My daughter took this photo on my last birthday with Mitch, October 2012. I remember this day … this very moment, as though it happened an hour ago. After the birthday party was over Mitch came behind me, like he so often did, and hugged me.
I think we hugged each other 100 times a day. It never got old or routine – every hug was deep and heart-felt. I miss that deeply affectionate part of my son. I miss every part of him. Almost every morning Mitch would sit quietly on the couch and wait for me to go to work. I’d hear him say from a distance, “Mom, is Dad still here?” When he would see me, he would struggle to get off the couch because his muscles were weak … then come running in his awkward gait to give me a big hug. “I love you, Mitch.” I’d say in a soft voice. “I love you, too, Dad.” This little boy was sweeter than sweet.
So when Mitch came to hug me at this moment, it was really the only birthday gift I wanted. My family knows I’m not really interested in receiving gifts – I just wanted to be with them, for children is the greatest gift any father could ever have. Even still, each of my children chose a gift that was unique and perfectly … me. It’s interesting how a thoughtful gift is a gift twice.
At the time, I wasn’t aware of the look on his face as this photo was taken; I can’t help but wonder if Mitch was having a faint sense time was short. I know he knew his life would be short – and I think this was about the time he knew he was running out of time.
As my birthday was approaching this month, Natalie asked me if there was anything special I wanted to do. I said, “I just want to spend time with you and the kids.” And that’s just what we did. Yesterday was a beautiful day. I posted some of those photos on Instagram.com/mitchells_journey
There are so many complex layers to grief and healing. Yesterday was filled with peace and joy … yet I still had a private moment where I wept. It didn’t last long, but I wept hard. On balance, I feel happiness and peace in my heart regularly – and for long periods of time. There was a time in the beginning I wondered if that day would ever come – for the gravity of grief made even breathing difficult. That is not the case today and I’m grateful for this. In many ways, I think it is safe to say I have moved on. But the truth about grief and longing is that it still goes with you. You don’t leave grief behind – it goes with you … only it has less power to take everything from you.
Each day I am learning to take happiness and joy back. Yet I know deep sorrow will be my quiet companion the remainder of my days. I suppose that stark contrast makes moments of joy I feel in my heart all the sweeter, for I have come to know the bitter taste of tears.
One day, in that place beyond the hills, Mitch and I will hug each other again … and I will flood the earth with my tears. Only this time my tears won’t be born of sorrow. On that day when we shall meet, my tears will come from a place of love and healing and they will be sweeter than sweet.
Until that day my boy and I shall meet ...
It was an especially hot summer day when two mothers and 4 children walked into Pioneer Park, each with an arm full of gifts they were about to give away. Quietly they began placing all manner of toys throughout the playground. Each toy had a sticker attached to it with an invitation to play with and keep, signed Mitchell’s Journey.
Cathy O’Grady, a follower-turned-friend from Boston, was in Salt Lake City and wanted to do something in memory of little Mitch. So, she purchased two carts of toys that included baseball bats, footballs, bubbles, chalk, soccer balls and other things kids used to play with before the advent of technology … before the age of digital isolation and endless distraction.
She was kind enough to let me follow her and a friend, Tracey Langston, so I could take photos of their random act of love and kindness in memory of Mitch. Each of them wore a Miles for Mitchell shirt because they wanted to take my son with them.
“Watch how parents will put their phones down and suddenly start playing with their children when they’re given a toy.” Cathy said. Sure enough, exactly as she described, I saw it with my own eyes. Parents who moments earlier were busy scrolling through never ending streams of Pinterest posts, social feeds, texts, emails and other things suddenly set their devices down and began to play with their children.
I saw adorable little kids stumble into a lonely soccer ball, pick it up with curiosity and then show it to their parents as though they won a lottery. I marveled at how these small, inexpensive toys changed how people interacted with one another. As these anonymous gifts were discovered, the playground went from friendly to an excited frolic.
After these good Samaritans were done placing toys … when parents and children alike were playing with one another, I told Cathy how humbled I was by her act of kindness. As my eyes filled with tears … fighting back a wave of grief … I told Cathy something about little Mitch just before he passed away. As Mitch was facing the realities of his own death he wept and wept as he told me how much he wished he could be like regular kids. My soul unraveled and my heart fell to the floor as I heard my son describe what he wanted to do in “real life” but could not. “Dad, I don’t want to ride a skate board in a video game, I want to do it for reals.” Mitch sobbed in ways only a dying child can know. And my soul writhed.
I told Cathy how grateful I was for the gifts she gave others. She didn’t just give toys, you see. These little gifts were a means to a much greater end. Cathy gave the gift of play. The gift of relationships.
So, on this hot summer day, never a swing set looked so empty, yet felt so full. I wanted my little boy to be seated there and was pained that he was not. I wished with all of my heart I could push him back and forth, long after the sun set. I wanted to play with Mitch and see his face and hear him laugh, yet he was forever gone. Instead, I saw other children and parents enjoy what I no longer had – and yet my heart swelled with gratitude for their happiness.
I am so grateful for people like Cathy and Tracey … who seek to build others up and serve with love. I wonder how the world would change if everyone gave freely and not want anything in exchange. Something divine happens when we love and lift … for the very act of giving is itself a supernal gift.
You can see more photos of this experience at the park on instagram.com/mitchells_journey/
You can also learn more about Cathy and the many other good works she is doing here: http://sofiasangelsfoundation.org/
There are a lot of moments in life I wish I could do over so I could do them better. Then there are some moments that are so wonderful I want to do them over so I can re-experience them. This was one of those moments I wish I could do over.
It was January 9th, 2013 when my sweet wife sent me a text message about a lunch date I had with my son that day. Because I’m an impulsive memorist, I screen captured her message the moment I received it. Looking back, I’m so glad I did.
This was just a few short weeks before Mitch went to the hospital for end-stage heart failure. On this day Mitchell’s school invited parents to have lunch with their kids in the cafeteria. I had known about this for a few weeks and I was so excited to hang out with my son. At his request I brought him an Arby’s sandwich, curly fries and a chocolate shake. That was his favorite, and mine too.
As we sat in the cafeteria Mitchell’s aide, Alex, asked if he could sit with us. I was excited to have him spend time with us so I could learn a little more about how Mitch was doing at school. Mitch liked Alex and trusted him and seemed to always feel safe around him. Alex doesn't know it, but Mitch talked about him at home often and our hearts were always relieved that he had him as a friend and aide.
Mitch, being soft and shy, sat at the table quietly dipping his curly fries in a generous pool of Arby’s sauce and saying hello to the kids who wandered by and waved at him. I loved to see Mitch in his element and to see that he had friends all around who cared about him. I was also able to watch Mitch play UNO during recess and was reminded that life doesn't have to be perfect to be great. I know that little Mitch had a great life and that soothes my broken heart.
At one point during our conversation Alex started to tell me something about Mitch and his older brother that touched his heart and in turn touched mine. He said that every day, without fail, Ethan (his older brother) would come up to Mitch at lunch and say hello and give him a brotherly hug. Alex mentioned how that act of kindness affected him and he started to tear up. This grown man, a retired commercial pilot and former military officer, who has seen more in his life than Mitch and I combined was moved to tears by that gentle act of kindness between two brothers. I remember being almost moved to tears by what Alex said and how it affected him. I was grateful then, and remain today, that this good man was part of my son’s life.
I was also reminded that Mitchell’s Journey was so much more than the journey of my broken boy. As I wrote in a recent post … “I used to envision life's journey as a single, straight path. But the older I get, the more I'm beginning to see, just how intertwined our lives really can be. Life is not a path to be tread by one, but a web so intricate and woven … it is, I am certain, heavenly spun.”
This was my last school lunch with Mitch … almost 2 years to this very day. I wish I could go back in time and drink in this moment more deeply. I wish I could do this day over, not because it was bad, but because it was that good. I can’t think of a single business meeting that was more important than spending time with my son at this very moment. This day was an investment in time and attention that is paying dividends far beyond grief and loss.
The truth is, I've made a hundred million mistakes in my life. In so many ways I identify with the phrase, “O wretched man that I am.” But once in a while I get things right. On this day I got it right. I spent time with my son and lived what I valued – and that is worth more to me than all the treasures of earth. On top of that, I spent a moment with this good man who loved my son and shared something I wouldn't have ever known … and because of that, I learned a lesson of love that day I shall not soon forget.
So, although I wish I could do this day over so that I might re-live the love that I felt for my son, because I did my best to be with him, instead of wishing for what might have been, I can at least be grateful for what has been. I can’t re-do moments – but I can re-live them in my mind and heart. And that’s close enough. Today and forevermore, I hope to live a little better than the day before – so that when I am old and tired … anxious to pass over so that I might see my little son again … I hope to look back and be glad I lived the life I lived. Perhaps when I truly have heaven’s eyes, I'll look back and want to do my life over … because, despite the weight of grief and depths of sorrow, it was that good.
This afternoon Natalie huddled around Mitchell's Christmas tree with our kids and some of their cousins to make blankets for children at Primary Children's Hospital, the same hospital that cared for our son.
Mitch was so grateful for the blankets he received from loving supporters. Because it meant so much to him and our family, we want to pay that goodness forward.
There are many across the United States and the world who have expressed interest in shipping quilts, blankets, toys and books in memory of Mitch. If you're planning on sending anything, we will be taking all donations to the hospital Monday, December 22nd.
We'll be sure to post photos of that day.
You can ship parcels to:
Mitchell's Journey
5526 West 13400 South #102
Herriman, UT 84096
The funny thing about giving is you always seem to get more in return than you ever give. It is a paradox with a promise.
Natalie was so excited at the end of today's blanket-making exercise. Her heart was overflowing to think that other children who are in a place so unfamiliar to their homes during the holidays might find some comfort and be made a little warmer.
We wish we had the resources to cover the world with love.