitch. If you're planning on sending anything, we will be taking all donations to the hospital Monday, December 22nd.
We'll be sure to post photos of that day.
You can ship parcels to:
Mitchell's Journey
5526 West 13400 South #102
Herriman, UT 84096
The funny thing about giving is you always seem to get more in return than you ever give. It is a paradox with a promise.
Natalie was so excited at the end of today's blanket-making exercise. Her heart was overflowing to think that other children who are in a place so unfamiliar to their homes during the holidays might find some comfort and be made a little warmer.
We wish we had the resources to cover the world with love.