We had just parked in front of my in-laws for a Thanksgiving dinner. My not-so-little Mitch, always asserting his independence, began to walk awkwardly down the slight slope of their front yard to the front door. Walking can seem like such an easy thing to those of us who have muscle strength. But to Mitch, walking was difficult ... as evidenced by his awkward gait and increasingly visible struggle to lift his legs high enough to put one foot in front of another. Despite his independence, he would need help up the stairs.
Mitch was so interesting; whenever life seemed to take things away from him, his gratitude for what remained only grew stronger.
He shared his gratitude for life on many occasions and in many different ways. Each time he expressed his gratitude for life, his words were simple and profound. One day I will post the audio from a one-on-one interview with Mitch where he said "I'm grateful for life."
I think he sensed early in his life that he would only be here a short time. He knew it, in a way, just like I knew it; except I think he knew it without knowing it.
I wonder if one of the reasons he valued life so much was precisely because Mitch sensed something was seriously wrong.
Whatever the reason, because this young boy was so grateful for life, he lived and loved deeply - never taking a minute or moment for granted.
He gathered gratitude like a wise traveler might store up oil for their lamps ... in preparation for those long, dark times when the only light we might ever see will come from the light within.
Gratitude not only strengthens the heart and soul, it also serves as a light to shine ... not on what was lost, but what remains.
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 ...
"Be nice to each other and be glad you're alive. Nothing else matters."
~ Mitchell Dee Jones
It was late afternoon and the air was almost uncomfortably humid and warm, even in the shadow of my home. It was Father’s Day 2012 – for those new to this blog, that was my last Father’s day with Mitch. My children each prepared a thoughtful gift and handed them to me. As I opened each gift carefully I looked my kids in the eyes thanked them for their love. Mitch sat next to me, like he always did at the dinner table. I miss that. Although I appreciated their thoughtful gifts – having them in my life was gift enough. A gift so grand I could scarcely contain myself.
I was always confused as a young child when I asked my mother or father what kind of present they wanted for their birthday. They would respond softly in their own way, “Oh, just draw me a picture or write me a letter. That is what I really want.” My little mind pondered over their answers, confused why they didn’t want a toy or the next new thing. After becoming a parent, I began to understand their answer. I would trade every possession I have for another handwritten note from Mitch. They are treasures to me and always will be.
When I first stumbled into this photo I wasn’t sure what to make of it. My heart first swelled to see a photo of Mitch and me together because they are relatively rare … at the same time it sank a little as I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in the heart and mind of my son. Did he sense his life was coming to an end? Sometimes I think so. The more I reflect on my conversations with Mitch (many of which I have audio recorded and may share in future posts) I am beginning to sense something was brooding inside him. It was almost as if his soul knew something neither of us did – at least consciously. Mitch left little breadcrumbs that would suggest he sensed something big was going to happen. How big and terrible, we knew not.
Ironically, about 10 months before this photo was taken I told a business partner of mine, one with whom I share sacred conversations, that I sensed great unrest on the horizon. I told him I felt a significant change in my life was coming … so significant my soul nearly shivered. Yet, I wasn’t sure what it was. I even wrote about it in my journal. Sure enough, we would soon learn Mitchell’s heart was in serious trouble and that time was all we had left.
That brooding sense something was on the horizon was one of many tender mercies from my Father. A warning of love and compassion … a warning to make moments matter before it was too late. That intuition … that whisper from a higher power was not an isolated event. My Father told me something was wrong with Mitch the moment I first laid eyes on him in the delivery room. I knew it … in every way a human and soul could know something … I knew it. In the coming months, as I held my young infant I would begin to sense that not only was something wrong, but that his life would be short. I tried to brush that feeling off as nonsense … but deep inside, I’ve come to learn that insight was heaven-sent.
I am grateful for those [nearly] invisible warnings. They remind me so much more is happening than we have a mind to know.
At least for me, the more I examine and understand the past, the more equipped I am to live in the present. I appreciate the value of a moment much more today than I did a few years ago. When I think of all the stupid things I did, the trivial pursuits, the wasted moments and opportunities lost … I wince a little on the inside. But, I don’t let my regrets break me, instead I use them to shape me.
I suppose that’s the power of the examined life ... we stumble and fall, but we’re still alright.