I remember the muffled whispers from these two young boys as they negotiated an imaginary scene. Little Mitch and Ethan were hard at work making a movie in their minds. Their dimpled hands moved little toy figures from one place to another over an ever-changing landscape of cloth and couch pillows.
The child in my heart wanted to join them in the action – but I knew this was their time to bond, so I refrained and just watched these sweet boys from a distance do what they do best: imagine. “Petcheew, petcheew”, Ethan sounded with great energy. Mitch replied, “Aaaaahhhhh” as his chubby fingers escorted a little Star Wars figure from the air into a carpety ocean. Their imaginary tale continued for another 20 minutes. Quietly I sat with a smile on my face and an even bigger smile in my heart. I didn’t just see two little boys playing … I saw how much they loved each other and that filled my heart with the deepest joy.
Every single day these little boys created a storybook of adventure. Each page written moment-by-moment, sometimes with great brilliance. Furniture turned into vast mountain ranges, carpet into deep valleys. Our little home became an infinite universe of endless wonders.
Sometimes I wish I invested more energy in playing with my children when they were young. I tried, but looking back, I could have done better. I should have done better. But I suppose that is the lament of every parent. Maybe that is why grandparents are so great at what they do … because they finally learned that nothing is more important than the time we spend with family. They are less concerned with accumulating things and seem to be more interested in making moments – because by comparison, they don’t have many moments left.
Several years ago, about two years before Mitch was diagnosed with DMD, I sat at the kitchen table of a woman whom I just met. I had flown to Arizona to document some of her life story. Her name is Anita Farnsworth. A more lovely and kind person I have never met. I consider her a dear friend to this day.
She described in a most beautiful way her love of family. She has 14 children and more grand & great grandchildren than I can count. If I were to tell you the number, you might think I exaggerate. I carefully placed a microphone on her kitchen table and asked her to just talk to me. Soon I was swept away with her story as images from her words flooded my mind.
I asked her what it meant to be a mother. She said her first delivery was very difficult … and just after her delivery someone asked if she was going to have another, she said, “I don’t know why anyone would have more than one.” With a chuckle in her voice and a glowing smile on her face, she then said with tears in her eyes, “But then, I forgot about all of that. Why cut yourself short on blessings. [With children] there is so much love.” By the end of her beautiful characterization of motherhood, my eyes were overflowing with tears, overwhelmed by the truth of her words.
Imagine that … children are at once the most rewarding and challenging assignment in life. They are the source of great pain, worry and heartache … while at the same time they bring the richest joys and deepest fulfillment.
Sitting at that humble kitchen table was a woman who became a master teacher. I learned more about life in those few hours with her than I learned in all my years of university. About two years later, when she discovered Mitch was diagnosed with a fatal disease, she wrote me a most compassionate letter and offered her love and prayers. I was reminded of that time at her kitchen table when I felt so much love from her heart. I wept again … grateful for those who mourn with those that mourn. Grateful for those who have love in their hearts. I long for that day when the world lays down its weapons of war, its rhetoric of hate and shame and trades those cruel tools for more powerful agents of change. Love.
Imagine that …
It was mid-September 2005. The weather was so warm I thought summer would never end. The mountain trees, however, told a different story. The lush green forest was slowly turning orange and red, reminding us change was coming and that the face of the mountain would soon lose its blush, ushering winter into the valley.
It was a stressful time in my life. I had just learned my son had a terminal disease and at the same time I was struggling to make a new business venture work. There were client demands to meet, payroll, taxes and a million-and-one things that weighed heavy on my mind. Though Mitch was my 3rd child, in many ways I felt like a child myself. An imposter, of sorts. Although I could do a professional thing or two, I felt a bit like a child clothed in a man’s body, still trying to figure out who I was and discovering my place in the world. I was growing up. But growing can be painful and unsetteling.
I was no knight in shining armor. Instead, I was a flawed man in tattered cloth … but my wife loved me anyway. I was unsure of myself and full of worry – yet my clients believed in me. I was a boy trying to become a father, yet I stumbled to be the dad my children deserved. My kids didn’t notice my imperfections like I did, they just loved me for being me. It seemed that the world was kinder to me than I deserved – and for that I was grateful.
So, after a long day at the office, I set out to meet Natalie and the kids at a nearby park. When Mitch saw me, he ran as fast as his tiny legs could take him and jumped into my arms. I couldn’t get enough of this little boy and my other children.
I asked tiny Mitch how his day went. He smiled in his shy way and said, “It wuz good.” He paused a moment and then corrected himself, “No, it was gwate.” I chuckled and kissed his little neck then said, “I love you, Mitch.” He then went on to tell me what he learned from Miss Nancy, his pre-school teacher. “She nice to me,” he said with a glimmer of confidence in his eyes. I could tell Mitch felt safe and cared for – and that did my troubled heart good. Tiny Mitch, with his sweet expressions, calmed my weary soul. Though winter and other cold realities were heading our way, I was grateful for the warmth I felt that day.
Having children was a strange thing for me - for they taught me to love deeply and unconditionally. To my surprise, I needed them as much as they needed me. Such is the wonder of family.
I am grateful for my kids, for they remind me of the person I want to be.
Mitchell’s cardiologist placed a stethoscope gently on his chest. Suddenly he closed his eyes and disappeared into a state of deep meditation as he listened closely to the fumbling, tumbling sounds of our little boy’s failing heart. There wasn’t much time left and this doctor knew it. Unaware of his fate, little Mitch just wanted to go home. At the end of the day, I believe that’s where our heart yearns to go. Home. Back to that time and place where we felt safe and surrounded by the ones we love.
Just a few days prior this same cardiologist, fighting back his tears, told us our son only had days to live. This good man spoke to us as a medical professional first and as a father second. The doctor in him told us the medical truth bravely and unfiltered – which we wanted and desperately needed. The father in him told us what he would do if he were in our situation. As far as I’m concerned, he practiced perfect medicine – for he was professional and human.
I cannot get this image out of my mind. I have many such photos of this doctor performing this same act of listening to my son’s heart – each time with the same degree of intensity.
In this image is a metaphor that I can’t put away. Little Mitch once said to me while dealing with a hard thing someone had done to him, “Dad, if you see with your heart, you see everything that matters.” Mitch instinctively knew that old adage “hurt people, hurt people.” Someone was mean to him, yet he didn’t see a mean person, he just saw a good person who was broken and hurting on the inside. Listening to the heart and soul sometimes takes just as much focus and intent as this good doctor applied to my son’s physical heart.
I don’t know that I’ve ever shared this, but my son was named after a dear friend of mine who unexpectedly passed away several years ago. One night, over 20 years ago, my friend and I were in the heart of Kentucky. I remember that night like it was yesterday … the sky was clear, the stars were bright and there were fireflies nearby. We were talking about things that changed us from the inside out. We were only 19 and 20 at the time, but we had already experienced a change of heart that was significant and we were sharing our experiences. He shared with me something that changed everything for him. In high school he was rebellious and did everything his parents told him not to. One night, well after midnight, he smashed through the front door drunk, high, and belligerent. He then passed out and fell down the stairs and on to the basement floor. The next thing he remembered was his father holding him at the foot of the steps, weeping and telling his son how much he loved him. It was his father’s act of love and compassion that changed my friend for good. When Mitch told me this story, we both wept and discovered a spiritual truth.
Over the years, time and circumstance created distance between us. We attended different universities and our lives did as they must … go on. But I never forgot my friend. So, on that fateful day my wife and I had our 3rd child, we named him Mitch because of what this good man taught me about love and compassion. I finally reconnected with my friend a few years before he passed and told him how we named our son after him. He was humble and kind and I was reminded of the kind of person I hope to be.
I wonder how the world might change if everyone started to see and listen with their hearts. That’s not to say we become illogical and foolish, driven to-and-fro solely by emotions; but how might things change in our own lives if we truly listened to the intent of others? I can say with confidence that almost every single conflict I have been a part of stemmed from a misunderstanding of the heart. Most people aren’t bad, they’re just a little broken and don’t know what to do with their jagged pieces.
It is my experience that people change because they are loved, not because they are shamed. I hope to follow my son’s example and see (and listen) with my heart – for when I do, I see everything that matters.
That’s what Mitch taught me … at the heart of things is everything.
The warmth of the evening sun wrapped our bodies like a thick quilt. Tiny Mitch stumbled to the ground, scraped his knee badly and it began to bleed. Immediately he picked himself up from the sidewalk and ran to his mother’s arms for comfort. Mitch had just been diagnosed with DMD and suddenly all of his trips, stumbles and spills began to make sense. His little legs, although they looked healthy, were already demonstrating signs of catastrophic muscle wasting.
I’ll never forget how tiny Mitch snuggled into his mother’s arms, holding his baby Nerf football. He cried little and wished he didn’t hurt. Mitchie just wanted to run and play with the strength of healthy kids – but hard falls and bruised knees were what he came to know all-too-well. My angelic wife held our baby boy with love in her arms and healing in her wings. She couldn’t take the scrapes and bruises away, but she could carry his heartache and wipe his little tears – and that seemed to make everything okay again. Euripides was on to something when he said, “Oh, what a power is motherhood …” , for I have seen the nurturing power of motherhood with my own eyes.
I remember taking this photo and falling in love with this moment; not because my son was hurt but because love was made visible. It was brighter than the evening sun and warmed my soul from the inside out.
Natalie has always had a quiet dignity about her and never shared her love to get attention or accolades. Instead, she has lived a life of hushed service and deep love for others. Wherever she goes her love is made visible – not from dancing and prancing across the stage of life, but in quietly lifting people from dark corners and loving those who feel faceless, lost in a crowd of people. She has always served people in that way and it is as natural to her as breathing is to me.
So, when Mitch was on the edge of death, scared and wanting so much to live, I saw my angelic wife comfort our son in this same way; wings stretched wide and arms filled with love. She sat quietly at his bedside, holding his hand and whispering words of comfort as he slowly slipped away. Something deep within me tells me Mitch experienced that same comfort from his mother’s love as he did on this warm summer day. She couldn’t heal his fluttering heart, but she could stand beside him and wipe his tears and assure him everything would be okay – even though she knew she wouldn’t be okay. That is the power of motherhood.
When I think back on life’s most profound and healing moments, love has always been present. Love has always been visible. In ways I never imagined, I’ve discovered if I love and serve others, the shadows of grief are kept small. If I withhold the light of love, the shadows overtake me and I get lost in grief.
Natalie and little Mitch showed me what it means to have their love made visible. They showed me that it isn’t enough to think or feel love … but we must show it in our every word and deed; and when the light of our love is made visible, we begin to heal at great speed.