I don’t know much about grief and healing. I only know that I am a student of love and loss and I’m taking careful notes. One thing I’ve learned is that when I try to create new memories … new moments of love and laughter … hope grows and healing deepens.
We’re not a perfect family, not by any stretch. Even with our best efforts, we fall short a million miles. Maybe two … or ten. We struggle like every family struggles. We disagree, sometimes argue and on occasion we hurt each other’s feelings. But we don’t mean to. We make mistakes – but we always find our way back to forgiveness, love and laughter. Perhaps finding our way back to each other is what makes family so beautiful and so powerful.
Yesterday our family stopped by a park that was filled with changing trees and a grass covered with fallen leaves. We tossed leaves in the air in memory of Mitch. He loved to do that. As I saw my family laugh and play, my heart felt an increase of hope and healing.
Finding this depth of joy was like stumbling across a hidden treasure on a long, barren journey. A journey of grief where hope can sometimes feel like a mirage. Illusory. A promise of something ever out there in the distance, far beyond mortal reach. Yet there it was … not out there in the distance but right here, in my heart and soul.
I still cry for my son. I yearn for his company and I miss him terribly. Yet, despite those sorrows, hope and healing still happen.
Could it be that is one of grief’s great mysteries? Not that sorrow diminishes or goes away, but it can be displaced by new memories we make each day.
I’m still grieving, but I’m discovering a new kind of hope and healing … and that is a wonderful, wonderful feeling.
“I will always consider the empty space between this mother and son hallowed ground.”
A few weeks ago I took some family photos in a nearby forest. We brought our favorite painting of Mitch so we could include him. My wife sat reverently on a fallen log and looked at her son. Suddenly my mind was flooded with images of her holding our boy as he suffered. I was reminded that all that’s left are the memories we made and love in our hearts.
It wasn't a sad moment. Only a sober one.
I will always consider the empty space between this mother and son hallowed ground.
Little Mitch was less than 24 hours from being admitted to the ER. We would then learn he only had days left to live. After a rigorous battle in the cardiac intensive care unit, we took Mitch home to live out the remainder of his days where he was comfortable and surrounded by everything and everyone he loved. No time in my life has been more sacred than that time with my son. We were blessed to have him 3 short weeks … which were also the longest weeks of my life. My knees are still bruised.
I’ll never forget how little Mitch leaned into his mother’s embrace in search of comfort. As his parents, we were desperate to rescue him. He was in a great deal of pain as organs in his body reacted violently to his failing heart. It is a tender, terrible irony that a little boy who had such a loving heart would die from heart failure. Natalie held our boy in her arms, also in search of comfort. But there was none to take.
Over the next few weeks we would watch our once vibrant son wither away. I wanted to have that one last conversation with Mitch. I wanted to tell him for the last time how much I loved him and how proud of I was of him. I did tell him such things while he was home … but I wanted just one more. I wanted to tell him that when I grow up, I want to be just like him. I still do.
In 2012, the Thanksgiving prior to Mitchell’s passing we were at my in-laws at a family function. Everyone took a turn to share the one thing they were grateful for. Most parents shared their gratitude for their family and for God. Children shared their gratitude for toys, family and friends. When it came time for Mitch, he simply said, “I’m just thankful to be alive.” I recorded him saying that with my iPhone. I remember that it took a maximum effort to not burst into tears at that very moment.
Another bitter irony that a child who intrinsically valued life would have it taken from him so young.
Comfort and spiritual assurance came and went like a heavenly tide under the dim light of tender mercies. After my son passed away the sky, which was already pitch as night, drew darker still. There were times I sought after heavenly answers and peace … and I received nothing. It would take repeated efforts to reach heavenward before certain answers came. Looking back, I can see that my struggle to find answers and peace [peace, where there was none to take] … that very struggle taught me things I needed to know. I discovered things I would have never learned had answers and peace come at my beck and call, as though God were some kind of cosmic butler. He is no such thing. But He is a parent and a master teacher who understands nothing of value comes easily. Sometimes the answers we seek are discovered in the struggle itself.
I often hear or read statements like “choose happiness” as though it were possible to blithely lay down our troubles like heavy, unnecessary luggage and simply move on. No sentiment could be more naive or insensitive to those who are trying to find their way through the wilderness of grief and trouble.
How are we to find peace where there seems none to take? It isn't choosing happiness, first.
At least for me, I have discovered that when I first seek meaning and purpose, happiness eventually follows. More than happiness, actually; I experience deep joy and a calming sense of understanding. Yet, when I seek happiness first, I forever hunger for that which cannot satisfy.
Little Mitch taught me to first seek meaning and purpose, then peace will follow. Understanding will fill those places that seem so empty and hollow.
Last Friday I arrived at my office and discovered a beautiful gold box with a hand written note attached. It was from Candice Madsen, the remarkable woman who produced that 30 minute story on Mitchell’s Journey which aired on television last October. I had learned that her story was nominated for a regional Emmy last month, and about a week ago I discovered it won.
Inside this gold box was the actual Emmy award. In her note she said she wanted our family to have it and encouraged us to “shine on”. I’ve cried several times … both over her kind gesture as well as the price that was paid for such a story to even exist.
I will forever be grateful for Candice and KSL who shared our son’s story with such honest, yet tender care. Never once did we sense we were being exploited or that their efforts were for ratings or prestige. Instead, they seemed to care more about the story itself and its real impact on others.
I didn’t know any of the people they featured in this spot until after I lost my son. Over time, each of these remarkable people and families shared some of their experience with me and they have each become dear friends to me – and my life is richer because of it. In fact, I have been blessed to come to know so many of you. I read your every single comment, I ponder your heartbreak and find myself praying specifically for many of you who share your struggles. I am also inspired by your love, compassion and hope.
Just recently I had an exchange with a woman from a far-away country. She described a bit about her journey to rekindle her faith and had questions. I shared a little about my thoughts and experience with God. She then tried a few things I suggested and she wrote back that she immediately sensed something different. A month later she wrote me again and said she was experiencing an inner awaking. My heart was overflowing.
I am always grateful to hear how Mitchell’s Journey is making a difference. The Gabriel Award and now the Emmy … it is nice to know other institutions recognize this little story on the internet. Yet, in truth, what motivates me aren’t accolades or the honors of society; instead, I am deeply moved when I discover your private stories of faith, hope and healing. It is the invisible stories … stories that exist far under the radar of Hollywood and news circuits that move my soul.
I am inspired by you.
One day, all that society has worked so hard to build will come crashing to the earth – everything will become nothing. The only thing that will remain is what we have become. What we make of our souls.
I have a long way to go – but I have my Father and the hope of seeing my sweet son again to guide me.
instagram.com/mitchells_journey/
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For those that haven’t seen KSL's piece on Mitchell's Journey, here is a link:https://www.ksl.com/?sid=31804270
https://www.facebook.com/Candice-Madsen-KSL-417742541757218/?fref=ts
http://rockymountainemmy.org/