Mitch followed me wherever I went. He was my shadow … my dear child and sweet little friend. He seemed to always find comfort being around me and in his absence I have come to realize how much comfort I took in being around him.
Last summer we had some family over for a BBQ . Everyone was inside or up the hill in our back yard talking. I found myself at the grill doing what dad’s do and I turned to the place Mitch usually sat while I cooked and he wasn't there. Never a chair seemed so empty. I started to cry.
I took this photo a summer prior as Mitch sat with me while I prepared dinner at the grill one hot summer evening. It was a perfect night and I enjoyed listening to Mitch talk to me about his plans for the future. I normally never take selfies because I am far more interested in what I see in other people than I am in seeing myself. But this time I made an exception because I was with my sweet boy and I wanted a photo of the two of us. I almost didn't take this – but I am so glad I did.
I think I am beginning to understand the deeper meaning of the scriptural passage “the valley of the shadow of death.” Over the years I have heard many recite that passage as though they were words from a hallmark card. But I have come to learn that all of ancient scripture are not only accounts of mankind’s dealings with God, but a record of real sorrows, what we’re to learn from them and why we suffer. Deep inside that poetic prose are words that carry heavy meaning.
Death indeed has cast its shadow. Shadows, by their very definition limit ones view – we cannot see what happens over there. And in death’s towering shadow I find myself on a journey through the valley of grief … a valley that is deep in the shadows … deep in grief. It is a place where I stumble and a place where I weep as my heart and mind search for my son and that unspeakable peace.
I miss my son, my shadow. I love him. I weep for him. And as I find my way through the valley of grief and sorrow, deep in the shadow of death, I am not afraid … for I know God lives. I know He loves us. And while being mortal we may be required to suffer – there is a divine reason for all that we experience. If we look inward and upward we can learn and grow … even through the dark shadows and deep valleys that only God knows.
Mitch was always concerned about falling. Unlike “regular kids” [as he called them] he lacked the strength to break his fall and lessen the impact of hitting the ground. Gravity was no friend to him and when he fell, he fell hard. Toward the end of his life Mitch found it increasingly difficult to get up from the ground by himself. Sometimes it was impossible.
Sweet Mitch wanted so much to run and play like other children. And when he did, he got himself in trouble. Every time he tried, he fell. Unlike a benevolent tutor, nature never rewarded his effort. In fact, the harder he tried the weaker he became.
Last summer we took our kids to a park just down the road from our home. I loved the summer clouds towering like mountains in the sky. Mitch and I used to lay on the grass and look in to the vast blue and imagine what it would be like if we could bounce from cloud to cloud like trampolines. This was one of those days.
Mitch was doing his best to run around and be like the others but he couldn't keep up. At one point he fell down pretty hard and Natalie raced to lift him. She said to him, “It’s okay honey, I’ll lift you when you fall.” I loved hearing that. I wrote about it in my journal that night and I cried. Her words kept playing back in my mind like a beautiful sonnet with a heavenly promise … “I’ll lift you when you fall.”
And that’s how it was with my wife … ever there to lift our children when they fell. If there was one thing Mitch could count on, it was his mom. She was there for him, always.
Mitch fell a lot this day … and he fell a thousand times since. Many times it was painful. But he always tried. And his mom, an angel made mortal … brokenhearted … was always there to lift him.
I miss my son. Oh, how I miss him. I would do anything to be tired again … to be worn out in his service. What I wouldn't do to be inconvenienced by his care if that meant I could hold his hand once more and look into his eyes and tell him how much I love him.
In this photo are two broken giants that I admire greatly. I stand deep in their shadow. I pray that I have the courage to try like my son tried. And I pray that I have the selflessness to set aside my own comforts and lift others like my sweet wife lifted my son. These two are my heroes. And I love them.
I cannot help but think that somehow, when all of this is over, we will find in our brokenness was the secret to being made whole. That our weakness, if we seek divine help, can be made strengths.
There is a reason we fall. And a reason we were meant to lift.
When I close my eyes I can almost feel tiny Mitch bouncing enthusiastically on my shoulders as only little kids know to do. “Dat’s Ashie!” he would yell, pointing over the rickety wood, water-stained fence that stood tall in our back yard.
Mitch, being a little boy, could finally see over the great wall that kept the outside world from view. His big sister was walking to school on the other side of the fence and Mitch blurted, “I see her! I see her! I wuv you Ash!” Ashley would smile and wave back to her baby brother – Mitch would then shrill with delight.
The fence was too tall for me to peer over, but Mitch could and he described all that he could see. I listened to his words of love and excitement, and that was more than enough for me.
Summer was just around the corner and we made modest plans to picnic at the park, splash at the public pool and play in our back yard. There were flowers to plant and our lawn to mow – our backyard was coming together by the skin of our toes. It wasn’t much, but it was our place and we loved it so.
At the time, I thought our young family had found its place in the universe. We were invisible to the world and that is just how we wanted it. If given the choice, I would have lived out my life in the quiet of our backyard and comfort of our family room.
But there was another fence in my life over which I couldn’t see; a fence so tall, it kept the future from my sight ... hardships I didn’t see coming straight for me … things that would break my heart and change the landscape of my family.
I wonder what would happen if we could see over the fence. There’s a reason we can’t and I believe it is heaven-sent. For faith is not just a gift but it’s a power, too; a guide and a teacher for souls like me and you.
As I’ve written in earlier posts, sometimes I think to myself, “If only Mitch could see what I see.” Then, I feel a gentle whisper that he would say the same to me. I am on my tippy toes trying to peer over the fence – to catch a glimpse of heaven and see where exactly my little boy went. But I cannot see what happens over there, for the fence is much too tall. So I am learning to listen closely for those quiet whispers and heaven’s gentle calls.
Though my heart cries out to see my son, that I might love and keep him safe, I know he’s on the other side – and that is a matter of my faith. But because faith is a power, too, it allows us to hear and see things hidden from mortal view. I can almost hear my son, “Dad, keep trying and one day you’ll see, the struggle and the sorrow not only taught you, but me. Remember that time when I was little and could see Ashley? Well, I can see over the fence again, Dad, if only you could see what I see.”
As Natalie lifted Mitch from the floor, she looked intensely at the Milrinone pump to ensure it was still giving him the life-lengthening drug. Mitch, having lost his balance, leaned back only to find his loving mother's arm to keep him safe.
Unaware the mortal trouble he faced, Mitch looked down at his furry friends and wished he could roll around with them like they did with each other. This sweet little boy had attached a small stuffed animal to a string of yarn so he could dangle it from a chair. His back muscles were too weak to bend over, were he to try to pick the toy up from the ground. Little Mitch discovered other ways to squeeze a little more life out of life.
If children only knew what they do for parents ... sometimes I wonder who really raises who. Though we teach our kids how to walk and talk, they teach us about what really matters in life. It is something of a paradox that it takes a child to show us how to grow up.