A conversation between mother and son… "What is the one thing in life that has most surprised you?" She said, "The brevity of it." #mitchellsjourney#essaysonhope
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I remember driving to the cemetery after work one day only to find my sweet wife knelt quietly at the head of my son’s place of rest. The grass was still mending from the funeral and you could see the painful outline of where exactly he was buried. I never imagined grass could be so brutal.
“My dear wife, you precious mother … I love you more than any other. Yes, I love our children as much, too … for they came to life from me and you. But, my love, you are where it started: my heart, my life, and our son departed. My dear wife, you precious mother … because of you, Mitch was blessed above all others.”
I reverently approached my best friend but gave her space – for I saw her suffering an agony only a mother who’s lost a child can know. While I carry a father’s sorrow, which is heavier than anything I have ever known, I reverence my wife’s grief differently than my own.
Mitch had such a tender relationship with his mom. He often called her “Mommy-Lommie” as a term of endearment. He would always tell me how he thought his mother was the kindest, most beautiful lady on earth. “Don’t you just love Mommy?” Mitch would say with great feeling.
I have tender photos that I’ll share at a later time that show his sweet expression whenever Mitch was in her arms. This little boy loved his mom. And she loved him.
Mother’s day is around the corner and I can’t help but turn my heart to my dear wife. I struggle to know what I might do to show her how much I love and honor her. Everything I can think of falls short of what I feel. I know the gift she really wants I cannot give. Though I would gladly take my son’s place, I cannot. How that pains me so.
Our grief journey so far has been more complex than I ever imagined. Perhaps that is one of the reasons grief is so difficult to process … precisely because it is so complex. If it were simple, it might be easier. But it is not simple: grief is a tangled web of wanting, longing and loving something you can no longer hold. It is a briar patch of self-doubt, what if’s, and wonderings. It is the isolation of being misunderstood or simply not understood. It is learning to breathe in an emptiness that suffocates.
As difficult as it’s been, grief has also been a beautiful teacher. It has taught me how to be more compassionate and patient. It has taught me to better appreciate light – having experienced pitch darkness. Grief has taught me how to talk to my Father as a child might talk to a parent. Most beautiful of all is seeing those I love discover heavenly gems.
It wasn't long ago I was asked to speak to a group of women about the extraordinary influence they can have in the lives of others. The night before I was to speak to this group Natalie and I were talking about our journey so far. She looked me in the eyes and said, “Chris, I remember feeling betrayed and saying to God, ‘I tried to do everything you asked and THIS is what I get?’” Natalie paused a moment, with tears in her eyes she continued, “Then it occurred to me: this is my price to know God.” Tears filled my eyes and my heart filled with peace as I felt the truth of her words.
I have marveled at the transformation I have seen in my wife over the last 2 years. I can see the hand of God shaping her, tenderly and sometimes painfully, into something beautiful, not bitter. Yes, her heart is broken and tender – but it has become wiser and more caring. Through her suffering, she has come to know her Father in deeper ways.
My dear wife, you precious mother … I love you more than any other. Yes, I love our children as much, too … for they came to life from me and you. But, my love, you are where it started: my heart, my life, and our son departed. My dear wife, you precious mother … because of you, Mitch was blessed above all others.
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Yesterday we took our kids to the same place near Park City where we went sledding with Mitch just before he was hospitalized from heart failure. This was his last outdoor activity in mortality and we wanted to do something as a family that honored what Mitchie loved to do. I loved to see my wife smile. Heaven knows how many tears she has shed, so my heart was lifted to see her enjoy time with our other kids.
While sledding, Natalie commented how the weather conditions were almost identical to the day we went with Mitch. After sledding we went to the same pizza place (www.thepie.com) and sat by the same fireplace as we did with Mitch. Wyatt stood diligently by the soda machine and mixed drink combinations like a chemist. Ethan and Laura-Ashley laughed as we talked about funny things. Natalie sat with her back to the fireplace with a warm smile on her face. My heart nearly burst.
When it comes to grief rituals, I have found it interesting how tracing our path with lost ones can bring some measure of comfort.
It was a hard yet wonderful day.
We want to thank all of you who reached out publicly, privately and personally to offer love and support during the last few days. This has been an especially tender weekend for our family and your love has been felt as well as heard. We read every single post and wish we could reply to everyone. I’ll do a better job at liking each post - if only to acknowledge we read what you wrote – however much I would like to respond personally to each comment.
Although we grieved the loss of our son, at the same time, we also recognized the many families we have come to know who have lost children or loved ones … and people who hurt deeply for any number of reasons. We cried not only for our loss, but for many of you, too. We mourned not only for our son, but for everyone that hurts – and we prayed that every weary heart might find rest.
Thank you … all of you, for remembering. Thank you for loving others more freely. Thank you for making this world a better place.
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Laura-Ashley really loved little Mitch. She cared for him on a deeply personal level, and Mitch felt it. Mitch really loved her, too. I would often find him hanging out with Laura-Ashley just to talk. She always offered him her time and most importantly her attention. Nothing shows love like caring attention.
I took this photo late March, 2012. Sunday the 25th, to be exact. Winter’s bitter chill was retreating and the first real glimpse of spring had arrived. Natalie and the kids were excited to go outside and get some fresh air, so we went to a small park just down the street.
When I think back on this time in my life, things were especially hectic and my mind was weighed by a million things pulling for my attention. I had just returned from a trip to Honduras and had a lot of catching up to do and I could have told Natalie I was too busy to go with them. I am afraid, as much as I’ve tried to be with my family, I may have said that more than my broken heart wants to admit. Surely it isn't reasonable to be everywhere, all of the time; but if I’m honest with myself, I know I could have done better. I wish I would have done better … and from now on, I will try to do better. Looking back on our lives is always a tricky thing … and it seems everyone’s a genius in retrospect. Hindsight displays everything so clearly: how much time we didn't have, the better path or smarter choices and the times I should have recorded my children’s voices. Like an old film in the attic, I replay my memories, my loves, my joys, my heartaches and regrets. I must be careful to not feed my regrets – for they can devour me if I'm not careful.
I believe regret should hurt just enough so we know not to do [whatever] again; almost like touching a hot stove … heat enough to teach, but not enough to scar or debilitate.
I’m glad I went with my family this day because I was able to take some once-in-a-lifetime photos of our kids playing, Natalie nurturing and Mitch smiling. Had my priorities been on important but lesser things, I would have missed out on life’s most beautiful things. My reward for time well spent are warm memories and photos like this ... which make my heart sing. These two children taught me something about love this day.
Two months from this photo, almost to the day, we would learn Mitchell's heart was broken and he was in trouble. I made this video that very night: vimeo.com/42931543
In less than a year, everything I knew and loved would be turned upside down and my son would pass away. Ask me now the value of this day ...
I wonder how often I have been suckered into believing only the big, rare things are once-in-a-lifetime. Mitch taught me, in the most painful way, every moment of every day is once-in-a-lifetime. I don’t get to go back and do this, or any time over. Time passed is time past. All I have to take with me into the future are the memories I made ... and they can soothe like silk or draw out like the sharpest of blades.
When I see this photo I feel more love than sorrow … and like the hot stove, I hurt for a moment, forever reminded there’s no promise of tomorrow. My wife, children and fallen son are once-in-a-lifetime blessings that I won't squander, not a single one.
Mitch taught me to drink life in like a thirsty traveler: for when the journey’s done, it’s done. And that sounds like once-in-a-lifetime thing, if I ever heard one.
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