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/
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.
A summer storm had just passed when we decided to take our kids park hopping. The air was crisp and clean, the grass still soft with rain. The magic of weather made the earth feel new again.
Mitch and my other boys were excited to play with some Styrofoam airplanes that I picked up from a local hobby shop. When thrown, these planes would circle back to you like a boomerang. They were fun to fly.
Fascinated, Mitch asked in his soft, tender tone, “Dad, how does that work?” I shared what little I knew about aerodynamics and Bernoulli's principle and tried to distill it into something a 9 year old might understand. “Mitch,” I said, “When you throw that plane you create pressure and force – which creates lift. This little airplane is designed to lift when it meets force and pressure.” Mitch tilted his head as though to ponder my words, then finally a look of understanding and insight came across his face.
At the same time in his life, I knew he was grappling with why he was getting weaker while many of his peers were getting stronger. So I took a moment to apply that same principle of lift to my boy. I said, “Son, I think our souls are much like this airplane. Our souls are designed to lift when it meets pressure – you know, when it meets hard things. You, little Mitch, are meant to fly.”
With that, I kissed his forehead like I so often did, and he went about his childhood adventure. With each determined throw I could see Mitch studying the flight path of this little airplane. Every time it took flight, it seemed as though he was internalizing my words and how they applied to him. I had spoken enough to Mitch about the nature of the human soul and the purpose of life that he knew what I was talking about. There was an intensity to Mitch that was unique that day. An intensity of study I won’t likely forget.
Among the many tragedies of my son’s passing was the fact he loved life so much. He loved every minute of it and there wasn't a moment he wasted. For little Mitch, each day was an act of deliberate living. Even when his body was shutting down, he would awake only to realize with great disappointment he lost hours of his life to sleep. This little boy clung to life like a drowning man to a life preserver deep at sea.
I have known no greater pain than the loss of my son. The force and pressure of grief is that of a hurricane seen only on Jupiter. Yet, I can’t help but wonder if the tempest of my own grief and sorrow are a form of spiritual force and pressure, creating lift to my weary soul. Though I would rather not be about this journey, I have no choice in the matter. I can choose to steer upward or spiral to the ground … the choice is entirely mine, I have found.
I have come to realize a relationship between pain and progress. Our souls are meant to struggle – for in that heavenly pressure creates lift. Though agonizing now, one day we’ll look back and be grateful for it.
I can almost hear a whisper from our Father, “Don’t be discouraged, my child – for your soul was meant to fly. And that cannot happen without pressure or standing idly by.”
When Mitch was a tiny boy he would sit on my shoulders and peer over our backyard fence so he could wave to his older sister as she walked to elementary school. He would get so excited that he would bounce up and down on my shoulders and grab my hair is if it were reigns to a horse. Though the act of pulling my hair often hurt, I gladly endured it because I knew my little boy was happy - and that made me happy.
Curious to see what Mitchie saw, one day I grabbed a picnic bench and placed it against the fence so I could experience a little of my son's perspective. As soon as Laura-Ashley came around the corner with her cute little pigtails and pink jeans, Mitchie bounced and yelled out, "Hi Ashie! I wuv you!" My daughter smiled and kindly waved at her baby brother. My heart burst with love and gratitude. And though our young family struggled to make ends meet, I was the richest man on earth.