We just finished swimming at a local recreation center with a handful of cousins who were summoned by their benevolent grandfather. Like a wise herdsman, this good man knows how to gather his flock and tend for his children and grandchildren. He is keen to pass down to his children and grandchildren experiences, not things. A philosophy I can get behind.
The kids each smelled vaguely of chlorine, the color of their eyes ranged from pink, to red, to bloodshot. And each child was on the verge of needing a nap from playing in the water for hours. After our swimming adventure, Dee (my father-in-law) invited everyone over to Panda Express, one of Mitchell’s favorites. Orders were taken and cousins quickly scattered across the restaurant claiming their tables. Mitch, wanting to sit by me, sat across the table. I loved how Mitch always wanted to sit by my side – because I very much wanted to sit beside him. There was something different about him. Something quite special.
My father-in-law, seeing Mitch not with the other kids, decided to sit by him and start a conversation. This old man, seasoned by life and experience, leaned toward my young son and wove a fantastical story about some fictional character he created in his mind. A master storyteller, he is. Mitch gazed into the distance, swept away by his story.
I, too, was swept away as I watched these two lovely souls, divided by generations of experience, interact so softly. I thought to myself, “What an inheritance this is ...” I began to think about what we pass on to the next generation … the things they inherit from us.
My father-in-law seems to model that old proverb that says, “Give a man a fish and he has food for a day. Teach a man to fish and he has food for a lifetime.” In his own special way, he teaches his family how to fish; how to smile at an old pair of shoes and save what we might otherwise spend foolishly. He teaches his grandchildren how to be entertained without electronics and to enjoy the lost art of storytelling. That, and so much more does this good man pass down. The true value of his inheritance is a gift that cannot be counted or measured today.
When my father died, I inherited a little over $2,000. I was young and on my own; a first-year college student who didn’t know his place in the world and would have traded all the treasure of earth to have his father by his side. The world was big and I was small – a pebble in a vast sea of humans who always seemed to be in a hurry, tossed to-and-fro by the tides of culture. I didn’t care about any financial inheritance - instead, as a young man I pondered deeply on the greater inheritance – what my father really passed on to me. I wanted to live up to his good name and great heart.
So when I saw my son and his grandfather I thought how lucky they were to have each other – and I began to think back on the things we inherit. The things that really matter. In this moment I saw my son inheriting one of life’s richest treasures: a loving grandfather passing down an experience of the mind, heart and soul and my little boy drinking in the moment and every word that was told. Though he was young, my son’s soul felt old.
The longer I live the more I have come to see that age is a mirage … it is simply illusory. How old is our soul, really? One day we will see.
When I was young I imagined living to a ripe old age ... passing down an inheritance for generations yet to be. Now broken-hearted and bereft … I’m finally beginning to see an inheritance my son passed down to me.
I think that nightmare scenario crosses every parent’s mind at one point or another and we ask ourselves: “What would I do if I lost my child?” In every way that matters, we are asking ourselves what would happen if we lost part of ourselves – for that is what our children are to us. That’s what our children will never understand until they have children of their own: they become more important to us than we are to ourselves.
Just after we were told Mitch had days to live, Natalie’s mother and father came rushing to the hospital to offer love and support. Over the next few weeks, my wife and I would keep the knowledge of our son’s impending death from Mitch. Peace of mind and childhood was our gift to our son – at least for a little while. You see, we didn’t know if he was going to die in an hour, or a day, or in a month and we wanted to help Mitch make the most of what time remained.
“I know that I cannot take their troubles away. But, like this good father I will walk beside them … even with bare feet and broken bones. Until my dying breath, I will walk beside them and try to lead them home.”
Palliative care workers circled our room and visited daily asking for permission to talk to Mitch about his death. Each time we told them no. Knowing our time with Mitch was short weighed heavy on our souls. We hid our broken hearts behind a soft smile and we put away our dashed hopes and shattered dreams under a blanket of hugs and loves. Though we didn’t know how to protect him from death, we could protect him from worry and fear. And that is what we tried to do. That was all we knew to do.
When these good parents arrived, Natalie and her father found an empty room in the cardiac intensive care unit. A curtain was drawn and a tender conversation between a daddy and his little girl ensued. Tears of deep grief and anguish fell to the earth. I wonder if the heavens wept just a little that day – not out of sorrow, but empathy. I don’t know what they talked about. I only know that empty room became hallowed ground between a good father and his little daughter.
I stayed with Mitch and his grandmother in his CICU room. My mother-in-law is as good a woman as there ever was. Her heart was broken for Mitch and her daughter and our family. I’ll write of her another day.
After some time had passed Mitch asked me to get Natalie. When I went to get her I stumbled into a most tender and beautiful scene. I saw a good father embrace his daughter as she wept. In her trembling hand was a pamphlet about how to talk to your child about death and dying. That impossible scenario we couldn’t imagine living suddenly became a harsh reality.
When I saw my wife and her good father I sensed something similar between our Father. I thought of those times I knelt by my bed with bruised knees pleading for a way out for my son; the nights seemed to stretch out into infinity as I wet my pillow with tears. I felt the words in my heart, “I cannot take your troubles from you, but I will walk with you and lift you when you fall.”
Somewhere out there lives my son. And when I see him next I will drop everything and I will run … boy, will I ever run. The heavens will weep once more – but this time out of joy – for a family will be reunited with their young, fallen boy.
When I think of my own children, two of whom are teenagers and my youngest now ten, I know that I cannot take their troubles away. But, like this good father I will walk beside them … even with bare feet and broken bones. Until my dying breath, I will walk beside them and try to lead them home.
Several years ago I was visiting Rio Tinto to discuss a leadership development course I was designing for them. Before I left their mine site, I visited the gift shop and purchased a little souvenir for each of my kids. I knew Mitch loved gold, so I got him a little water vial filled with tiny flakes of a gold-like material. I remember handing it to Mitch only to see his eyes grow big and his smile even bigger. After admiring it for a while, I followed him to his room where he carefully placed it in his nightstand drawer, among his other treasures. His room, untouched since the day of his passing, still contains all the things he held dear, just the way he left them.
It wasn’t many months later Mitch came to my office with a serious look on his face. In his hand was the little vial of gold and a big question, “Dad, how much do you think I could sell this gold for?” My first instinct was to chuckle a little because it was such a cute question. I refrained. I could tell Mitch had something on his mind and when asked, he said he wanted to sell his gold so he could purchase a new Game Boy he had been saving up for. Unaware I purchased the souvenir for around $10, Mitch thought the gold was real and that it might be worth millions. I love the innocence of children.
I told Mitch that my little souvenir was only a symbol of gold, not real gold itself. I apologized that he thought it was worth more than it was. I could tell he felt a little deflated and that his youthful imagination got the best of him. I then got on my knees and looked him in the eyes and said, “Mitch, I have an idea. Why don’t I buy that gold from you, but you keep it safe for me?” As I handed him $50 he smiled and nodded with a faint look of relief that his treasure had at least little value.
I gave Mitch a big hug and told him how sweet I thought he was. I said, “Mitch, do you know what is worth more than all the gold on earth?” With his innocent, tender eyes, he shook his head as if to say no. “You, my son. You are worth more than all the treasures that have been or ever will be on earth. I would give up everything I own to have you in my life. I would sell the clothes off my back to keep you, and keep you safe.” I then pointed to his vial of fake gold and told him, “Even if that was real gold … even if our home was made of the rarest gold … you are worth infinitely more than that.”
I knew it wasn’t possible for Mitch to understand the depth of my love; for a child cannot know the love of a parent … they can only feel an infinitesimally small portion of that love. And though he didn’t understand how much I loved him, I know he felt my love in every way a young child can.
I have never forgotten that exchange with Mitch. Since then I have thought often about life’s greatest treasures. They aren’t the things I can buy with money. In fact, I have discovered, the very things I can buy get in the way of life’s greatest treasures.
So, as I’ve been contemplating my life treasures this weekend, I stumbled into this photo of my mother and Mitch and just wept. This is my treasure. This is my family.
It’s my mother’s birthday today and I have a little something to say: thank you, mom for being so good to my son – you always made him feel special, like he was the only one.
When I think of life’s greatest treasures, a lot can come to mind. The things we work so hard to purchase, and sometimes lose our souls to find. We mine the earth and till the ground, to harvest earth’s great bounty. Some choose spend their lives with drunken eyes in pursuit of things, forever they are counting. If I’m not careful, I too, can lose my mind; forgetting heaven’s promise, “seek and ye shall find.” We can waste our days chasing things of little worth; you know, the things we gather up but cannot leave this earth. Or, we can stop the madness and maybe catch our breath … long enough to awaken and remember things are only things, and to love a soul is best. So when I see this photo of my mother and my son; generations apart, yet full of love and having fun … I remember family is my greatest treasure, worth more than anything I could possibly measure.
There are so many layers to Mitchell’s Journey … so many stories to share.
I remember taking our young family to the family ranch in southern Utah. I had nicknamed it, “The Other Side of Narnia” because there was something magical about ranch’s relative isolation from the world. At first I used to get frustrated cell signals are spotty at best – most of the time I don’t get one. But then, in a moment of sanity, I realized what a blessing it is to be cut off from the rest of the mad world so I could focus on the things that truly mattered.
One summer afternoon, just before the sun was about to set, I found Mitch, tiny Wyatt and my step-father sitting on a bench by a pond talking as only grandparents and grandchildren know to do. My heart swelled with gratitude to see this good man love my children. There sat a man who didn’t raise me and had every reason to be about other things that day. For that seems to be the work of men … to be busy building, chasing or collecting things. Instead, he choose to stay with my boys and spend time with them.
In 1931, William Lyon Phelps wrote, “The final test of a gentleman is his attitude toward children. I wonder if all men remember as vividly as I do [how] grown-up people treated us …” I thought of that statement as I watched Garth … I was so grateful to see this good man spend loving time with my boys. He wanted them to know they were important and loved. That he invested time was good, but he invested his love and attention and that was greater. There is a difference.
My mother and Garth drove to our home the night Mitch passed away. I remember them both entering my son’s room, long after the sky became dark. They sat reverently at the foot of my little boy’s bed and seemed to peer upon him with sorrow, reverence and compassion. I don’t know what crossed Garth’s mind that night. Perhaps he thought of his own son he lost a few years prior. A son he loved dearly and misses so. As I looked at my step-father peer upon my dying son, I remembered this photo and tender moment between him and Mitch. To this day, I don’t think Garth knows what this singular moment meant to my son and how often Mitch reflected on it. I will forever be grateful for this moment.
I am just like every man that ever was. I am flawed and sometimes unsure of myself – and perhaps I’m more transparent than I should be. But I believe what you get should be what you see. I am also prone to build, chase and collect things. Any more, I am trying to build my family, chase my children around the couch in laughter and collect moments that matter. For in the end, those are the things that last. Those are the things that shape tomorrow and protect our hearts from a deeper form of grief and sorrow.
These are the moments that matter most. When I die and see my Father and Son, they won’t care about the cars I drove or the depth and size of my treasure trove. Instead, they’ll care more about things one cannot see … the love in my heart and whether I gave to others in need generously.
No matter how brilliant or carefully our lives are planned, if we don’t give mind to the little things, we will miss life’s magic moments. Best to catch these little moments ... catch them while you can.
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Note: Mitch loved fishing with all of his heart. This summer, Mitchell’s Journey is sponsoring an MDA Summer Camp activity named after our son. We want to help other young boys go fishing and make memories that matter. If you haven’t signed up for our Miles for Mitchell run, please do. This is the run that will help fund this activity and other things that matter.
Here’s the link to our charity run:
www.raceentry.com/race-reviews/miles-for-mitchell