Last September I received a message from someone out of San Diego who was following Mitchell’s Journey. She gave me permission to share an excerpt from her message. She wrote:
“I discovered Mitchell's Journey just a few weeks before Mitchell passed away and I have been following closely ever since. I think initially I followed in awe, moved so deeply by the bravery of one small boy and the power of a family's love. I thought to myself over and over again that your family must be woven of a fabric much stronger than my own constitution for I couldn't imagine walking a moment, much less a day, in your shoes. And yet, your family presses on and continues the journey with such grace. A true example for us all.
Overtime my following of Mitchell's Journey changed from being that of a passive spectator to that of someone who became inspired to take a journey of my own. To live life differently. To love more deeply and to be more present in every moment. To reach out to those in need and to allow myself to accept help when I need it and when it is offered to me.”
Caryn Glass, this kind, compassionate woman was teaching an intensive for a ballet studio and was to choreograph a piece for their end-of-summer showcase. As she worked with these young dancers, she did what all true artists do … dig deep. She inspired conversation among these teenagers to talk about ways they could be more present each day, find gratitude for the gifts of life and to share some of their favorite moments. They discussed moments they wished they could experience again and others they wish they could do over. At some point during this exploration with her students, this kind dance instructor shared a little about Mitchell’s Journey and what it meant to her and how it has affected her life.
The following video is her choreography dedicated to little Mitchell and anyone who (in Caryn’s words) “inspires us to be the best versions of ourselves, to be grateful for our gifts, to be kind to one another and to simply be glad we're alive. For nothing else matters.”
I still cry every time I read her beautiful letter.
Her dance company, [the] movement initiative, wanted to help raise awareness for DMD by producing this video of their dance: vimeo.com/118058086
I’m not sure which was more beautiful; Caryn’s gesture of love and remembrance, the choreography … or the fact she took the time to inspire her students to find purpose and meaning in their own lives. Each was beautiful, but the combination of what she did even more so. Though I am touched by Caryn’s remembrance of my fallen son, I am even more touched how she inspired tomorrow’s generation to connect to things that matter most to them. Each of these young dancers walked away with something different – a meaning unique to them and their own life experience. At the end of the day, that is all I hope for Mitchell’s Journey.
Caryn Glass, you are simply remarkable. These young dancers were not only taught how move but how to be moved. You inspired them. You encouraged them to discover ways they might truly live. This world is blessed with you in it.
This is a link to her page: www.facebook.com/pages/the-movement-initiative/113639455358007?sk=timeline
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instagram.com/mitchells_journey
The incomparable Marco Simmons, an undefeated MMA fighter who competes with purpose. Each fight he honors little Mitch (notice #mitchellsjourneyon his shorts) and helps the general public know about this fatal muscle wasting disease. While I'll share more stories of little Mitch, I have thousands yet to share, I'll also be sharing more of what Mitchell's Journey has put in motion all across the world.
Marco and his remarkable family have put their arms around other young boys afflicted with DMD, like Caden Gibbs - who you'll hear more about in the coming months. I had the blessing of finally meeting Marco and his sister at our Miles for Mitchell fundraiser last month. He was humble and kind and incredibly caring.
Marco seems to typify many of the most noble of human characteristics. His personal story is both encouraging and inspiring ... and I am grateful to call him friend.
Marco reminds me that having strength is good, but giving it away in the service of others is divine.
A real hero in my book.
instagram.com/mitchells_journey
www.facebook.com/marcosimmonsMMA?fref=nf
About a week ago I was approached by a Mitchell's Journey follower who had something in common with our family. Her Charlie and our Mitchell were both students of a very special preschool teacher who was about to retire. Both of our children had also passed away.
So, yesterday Natalie and I attended a retirement banquet for this remarkable woman who played in important role in our son's life. She was a tender mercy for our boy as she helped him make a delicate transition to school. Mitch quickly grew in confidence because of the way she encouraged and guided him. We hadn't seen her for about 10 years so this was a special reunion. At her display table was a kind of memorial with photos of all of her students throughout her career - an evidence this woman was a remarkable teacher who loved her students. The best educators are the ones that teach with love of topic and student.
Next to the collage of former students was a larger panel with tributes to three of her special needs students who passed away, Mitch being one of them. It was a tender reunion filled with a lot of love and gratitude.
Here Natalie writes a note to "Mrs. Nancy" thanking her for being so kind and loving to our baby. We had never forgotten her and she clearly remembered little Mitch. When we moved from our first home a decade ago we thought we'd never cross paths with this remarkable teacher again. Fate, or providence, would have it otherwise.
It is interesting how at any given moment we might think a person in our lives a solitary, temporary thread ... unaware how woven our lives may become. The people and events in our lives make for a fascinating tapestry we may not appreciate, or even see, until deep in the twilight of our own lives.
instagram.com/mitchells_journey/
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.