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.
Last night we went to Primary Children’s Hospital to visit a young girl who is battling cancer. She was one of Mitchell’s classmates the year he died and held a special place in our son’s heart because she was always so kind to him.
Mitch often made references to Addie. I never met her, but I knew of her and how much Mitch appreciated her friendship. Natalie tells me that when she would pick Mitch up from school he would often talk about her and sometimes point out the window of the car and say "Look mom there's Addie, she played with me today during recess." Another evidence that the little things are indeed the big things. It was never lost on Mitch that she could have ran off with the healthy kids and left him behind pursuing any number of social agendas. Yet, she often chose to sacrifice regular play time to be with Mitch instead. I don't know if this young woman realizes what a blessing she was to our son.
Mitch loved Addie; and by the sound of her voice and the things she said, she really loved him. Two childhood friends who taught each other what it means to be love and serve. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall when Mitch was alive so that I might have seen these two friends play outside during recess or giggle at a game of UNO when it was cold outside. My eyes well up with tears when I think about the tender mercy she was to our little boy.
Last year I posted an entry entitled “Nightfall” which was an account of the moment we realized Mitch had passed away. I described the pain and sorrow of losing our son and how the world was especially dark. I described how it wasn't until our spiritual eyes adjusted to the darkness, which darkness was beyond pitch, that we truly began to see. Only in the darkness did we begin to see the stars … little flecks of light, tender mercies that were given to our family from a loving Father. It didn't take long before we began to see the connections between these tender mercies and they began to serve as Heavenly constellations to guide our way. Evidence we are not alone, nor are we forsaken. I made a short video with an excerpt from that entry: vimeo.com/81861739
Along this journey of grief and darkness, I have also discovered the more we look the more we can see. Isn't that the point of anything we're meant to search out and study? Our eyes adjust, our mind finally understands and our souls begin to learn things far beyond the scope of man.
So when I think of this sweet girl and what she did for our little boy, I see an exceedingly bright star. I see a tender mercy from a loving Father, an evidence He was never very far. That heavenly current of which I spoke a few weeks ago brought these two children together so they could learn to love and grow. For that, I am eternally grateful.
Anymore, I don't know that I know much about goodness or courage. Because when I see these young people face what I only witnessed as a spectator; to see them face death and hardship with such grace and courage, I am humbled to my core. I see what I want to become, and so much more.
I don't know how to gather the words to describe how I felt as we left the hospital last night. My heart was overflowing with gratitude and a deep sense all is well. All is well.
To Addie, thank you for loving Mitch and lifting his little heart. I think I see it now … perhaps you were meant to know each other from the very start.
Forever and more, dear Addie, you have our grateful hearts.
You can visit her page here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Team-Addie-gofightwin/720147784689212
Mitch had been home about a week and a half and his 5th-grade teacher, Mrs. Masina (on the right) came to visit. With her was also a teacher at the same school, Mrs. Edwards, who was a friend to Natalie. I sat in awe of these two women who took time from their personal lives to show Mitch they cared. They were so sweet to him; although they gave Mitch some thoughtful gifts, the greatest gift they gave him was their love. At the end of the day, things break but love lingers. Love lasts.
As Mrs. Masina left she turned to Mitch and asked if he wanted some homework to do. He smiled softly and nodded as if to say “no thanks”. Everyone chuckled but inside I wished he had homework – for that would have meant he was going back to school and that there was hope he would recover. But he was not ever going back to school and the hope he might beat heart failure and DMD was a distant dream far from reach.
As we left the hospital the senior cardiologist said with tears in his eyes, “Your job is to take him home and love your little boy with all that you've got. You don’t have much time.” And love Mitch we did, the very best we knew how.
As these two beautiful women left our home I remember feeling overwhelmed with feelings of love and appreciation for the good people in my son’s life. I was grateful for all of the teachers Mitch had, for they were all loving and kind. But his last teacher, Mrs. Masina, was a special tender mercy in more ways than twenty. She will forever be close to our hearts because of the way she lifted our little son’s heart.
I can’t help but be grateful for what the truly great teachers teach us; the ones who beautifully balance intellect with heart, mind with soul. Mrs. Masina is just such a teacher. I saw a spark in Mitch that I hadn't seen before – a deeper belief in himself – and I believe that spark in my son was because of the way she taught him. What good is knowledge, after all, if we forget what it means to be human? To be human is to be vulnerable, real and feeling – it is to accept ourselves and others as we are, broken and imperfect, and then strive to be a little better each day in our own way. That is what the great teachers teach us.
Mrs. Masina did just that. She not only taught Mitch – but she taught me that there is much more to life than academics. I am grateful for the gentle teachers of the soul: Mrs. Masina and Mitch have been my teachers and I am forever in their debt.
One thing I've learned is the death of a child is emotionally catastrophic. I know of no greater pain. Now that Mitch is gone our family has grueling homework of our own: the homework of learning to live with grief – which, as far as I can tell, is the work of a lifetime. There are no shortcuts. There are no opt-out tests. Every day is a lesson on love and loss, healing a little, crying a lot, and learning to move forward however fast or slow our hearts will take us.
Because love lasts, so does grief. So long as I love my son I will grieve his loss … and what a terrible grief it is. But grief is the price of love and love is worth every tear, every shard of my broken heart, it is worth the agony of loss. The love in my heart hurts me and heals me all at the same time. I am learning that to hurt is to be human and to heal, even if only a little, is heavenly.
It was the last day of November and we were about to head home, for our time at the family ranch had drawn to an end. Little Mitch asked if he could drive a 4-wheeler one more time. I had no idea it would be his last time. Because Mitch didn't have the muscle strength to run or ride a bike like other young boys, he anxiously sought after other ways to feel the rush of wind through his hair and on his face. Riding 4-wheelers helped him do just that … and Mitch felt powerful and strong, even normal, if only for a moment. Had I known this was his last opportunity to do what he loved so much, I would have foregone meals and work and sleep for days-on-end in order to help him drink in as much life as humanly possible. We simply didn't know what little time was left, we just did the best we knew and hoped we passed the test.
As we prepared for what would be Mitchell’s last 4-wheeling adventure, this sweet little boy sat quietly in his grandmother’s garage and put his shoes on. The chair upon which he sat had deep cushions and nearly swallowed him up. Without complaining, Mitch silently struggled to get up from the couch but he couldn't – his muscles were much too weak and the cushions comfortably deep. Ethan noticed his brother quietly struggling and in need of help and quickly ran to his aid.
This was a simple exchange that was over in the blink of an eye. Had I been outside, impatiently yelling for them to hurry up, I would have missed this silent sermon of love and service between two children. What’s more, had I been outside honking my horn anxious to complete the task of spending time, I would have missed the point of everything … for riding 4-wheelers wasn't the point, even though little Mitch loved it so, it was doing things together with love. That’s all that matters in the end. It is something of a heavenly paradox that while we raise our young children, they are also raising us; for I am a very different person from the young gallivant I once was so many years ago.
As I watched this spontaneous act of brotherly love, it occurred to me in the most profound way Mitchell’s journey was also the journey of our family. Though Mitch walked alone with DMD, because nobody could do it for him, we walked beside him and cheered him on and did our best to clear the path for him. Our lives were inseparably connected, our journey’s intertwined, yet how much pain and sorrow we would come to know had never crossed our minds.
While Mitch had some best friends in his life, there was none so great as his older brother. These two boys were a match forged in heaven and Mitch loved him deeply. If ever I am tempted to complain about what has gone wrong in my life, I need only look at what has gone right. Ethan was a tender mercy for my son and when I think upon that gift alone, something gone right, I cannot help but weep for gratitude. For I am reminded that I have a Father who cares enough to give little comforts no matter how big our troubles seem.
Since Mitchell’s passing I have noticed whenever Ethan sees a photo or video of Mitch I see a softness fill his countenance that is distinct and visible. There is a tenderness and admiration in his eyes I don’t normally see in anyone, for any reason. Ethan loves his little brother just as much as Mitch loves him – and that makes my heart sing. As cool a young man Ethan is becoming, I pray he never loses his softness; for softness is the fertile soil upon which relationships grow deep. I also hope he never confuses softness for weakness – they are not the same. Not at all. I think Mitch was just as much a gift to Ethan as Ethan was to him.
Mitchell’s Journey has taught me to take great comfort in the little comforts, for they all add up. When I look at this simple image of two young boys meant to be together, who learned how to lift each other in different ways, I begin to see the bigger picture. I sense we are not left comfortless, neither are we alone. Faintly, as quiet as a whisper can possibly be, I hear something and it is heavenly.