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.
Just a few days ago I received a message from an active military officer who said he and some colleagues would be running in honor of Mitch while deployed in Iraq. He offered his well wishes, prayers and love from "the dustiest place on earth."
He then concluded his letter with the following salutation:
CW3 Officer Leach
US ARMY
Blackhawk pilot
I was so moved that someone occupied with other matters would take time out of his life to remember little Mitch and support our desire to help and encourage others. I then responded to his message with the following:
[Officer Leach,]
Holy cow. That would have blown Mitchell's mind. He always admired military officers and their sacrifices to keep him safe. When he was home on hospice, he cried tears of gratitude when he received messages and photos from every branch of the military. Your doing this will be especially amazing for our family.
Thank you, good sir. On so many levels, thank you.
UT, Chris Jones
Ordinary Dad
Grateful Human
… and that was my letter to him. I had no credentials to point to, no rank or military file. The only title I held was that of ordinary dad and grateful human. I just wanted him to know how much I appreciated his gesture. In so many ways, it felt as if he was saying, “I've got your back.” Although he was way over there, on the other side of the earth, he seemed to care about what was going on over here.
Then, as promised, this good officer (and father himself) sent me some photos of little Mitch with him and in the window of his Blackhawk and indicated they'd be flying Mitch with them that day.
To think that a stranger could be so kind and thoughtful to do something like that in honor of a little boy who died, and a father who misses him deeply, humbles me.
When I thanked him for sharing these photos and honoring my dear son he replied, "Mitchell, though not physically with us, is still having profound impact on all who heard about his journey. Having kids will definitely soften a man up but make us stronger at the same time."
This good man has it right. Having children does soften our hearts yet teaches us to be strong in ways that really matter. I can't help but think our Father knows that better than anyone. He sees so much more than we see: that hardships make us wise, heavy things make us stronger, service makes a heart compassionate, and death teaches us to appreciate life.
Although I enter the battlefield of grief each day: wounded, weary and heavy with sorrow, I stumble into noble souls like this and I take fresh courage. I am reminded why we are allowed to suffer (so that we might learn and grow) and that when we serve each other with love and kindness, when we have each other’s backs, we are serving our Father.
Thank you, my new friend, for reminding me to have another's back is the only way to be.
It is nearly impossible to find the right photo that adequately captures what happened today in our small town in Utah and all around the world. Because of each of you, this run was a success. We will share more details in the coming days: how much we raised, the families we're going to be able to help, and some remarkable stories of hope, courage and love. Because this has been a global event, we still have people running all over the planet ... which is really neat to think about. If only Mitchie could have seen this. And though, perhaps in some way, he can see this from a different view point ... I wish he could have seen your love through the eyes of the little boy he once was.
We met some remarkable young boys today with DMD ... and families that are equally amazing. There is so much love in the world. So much hope. So much goodness.
As the dust begins to settle, I just wanted to thank all of you who have participated, donated and run wherever you are. I wanted to thank the amazing volunteers who have made significant sacrifices in time and their own money to help make this run a success. 100% of the proceeds will be going directly to our goals found on Miles for Mitchell: MDA Summer Camp activities, PPMD Scholarships, Ramps, Assist Devices and other forms of help for families in need.
Nothing quite helps a broken heart as to set sorrow aside and serve and love another. At least that's what I've discovered. And though I still carry the weight of grief, when I reach out to love and lift another ... somehow the world feels a little less heavy.
I'll share more about the run in the coming days. We were blessed to have some amazing volunteer photographers help capture the event: thank you Lindasy Ross, Jake Garn and Jace LeRoy for helping to capture the spirit of this event. As I get those photos, I'll be sure to share them with all of you.
Today, the world moved an inch closer to heaven. Thank you!