Our family is about to have another Cousins Camp - a kind of family reunion where cousins get together for a few days and bond through a variety of activities. Each mother takes a turn planning and organizing the program for each year. This year it is Natalie's turn.
As she considered the theme, she thought of little Mitch and his sincere desire to be nice to others and be grateful for life. So she decided to focus this year's theme around Mitchell's saying: "Be nice to each other and be glad you're alive. Nothing else matters." I was so proud of her for working with my designer at work (who is a great man and loves Mitchell's Journey) to come up with this logo for the t-shirts.
As part of this year's camp, my brother and I will be taking the older cousins on a high adventure camp in the mountains while the younger cousins stay back and focus on more age-appropriate things. Our sincere hope is that each cousin will take special care to be kind to others and be grateful for their blessings.
More than ever, the world needs more kindness. The world needs more love.
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.
I don’t know much about grief and healing. I only know that I am a student of love and loss and I’m taking careful notes. One thing I’ve learned is that when I try to create new memories … new moments of love and laughter … hope grows and healing deepens.
We’re not a perfect family, not by any stretch. Even with our best efforts, we fall short a million miles. Maybe two … or ten. We struggle like every family struggles. We disagree, sometimes argue and on occasion we hurt each other’s feelings. But we don’t mean to. We make mistakes – but we always find our way back to forgiveness, love and laughter. Perhaps finding our way back to each other is what makes family so beautiful and so powerful.
Yesterday our family stopped by a park that was filled with changing trees and a grass covered with fallen leaves. We tossed leaves in the air in memory of Mitch. He loved to do that. As I saw my family laugh and play, my heart felt an increase of hope and healing.
Finding this depth of joy was like stumbling across a hidden treasure on a long, barren journey. A journey of grief where hope can sometimes feel like a mirage. Illusory. A promise of something ever out there in the distance, far beyond mortal reach. Yet there it was … not out there in the distance but right here, in my heart and soul.
I still cry for my son. I yearn for his company and I miss him terribly. Yet, despite those sorrows, hope and healing still happen.
Could it be that is one of grief’s great mysteries? Not that sorrow diminishes or goes away, but it can be displaced by new memories we make each day.
I’m still grieving, but I’m discovering a new kind of hope and healing … and that is a wonderful, wonderful feeling.
“I will always consider the empty space between this mother and son hallowed ground.”
A few weeks ago I took some family photos in a nearby forest. We brought our favorite painting of Mitch so we could include him. My wife sat reverently on a fallen log and looked at her son. Suddenly my mind was flooded with images of her holding our boy as he suffered. I was reminded that all that’s left are the memories we made and love in our hearts.
It wasn't a sad moment. Only a sober one.
I will always consider the empty space between this mother and son hallowed ground.