Tiny Mitch hunkered down near a bushel of wild flowers to explore the beauty of nature. Next to him, just out of frame, was his mother tenderly describing a little about the wonders of the earth. Mitch pulled a flower into his hand and touched its soft petals with his baby-like fingers. I knew he was a gentle soul early on, but this moment made everything clear as a crystal spring. Next to my wife, I had never beheld such beauty as I did that day.
At this point we didn't know about Mitchell’s diagnosis of DMD. It would be another year before we would learn his terrifying fate. Mitch was so cute on this little adventure. He kept asking me to walk off the path and into the woods so we could see new things. I loved this day. I wrote in my journal that night, “Go gently, my son, into the future. The world will be brutal and unkind – but you don’t need to be. Your strength will be found in rising above everything that would pull you down. Go gently, my little boy – that you might bend, not break.”
And so it went with my son; he continued his life’s journey gentle and kind, perceptive and wise. Though he was a young child, it seemed as though he saw the world through heaven’s eyes. This little boy who broke my heart, was my teacher and I will ever be his student.
Mitch taught me that one can be strong and gentle at the same time. Too often people confuse kindness for weakness – but they are not the same. Eric Hoffer wisely observed, “Rudeness is the weak man’s imitation of strength.” The older I get, the more I know this is true.
I have observed people in my life abuse their strengths – which paradoxically became their saddest weakness; I've seen professionals, once titans of their industry, enter an opportunity like a blind Mongolian warrior swinging at everything and everybody …then turn to his peers and wonder if he got the right people; I've seen ordinarily smart and perceptive people use their gift of candor to criticize where no criticism was merited, and in fact well off the mark; others, I have observed, use their bold personalities to bully people into what they want. None of that is strength. It is the imitation of strength and in truth just the opposite; borne of insecurity and fed by disillusionment.
The last 2 years have been incredibly challenging, not only did I carry the weight of grief, I went through some professional crucibles that were soul-stretching. I don’t know that my troubles are over – in fact, I know they are not. But I am grateful for the hard times because they have opened my eyes, taught me important things and shaped me.
When I look back on my life and consider the things that have had the greatest impact, it was seldom a heavy hand but rather the disappointed eyes of a loving parent. It was a youth leader who, despite my teenage rebellion, reached for my hand while I was unaware I was drowning in poor choices. It was an English teacher who saw something in me I didn't see – whose gentle and kind observation changed the course of my life. It was a religious leader who offered loving encouragement and sound council – and most importantly, loving patience. And a Father who, from time-to-time, gave me just the little nudge I needed to keep going. He has never done the work for me – never robbed me of a chance to struggle and grow … but He has given me a gentle boost here and there. For that, I am grateful.
It is the gentle things that change us – not so much the harsh and terrible things.
On Mitchell’s dying day, I had taken a photo sequence of these same tender little hands, only a few years older, gently caressing his puppy who stayed at his side like a comforting angel. Mitch couldn't open his eyes and the muscles on his face had relaxed to a point he almost looked like a different person. He was slipping away and my heart was tumbling into a deep abyss of grief.
Yet, there he was, at least what was left of him: gentle and kind to the very end. My child was my teacher. He taught me how to see; through tears of grief and sorrow, he has been gently teaching me.
instagram.com/mitchells_journey/
Today we had an opportunity to visit with the President and CEO of Associated General Contractors of Utah along with some of his leadership team. Having been touched by Mitchell’s Journey, he and his board of directors offered a generous financial donation to help us meet our goals to serve local DMD families. Their CEO (standing next to Natalie) attended our Miles for Mitchell 5K and demonstrated strong support and deep compassion.
So, today we discussed some families we aim to help. We couldn't be more excited to work with AGC of Utah to make a difference in the lives of others. Stay tuned. We’ll be sharing more in the coming weeks and months.
To the generous leadership of Associated General Contractors of Utah, thank you. Your logo speaks of skill, integrity, and responsibility … you are all of that and so much more.
I admit, tears have come easily today: not of sorrow, but gratitude.
Yesterday was a day of laughter and smiles, memories and gratitude. Before the sun was about to set I asked my oldest son, Ethan, if he wanted to go on a quick adventure with me. He said “sure!” and we drove off in search of an empty field. I had suspected we’d find some unique, natural light as a storm had broken and the sun was beginning to fall behind the hills. Sure enough, we chased the light and saw a most unique sight. I couldn't help but think this photo I took of my son a metaphor for a great many things.
Ethan and I started to talk about life. Often, on his own, Ethan will bring Mitch up in conversation. Talking about our fallen family member is neither forbidden nor encouraged … we allow our family to talk about whatever, whenever. If something on their mind or heart, they’re free to speak it without judgement, prejudice or impatience.
He said, “Dad, I think I know why I was born into this family. Well, at least one of the reasons …” Ethan thinking deeply about his present and his future, continued, “I think I was supposed to have Mitch as my brother so he could teach me things I needed to know.” Ethan loved Mitch; they were the best of friends and had a lot in common. When I think of the many tender mercies along this journey, the pairing of these two young boys as brothers is nothing short of divine. They did so much for each other. Though I frequently sorrow over the loss of Mitch, I am eternally grateful he was part of my family’s life.
After our father-son adventure last night, we retired to our rooms. I was awoken in the middle of the night on another matter - and I didn't really go back to sleep. I thought to write my son a message the likes of which I wished had been written to me when I was his age. These are some of the things I wished I had known at a younger age:
SEEK PURPOSE OVER PLEASURE
Seek purpose over pleasure. Pleasure and momentary happiness are always, always fleeting; as opposed to things eternal, like purpose and meaning. If you seek after purpose and meaning, you’ll learn to see past hardships and sorrows; undaunted by troubles you’ll encounter today or any tomorrow.
THINGS MAY GO TERRIBLY, HORRIBLY WRONG
Despite your best efforts, life will be hard. In fact, it may get more difficult than you have a mind to imagine. Things may go from bad to terribly, horribly wrong. Just remember you are eternal. You are not your body – you are a soul capable of a greatness that, as yet, you do not have a mind to know. Every mortal moment is an education to your soul. Listen, watch and learn. And, if things go terribly, horribly wrong … remember that, in the end, all things will give you experience and will be for your good. Just hang on. Even if only by a pebble. Hang on.
HURT PEOPLE, HURT PEOPLE
You’ll invariably meet people in your life who’ll try to hurt you. These people will confuse the darkness in their own hearts for your motives. Always remember what Anias Nin wisely observed: “We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.” You may encounter some who foam at the mouth in rage toward you. Though bizarre, ignore them. They will be as a lit match: full of fury and fire for a moment, but short lived. Let there instead be a fire in your soul – not of hate and fury, but of love and light. It may blind those in darkness, but will help those with sight. Not for any reason should you hide your light.
BE KIND, NOTHING ELSE MATTERS
Be gentle and kind to others. Your little brother taught our family that at the end of the day, if you are unkind, nothing else you do in life will matter.
YOU ARE LOVED
Although the skies may draw black as night and storms may threaten to devour you … know that you are loved: both by a mother and father on earth and by heaven above. You are, dear child, utterly and completely loved.
This and so much more, I would write my son to prepare his mind and heart for the for the years to come.
My son Ethan’s journey is inextricably woven with Mitchell’s Journey … and not because I write here, on Facebook. Though I write intimately of my grief journey, our lives at home are not saturated in sorrow. Rather, we are happy, moving forward and finding purpose in each day. Ethan’s journey is enjoined with Mitchell’s Journey because he was his brother and his life and death has altered the course of ours. In fact, Mitchell’s Journey is everyone’s journey who might choose to take something from it.
As John Donne wrote, “No man is an island” … to his insightful prose, I would add we are all part of something so infinitely grand … a spiritual ecosystem so majestic in scope and purpose … were our eyes unveiled, we would finally understand things as they really are and we would weep tears of love and gratitude. We would love our enemies, do good to those that hurt us, and fall on our knees in sorrow for those who we might have hurt. We would accept our life's struggles as a necessary crucible for growth and change.
Happy Memorial Day, son. I remember you every second of every day. I visit often this place where your body lay. Strangely a place of peace and great unrest, slowly learning to live while coping with your death.