Why do we wait for people to die to say nice things about them? What if that kind word spoken at a eulogy might have made a difference to them when they were living? Whenever possible & appropriate, I try to speak the words I might say at someone’s eulogy, were I asked to speak, so that person might absolutely know how I feel about them and why I look up to him/her. My greatest hope is that those shared thoughts and feelings might help them while they’re living, for a compliment at a funeral does far less good than a compliment in life.
So, because I don’t wait for birthdays, anniversaries or funerals to say kind things … I am not as keen on anniversaries as every day is a celebration of who and what I love. Strangely, my heart weighs heavy this day, the 3rd anniversary of my son’s funeral. I remember how difficult it was to speak … I almost threw up that morning and I, a grown man, wept like a small child just before the funeral director closed my son’s casket for the last time.
Months later I remember watching my dear wife, who knelt reverently by our son’s place of rest, lean over to touch his headstone – almost in disbelief. Natalie tried so hard to love and nurture Mitch while he was alive. Like me, she thought we had more time. As hard as everything was up to that point, we didn’t realize the hardest parts of grief were yet to come. How exquisitely hard we couldn’t imagine.
At least to me, Mitchell’s Journey is as much about the examined life as it is musings on love and grief. I have endured deep suffering over the loss of my child and have come to understand not one of us will be spared hardship and sorrow. At some point in our lives, we will all suffer and drink from bitter cups; we will all weep and gather up our broken pieces … and sometimes we might wonder why the heavens suddenly seem so dark. Only then will we begin to see the stars: tender mercies that can only be discerned in and through the darkness – whose subtle light will eventually illuminate the path and lead our souls out of the dark. Perhaps we would all be fortunate as to have great suffering happen earlier in our lives rather than later … for then we might love strangers more readily, empathize with those who hurt more freely, and help our neighbors with glad hearts. The world needs a lot more of that stuff.
I am still learning how to grieve, yet I marvel at those who are fortunate enough to have not lost a child; they who sit comfortably, incredulously, from the comfort of their observation deck and suggest it is time to stop hurting, because they themselves don’t hurt. Such an assertion is as silly and insensitive as if I were to tell a parent to abandon their love for their living child, simply because I don’t share their personal attachment. Sometimes it is the lack of empathy from others that can make the grief journey seem so long and lonely.
It is not my place, nor any of my business, to know where people are in their grief journey. I have learned to respect the empty space between a parent and lost child as hallowed ground. To observe a sufferer in grief is to watch someone in their own Gethsemane and we would do well to reverence our criticisms and thank God we are not suffering in the same way. And if we are fortunate to have suffered such a loss, we might reach out and lift those heavy hands with love and understanding – for empathy has the power to heal.
At least for me, I measure my own healing by a few examinations:
1) What have I learned from my sorrows?
2) How have I changed?
3) What meaning has this experience had in my life?
4) Have I drawn closer to my Father?
If my answers shed light in the darkness, then I know I’m growing. If I don’t know the answer, then I need to search more.
I promise to not always write about sad things, but for now I still feel sad things … and this is my therapy.
Yet, despite my sorrows today, my heart is glad in knowing my sweet wife always built our son up with kind words, loving encouragement and sound council. She offered our son a living eulogy; Mitch didn’t need to die before nice things were said to and about him. Our little boy never went a day where Natalie didn’t help him feel good about himself. ... where he didn’t know he was loved by a mother who was an angel made mortal.
Last week, on the 3rd anniversary of our son's passing (the very day, in fact) we received a package at our door. With trembling hands, we opened it only to discover a cross stitch of our son patterned after one of our very favorite images of Mitch. Meticulously woven by different colored threads, it looked like a photograph.
A compassionate follower-turned-friend gave this to us as a labor of love and a token of her affection. I remember first becoming aware of her when I saw her post photos of her family wearing#milesformitchell t-shirts as they participated in our virtual runs. They would make hand-drawn posters and gather as a family to take pictures, expressing their love and support. I was so humbled by her love made visible.
So, when Natalie and I had the pleasure of finally meeting Vanessa Bryson and her son in South Carolina when we gave a keynote at a conference a few weeks ago, I felt like I was seeing a long-lost family member. She was just as loving and kind in person and she seemed online.
A day prior to this package arriving we received a smaller package that contained a loving hand-written note, a few first place ribbons she won at a competition along with the proceeds of her winnings to be used for flowers at Mitchell's headstone. My wife and I wept over her incredible gesture of love.
This beautiful work of art ... this love made visible ... will hang in our home as both a reminder of our son whom we miss so much and the amazing people that live on this planet; people who care enough to reach out and love complete strangers. Thank you Vanessa, for your love and friendship and for being such a tender part of our healing journey.
When Mitch was a tiny baby he knew just how to make me smile. In those early years I remember driving to the intersection where Natalie served as a crossing guard, surprising them with a quick hello. Baby Mitch sat in his car seat content with life and just glad to be alive. Natalie, his faithful mommy, would read books to him as they waited for children to cross the road. Mitchell always seemed excited to see me, but I was even more excited to see him. I'd jump in their car and we'd just talk. Mitch would look at me and smile - and that always seemed to turn a good day into a great day.
This morning as I thought of him, he did it again; I felt his smile in my soul. Today is going to be a great day.
I remember doing an audio interview with Mitch when he said, "Well, at least I have today." I loved that. I wrote it in my journal and I wrote it in my soul. I vowed from that moment on to always be grateful for today.
So, in keeping with Mitchell's words, I was grateful for today. It has been a day of love and reflection, peace, and mourning. Above all, this has been a day of gratitude.
My friend, Darrell Robinson, who helps me manage our Miles for Mitchell page, posted the following quote and invited those who follow that page to try to meet one of its challenges, in honor of Mitch.
I loved these words so much, I wanted to share them here. If ever there were a philosophy my son taught me, it is this. I pray to always be grateful for today and try to live by the following:
"... mend a quarrel. Seek out a forgotten friend.
Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust.
Write a letter. Give a soft answer.
Encourage youth.
Manifest your loyalty in word and deed.
Keep a promise. Forgo a grudge.
Forgive an enemy. Apologize. Try to understand.
Examine your demands on others. Think first of someone else.
Be kind. Be gentle. Laugh a little more.
Express your gratitude.
Welcome a stranger.
Gladden the heart of a child.
Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth.
Speak your love, and then speak it again."
-Howard Hunter