I wonder what would happen if everyone had a chance to read the warning label before we made life decisions.
The day of my wedding my warning label might have read: “Congratulations. You are young and in love. Enjoy the calm before the storm, for the years ahead won’t always be kind to you. In fact, they will be brutal. Yes, you’ll experience triumphs but you’ll also come to know the darkest tragedies. Though you won’t mean to, you will make choices that hurt each other and yourselves. You will fail at a business before you succeed and while you've failed you’ll find yourselves searching the couch to find enough quarters to pay for diapers. You will struggle and you will be afraid. At some point, you’ll wonder if you're capable of anything at all. You will come to know the darkest storm clouds and your wilderness will be vast and deep. Your heart strings will be wrenched and pulled until you can no longer stand. You will have a child that will die and you will fall to your knees and weep until your knees are broken and worn. Pain and struggle will be your teacher. And that’s just the beginning.”
Yet, next to the warning, I would have also read a benefits label: “Take heart. Though you may feel alone, you will not be, not ever. Your Father will be with you – for He is your tutor and all that will happen will be for your good. You will have a family and come to know a love you scarcely comprehend on your own. That love you will come to feel for your children will be but a speck compared to the love your Father has for you. At one point you’ll finally understand that to know the love of family is to know a little more about God, for we are all His children. Your tears of joy and sorrow will become a lens to your eyes and you will begin to see things you didn't before. Your heart will grow and feel more love and joy than you can imagine. Like a heavenly constellation, you will begin to see the tender mercies poured out upon your lives by a loving Father - however, you will only see those stars in the pitch of night. You will make connections between them and eventually see the hand of God through everything. And that’s just the beginning.”
Tomorrow will mark our 17th anniversary. On that cool September day I married my wife, I had no idea the journey that lay before our feet. I’ll never forget crying as the officiator spoke, not out of sorrow but out of a deep sense something was being put in motion – more than I knew. All I knew was that I loved my wife and it was good. I knew I would be imperfect, but I would do my best. My love for this good woman has only grown stronger and deeper. I consider myself blessed beyond measure.
Today, as I look back upon the 17 years we've had together, knowing the depths of horror and the heights of happiness – I wouldn't trade my life for anything. Between the hurt and the happiness I have come to know a different kind of love – and I am grateful. I would do it all over again. To infinity and beyond, I would do it all over again.
And to think that today I can no more read the warning and benefits labels for tomorrow.
Today is just the beginning.
My dear wife wanted to take our kids out last night so we could spend time as a family. Ethan is on a scout trip, but Laura-Ashley and Wyatt were with us. We visited a nearby pond Mitch loved to visit and capture sunsets with his iPod. Soon I will start exploring his iPod with his many photos, videos and other things he created. I will share some of that here, too. It is sure to be a tender, emotional experience.
Natalie and Laura-Ashley ran to the store to get a loaf of bread while Wyatt and I waited on the dock. Wyatt and I talked about our plans for the summer and I was as excited to spend time with him as any person on earth.
It wasn't long before the girls returned and we began to feed the gaggle geese and all manner of web-footed creatures that seemed to know the party was just about to start and came racing to the dock. Our aim was to throw little pieces of bread near the baby ducks so they could eat first. These baby ducks were so little, fast and light they could almost run on top of the water. They were so very cute. Mitch loved baby animals.
I loved last night. I loved every second of it. There couldn't have been a more perfect night. Well, if Mitch were with us, in the way we want him with us, it would have been whole. But, like my friend and author John Michael Stuart taught me about what it means to be human, “Perfect is a relative term.” With what we had, last night was perfect and for that I am grateful.
My heart was at peace last night because I was so grateful to be surrounded by people I love with all my heart. I’m just an imperfect man and I know I am hard to live with at times – and I am grateful they still keep me. Although imperfect I love my family perfectly – at least I think I do. That is until I fall deeper in love with my wife and kids and realize all the love I thought I knew was just beginning. To my surprise the depths of love grow deeper still.
I miss my little Mitch and I am slowly learning how to live without him. One of the great challenges for those who grieve the death of a child is learning how to reconcile the past, make peace with a painful present and look to the future with a hope of an easier tomorrow. No small task.
I love the words of Elana K. Arnold, “Perhaps that is where our choice lies -- in determining how we will meet the inevitable end of things, and how we will greet each new beginning.” It seems to me that is the quintessential story of life; a series of painful ends and hopeful beginnings – and how we respond to them shape us in ways we do not yet realize.
I am grateful for each new day, a chance to begin again. Yet, I needn't wait for tomorrow to begin again … for every moment of every day is a chance to begin anew.
Last night was a blessing; for there was peace in my heart, beauty all around and most importantly more love than I knew what to do with. Every moment I am learning, and when I stumble with grief or life, I choose to begin anew.
Just a few days before my son went into end-stage heart failure I sat on the edge of his bed and talked about what he wanted to do for the summer. It was the end of January and the winter air chilled us to the bone, so we stayed inside and took a little comfort dreaming of warmer days ahead. At the time of this photo, he was hanging by a thread and a pebble … hours away from tumbling into the abyss. I knew my son was in trouble but I didn't know he would die in a few short weeks. I thought we had more time; but then again, everyone does.
Mitch lifted his faithful puppy into his arms then told me he wanted to work for his grandmother at the ranch. Although he was still too young to work there he was anxious to take on more responsibility and earn some money. At 10 years old, Mitch was already saving up for a home and wanted to be sure he could take care of his future wife and family. I was surprised how often this young boy talked of being a husband and dad one day. Mitch had big plans for the future and was already taking strides to get there. Yet, even under the best of circumstances Mitch wouldn't have seen such days and I was pained to carry that secret in my heart. Death was coming for my son, no matter what.
I knew in my mind by the time Mitch would have been old enough to work at the ranch (about the age of 12-13, or two years from the time of this photo) his muscle wasting would have already reached a point he wouldn't be able to use his arms, let alone walk. From there, it would only be a matter of time before he could no longer breathe on his own. Such is the uncompromising burden of Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. It is brutal and spares no one.
So, as I sat on the edge of my son’s bed listening to the desires of his heart, my soul ached for him. As his father, I wanted only for his happiness and wellbeing. Though I knew I couldn't save him from DMD, I knew that I could love and care for him as long as I had him.
Mitch often spoke to me through his eyes and he did just that on this occasion. I remember being taken aback because his eyes spoke deeply to me this day … it was almost as if he knew the end was near and he wanted me to know that he sensed it.
Though we had great oral conversations, Mitch spoke to me in ways that transcended the spoken word. I have many, many photos where Mitch isn't just looking at me, he is speaking to me. What’s more, I found I could be across the room and see a look in his eyes and intuitively know just what he needed or was thinking. The same was true of him toward me. I always considered it a tender mercy to talk to my son that way.
I once heard a saying that changed the way I thought about communication. It reads, “Among the more meaningful and honest aspects of communication is hearing what is not said aloud.” I believe there is great truth to this. Perhaps it’s when we’re not listening to the conversation within the conversation, when we ignore breadcrumbs or don’t read between the lines … it is then that we get ourselves in trouble; in relationships, in business and in life.
Mitch trained me how to hear what is not said aloud; that hearing the inaudible is not only the language of relationships but also the soul.
I hope and pray that I will have ears to hear … everything.
I purchased this coin at the gift shop at Primary Children’s Hospital.
It was only a few days earlier we were told our son would die and likely only had a few days to live. Shocked and bewildered, my wife and I began to navigate a sea of trouble and grief for which we were scarcely prepared. Hell came barging into our lives and spared no one.
Each night I sat at Mitchell’s hospital bed and watched various monitors tethered to his body display the chaos that was unfolding beneath his skin. This catastrophe of hurricane proportions was so great, and in the doctor’s minds unstoppable, they turned off the audio alarms because they wouldn't stop beeping. I have seen many scary things in my life and none were as scary as what I saw on those screens. I watched my son’s chest pound as though a grown man were inside his body punching his way out. His tender heart was struggling so hard to support his little body. By this time my son had also lost a great deal of weight and he looked sickly. My young son and soul mate, my baby made of sand, was slipping away and no medical intervention could save him from DMD. If ever I found myself in a time of trouble, there was none so great as this.
One night, at about 3AM, unable to find rest, I sat by my son and posted “Mourning with Those that Mourn” thanking those who were following our son and offering him words of love and encouragement. I was reminded that no matter how impossible some challenges seem, there is always something to be grateful for. And in that moment I was grateful for many of you who took time to love a stranger. If ever there were a testament to the goodness of humanity, it is seen in your goodness to my son. Thank you … from the depths of my soul, I thank you.
In that post I wrote: “While navigating the labyrinth of pain and sorrow, Natalie and I often talk about finding joy, and we believe it is all around us. I think joy is a natural byproduct of gratitude. It's so often the little things, if appreciated, that bring joy to life and amplify happiness. There is so much to be grateful for. There are tender mercies all around us, every day.”
In times of trouble, gratitude is a lifeline; in times of joy, it is an amplifier. If I believed that then, I believe it even more today. In fact, I don’t just believe it, I know it.
I have also found gratitude an effective means of rising above that which would take us down. It doesn't prevent sorrow but it gives context to pain and suffering and keeps us from getting so dizzy in grief we forget there is still something to be grateful for. If our soul is to be likened to soil, gratitude is the great fertilizer. It lets light in, it nourishes and softens our hearts so other things may grow. I have never known a bitter man who was grateful, nor a grateful man who was bitter. Gratitude is divine. Gratitude is a gift from God.
It is to this end I will always pray … to be blessed with the gift of gratitude every single day. And if I am blind to the gifts my Father so generously gives me, I pray for eyes to see. For gratitude can fill our hearts even when our arms are empty.