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“You can do it; the same is true for all of us, each and every one. We have great potential. We are engineered to become.”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

I dropped little Mitch off at school. He had an electric scooter parked in his classroom so he could keep up with friends at recess or make a journey down the school’s halls, but he could still walk short distances. I was grateful for every step he took – for it could have been worse. Much worse. 

I loved taking Mitch places, even to school. Maybe I loved it because of the conversations we had … or maybe it was just because of the way he held my hand. Though I was his father and wanted to bring him comfort, the truth was, he brought me comfort, too. Sometimes I think he did more for me than I ever did for him. No, I know that’s true.

Mitch began to walk toward the building with a backpack stuffed with homework, a peanut butter & jelly sandwich lovingly made by his mother, and a few treasures he liked to keep near him. At one point, he turned his head slightly to see if I was still there. I unrolled my window and yelled out, “Hi Mitch! You can do it! I love you!” I wanted him to know I was watching out for him; that I had his back, his front, and his sides. I wanted my child to know I believed in him. Natalie taught me how to do that, and I am forever grateful. 

It didn’t take long before little Mitch began talking to a classmate before their teacher came to get them at the first bell. I stayed a while and wondered what my son was talking about. I always listened carefully to what children had to say, for their words were a window to their soul and I couldn’t help but try to look in. Perchance, I might get a glimpse of heaven. For of such, children are.

Little Mitch kept looking at me and smiling, each time my heart melted, and I thought myself the luckiest guy on earth. Without question, being a father has been the most rewarding experience of my life. I wouldn’t trade it for all the riches of earth.

No matter where Mitch went, I wanted him to know I was cheering him on. And when he didn’t know how to do a thing, I always tried to show him. 

I think the most important gift we can give our children, and others, is belief-in-self. I don’t mean a grandiose, false bravado; I mean a quiet kind of confidence where they can stumble and get back up again and still believe they can go on. A self-confidence that isn’t attached to social acceptance, material things and looks … but rather a knowledge of who they are and what they have the potential to become.

“You can do it, Mitch.” I said those words often, and I think he started to believe me. I wish I had more of that when I was a kid. I could have used the boost. Now, I try to give my children what I wanted, but in greater abundance. I am not good at it, and I stumble often, but I believe if I keep trying, I’ll get better at it. 

Today, when I face implacable odds and incredible challenges (and I have many), I hear my son’s voice in my mind, “Dad, you can do it.” Then, a quiet confidence stirs within me, not because of who I am today – for I am flawed; but because of what I have the potential to become. Though I stumble, I get back up, and I run. 

You can do it; the same is true for all of us, each and every one. We have great potential. We are engineered to become.

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“There are fringe benefits that come with being engaged, industrious and self-sufficient. It may sound ironic, but in many ways, I believe these fringe benefits are the greater benefits. The wood we burn will disappear, but what we become by preparing it will forever endure. That is a recipe for living.”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

Whenever Mitch went to the public library with his mother, he would always add a cookbook to his checkout. Tucked between a pile of books on amazing facts, science fiction adventures, and other boyish topics … a how-to-cook book was always in his mix.

Natalie would then drive to the grocery store and get whatever ingredients we didn’t have at home so he could create something delicious. Once he had the raw materials, little Mitch would quietly get to work. He was independent and seldom asked for help. DMD had weakened his arms considerably, so he didn’t have the physical strength to lift and pour a gallon of milk, but he could do most of everything else. Had Mitch not died of heart failure 3 years ago, by now he would likely have very limited use of his hands and barely the strength to lift a spoon. That is what DMD does to these beautiful children.

For Mitch, cooking was like assembling culinary Legos; he loved the challenge of following instructions … except when he was done cooking, he got to eat and share his creation. 

I always loved walking into the kitchen to see my little boy whipping up some recipe. He had cooking down to a science; when he needed to microwave something delicate, he knew exactly how many seconds to heat the item and how long it needed to rest. I remember when he told me in his sweet, soft voice exactly how many seconds it took to perfectly melt cheese for nachos, warm a frozen burrito, or melt butter. 

Mitch had an appetite for learning, doing, and becoming. He often reminded me of Henry Ford’s sage wisdom, “Chop your own wood, and it will warm you twice.” There are fringe benefits that come with being engaged, industrious and self-sufficient. It may sound ironic, but in many ways, I believe these fringe benefits are the greater benefits. The wood we burn will disappear, but what we become by preparing it will forever endure. That is a recipe for living.

When I look at this picture of little Mitch, I can’t help but think of the many recipes for a good life. I don’t think the recipe for a good life is much different than any recipe for a good meal … for each is different and the ingredients are unique to the dish. 

The ingredients for someone with a disability will be different than that of an Olympic athlete … for their steps and victories will be different, but the principles the same. Although little Mitch lived a short life, he taught me about some ingredients that I try to use every single day: 

• Follow instructions, learning from others who have figured something out is always the better path. 
• Get busy doing something, nothing gets done when nothing gets done.
• Work hard, for whatever you build is also building you.
• Be kind, for when you sweeten the life of others, you can’t help but taste of that sweetness, too.
• Help others along the way, for the heavenly paradox is when we help others, we help ourselves.
• Be patient with others, for they are struggling to change, just like you and me.
• Sprinkle gratitude over everything, for gratitude begets more gratitude, and that is a good thing. 
• Trust the process, though long and hard our struggles might seem, life’s difficulties will make us stronger, if we’ll allow it.

I remember laying by my son in his bed the night before he passed away. He was in a deep sleep and all I wanted to do was wake him up so that I might have more time. I couldn’t wake him, so I just cried and held him in my arms and wet his pillow with my tears. In that moment of quiet agony, I thought of ordinary, yet beautiful moments like this … where Mitch loved life and tried to make the most of everything. I vowed then, and vow again today, to make the most of every moment … so one day I can say, “I followed the recipe and lived a good life.”

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About a week ago I was approached by a Mitchell's Journey follower who had something in common with our family. Her Charlie and our Mitchell were both students of a very special preschool teacher who was about to retire. Both of our children had also passed away. 

So, yesterday Natalie and I attended a retirement banquet for this remarkable woman who played in important role in our son's life. She was a tender mercy for our boy as she helped him make a delicate transition to school. Mitch quickly grew in confidence because of the way she encouraged and guided him. We hadn't seen her for about 10 years so this was a special reunion. At her display table was a kind of memorial with photos of all of her students throughout her career - an evidence this woman was a remarkable teacher who loved her students. The best educators are the ones that teach with love of topic and student. 

Next to the collage of former students was a larger panel with tributes to three of her special needs students who passed away, Mitch being one of them. It was a tender reunion filled with a lot of love and gratitude. 

Here Natalie writes a note to "Mrs. Nancy" thanking her for being so kind and loving to our baby. We had never forgotten her and she clearly remembered little Mitch. When we moved from our first home a decade ago we thought we'd never cross paths with this remarkable teacher again. Fate, or providence, would have it otherwise.

It is interesting how at any given moment we might think a person in our lives a solitary, temporary thread ... unaware how woven our lives may become. The people and events in our lives make for a fascinating tapestry we may not appreciate, or even see, until deep in the twilight of our own lives.

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There are a lot of moments in life I wish I could do over so I could do them better. Then there are some moments that are so wonderful I want to do them over so I can re-experience them. This was one of those moments I wish I could do over. 

It was January 9th, 2013 when my sweet wife sent me a text message about a lunch date I had with my son that day. Because I’m an impulsive memorist, I screen captured her message the moment I received it. Looking back, I’m so glad I did.

This was just a few short weeks before Mitch went to the hospital for end-stage heart failure. On this day Mitchell’s school invited parents to have lunch with their kids in the cafeteria. I had known about this for a few weeks and I was so excited to hang out with my son. At his request I brought him an Arby’s sandwich, curly fries and a chocolate shake. That was his favorite, and mine too. 

As we sat in the cafeteria Mitchell’s aide, Alex, asked if he could sit with us. I was excited to have him spend time with us so I could learn a little more about how Mitch was doing at school. Mitch liked Alex and trusted him and seemed to always feel safe around him. Alex doesn't know it, but Mitch talked about him at home often and our hearts were always relieved that he had him as a friend and aide. 

Mitch, being soft and shy, sat at the table quietly dipping his curly fries in a generous pool of Arby’s sauce and saying hello to the kids who wandered by and waved at him. I loved to see Mitch in his element and to see that he had friends all around who cared about him. I was also able to watch Mitch play UNO during recess and was reminded that life doesn't have to be perfect to be great. I know that little Mitch had a great life and that soothes my broken heart. 

At one point during our conversation Alex started to tell me something about Mitch and his older brother that touched his heart and in turn touched mine. He said that every day, without fail, Ethan (his older brother) would come up to Mitch at lunch and say hello and give him a brotherly hug. Alex mentioned how that act of kindness affected him and he started to tear up. This grown man, a retired commercial pilot and former military officer, who has seen more in his life than Mitch and I combined was moved to tears by that gentle act of kindness between two brothers. I remember being almost moved to tears by what Alex said and how it affected him. I was grateful then, and remain today, that this good man was part of my son’s life. 

I was also reminded that Mitchell’s Journey was so much more than the journey of my broken boy. As I wrote in a recent post … “I used to envision life's journey as a single, straight path. But the older I get, the more I'm beginning to see, just how intertwined our lives really can be. Life is not a path to be tread by one, but a web so intricate and woven … it is, I am certain, heavenly spun.” 

This was my last school lunch with Mitch … almost 2 years to this very day. I wish I could go back in time and drink in this moment more deeply. I wish I could do this day over, not because it was bad, but because it was that good. I can’t think of a single business meeting that was more important than spending time with my son at this very moment. This day was an investment in time and attention that is paying dividends far beyond grief and loss. 

The truth is, I've made a hundred million mistakes in my life. In so many ways I identify with the phrase, “O wretched man that I am.” But once in a while I get things right. On this day I got it right. I spent time with my son and lived what I valued – and that is worth more to me than all the treasures of earth. On top of that, I spent a moment with this good man who loved my son and shared something I wouldn't have ever known … and because of that, I learned a lesson of love that day I shall not soon forget.

So, although I wish I could do this day over so that I might re-live the love that I felt for my son, because I did my best to be with him, instead of wishing for what might have been, I can at least be grateful for what has been. I can’t re-do moments – but I can re-live them in my mind and heart. And that’s close enough. Today and forevermore, I hope to live a little better than the day before – so that when I am old and tired … anxious to pass over so that I might see my little son again … I hope to look back and be glad I lived the life I lived. Perhaps when I truly have heaven’s eyes, I'll look back and want to do my life over … because, despite the weight of grief and depths of sorrow, it was that good.