ECLIPSE

Last week, Natalie and I set out to do what millions of people did ... we took our kids, along with a friend, Jonathan Gardner, who we met through #mitchellsjourney to Madras Oregon to witness the total eclipse.

We rented a van (almost a small bus) and went on a long drive to the coast of Oregon at first, then journeyed inland to an arid town (Madras) in hopes of clear skies and a glimpse of an astronomical wonder.

Along the way, we stopped to take photos of the Oregon landscape.

Our First Adventure, A Waterfall & the Ocean

Preparing for the Eclipse

We camped at SolarFest (local fairgrounds in the town of Madras) but then went to Solar Town (a plot of farm land just outside Madras) to see the actual eclipse.

Another great shot by Jonathan of the campgrounds a the fairgrounds

Solar Town - The Place We Photographed the Eclipse

As the Eclipse Began

As the sun began to hide behind the moon, I was overwhelmed with a sense of humankind's utter nothingness against the backdrop of an infinite universe. It was a humbling to witness the majesty of two celestial bodies interact. As small as I felt, my feelings about Mitch loomed enormous.

A Moment for Mitch

As the Sky darkened I thought to myself how much Mitch would've loved to see what I saw. I know there are people who will say, "he was there with you" ... but he wasn't ... not in the way I wanted him with me.

So, before I began to take in the eclipse, I dedicated a small prayer in my heart so I might always remember my little boy and re-commit to be nice to others and be grateful for life.

The Eclipse Closing In

Here are a few photos of our experience and what we captured. Admittedly, our photos of the eclipse itself are unremarkable, inasmuch as they look like everyone else's photos. But these were our pictures and we were excited to take them.

The Moment of Totality, a 360° Sunset

At the moment of totality, we were surrounded by a 360° sunset. Mitch, having loved sunsets the way he did, would've been fascinated. I'm putting together a little video of the experience that I'll post shortly.

Unfortunately, this panoramic photo is blurry - but it still serves to show how dark the sky became during the 2+ minutes of totality.

The Sun's Corona

Our Favorite Photo of The Eclipse

The last photo in this series is my favorite. I took a burst of photos as the sun began to break over the edge of the moon and that photo represents one of them. Captured in that series show multiple sun flares. It was amazing to witness.

Hi Marlie!

The morning we returned home, Natalie and I went to our cousin's home whose family was watching Marlie for us. THis was the look on her face after our being gone for 5 days. It was as if she were saying, "Dad, is that you? Where have you been?"

This little pup who gave Mitch great comfort now serves our family in a similar way.

It was a fun adventure and I am so glad we saw it through. Wyatt and Ethan were anxious to photograph the journey so they could make videos and photo journals of their own. Jonathan (our family friend) and Natalie both took photos like a paparazzi.

I think it's safe to say, if nobody else on this planet shot the eclipse save our family, we'd have had it covered.

For those who are following our Everyday Photography tutorial, this series can serve as an example of our photojournalistic style.

Christopher JonesAugust 29, 2017Seasonal_August, Eclipse, Enhanced Essay, Our Family Today, Photojournalism, Everyday Photography Comments

WHILE THE SUN IS SHINING

The day had drawn long, as summer nights often do, and we could hear the early chirps of evening crickets. For some reason, I was especially tired that evening and was tempted to disappear into the shade of a nearby tree to rest while the kids finished their BBQ at the foot of our secret woods.

“... the best way to prepare for life’s storms is to make a mansion of memories, while the sun is shining.”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

I had a lot on my mind that day and I suppose wanting time for myself was justified. For reasons I couldn't explain, I felt like I needed to stick around and give Mitch my time and attention. So I set aside my fatigue and gave my son more of my time and attention. I have never regretted that decision.

I smiled when Mitch said, "Dad, don't you just love corn on the cob? I think that guy on Nacho Libre was right. It's the best." Then he dug into his third corn on the cob. When he was done eating, we went to a nearby park and played on the swing. At first glance, it was an ordinary moment spending time as father and son - but looking back, I see that exchange differently.

I had always heard the saying: "The best time to fix the roof is when the sun is shining." I've discovered that same principle holds when it comes to preparing for life's hardships. To be clear, I don't think it's possible to truly prepare for the death of a child, for that is bewildering beyond imagination. But we can prepare for difficult times in other ways.

At least for me, special memories that I created with Mitch and my other children now serve as buoys when I'm tempted to drown in a sea of grief. Though I may be treading the unavoidable waves of grief - those little moments of joy serve to lift my sinking heart and keep my head above water.

At the same time, I don't think the decision to spend time with loved ones should be motivated by the fear of loss. If one really thinks about it, we are losing everything we know to time, anyway. Tomorrow things may seem the same, but it will be slightly different. And so time goes. A year from now, our lives will be more different, still. How often do we look back on our lives and say with a gasp, "Where did the time go?" As far as I can tell, whether we're losing our loved ones to death or time, the net effect is the same - tomorrow will be different ... you will never have now again.

Spending time and making moments matter, on the other hand, is sweetest when it's motivated by love. And the best way to prepare for life's storms is to make a mansion of memories, while the sun is shining.

Whenever I'm especially sad, I tap into that reserve of good memories which then serve as a healing agent, a means of getting centered and most importantly, a way to stay grateful. Then, the sun will shine a little, even if it rains.

Christopher JonesAugust 28, 2017Seasonal_August, Making Moments MatterComment

LITTLE MITCH & THE BIG UNIVERSE

It wasn't many years ago I took my boys camping high in the Uinta Mountains, far away from city lights. It had been a long day, filled with adventures and exploration. As we lay in our tent, tired from a long day of play, we gazed through the window of the tent into the starry expanse of the heavens.

Mitch said softly, "Dad, how big is space?" I remembered wondering that same thing when I was his age.

“... one thing I know, I am in heaven right here with you”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

"Well," I said, "scientists have learned a lot about space since I was a kid. So far, we can't see the end of space. In fact, they say the universe is so big, it isn't possible for humans to comprehend it."

Mitch thought for a moment and then said, "Wow, that's amazing."

A few minutes passed, soothed by the melodic song of crickets, then Mitch said, "So, Dad, is heaven up there?" I paused a moment and said, "I think heaven will surprise us. But one thing I know, I am in heaven right here with you." Mitch smiled and snuggled up to me. I put my arms around him as we fell asleep.

There, in my arms, was little Mitch frail and curious. Above me, a universe so vast, my finite mind couldn't comprehend something so infinite. Mitch and I lay on the ground, high in the mountains, less than a speck in the cosmos. Somewhere in the middle of the finite and infinite I held the universe in my arms, grateful to be alive.

Be sure to learn more about the full solar eclipse.

It's happening in 1 week and it will never happen again. At least in your lifetime.

We hope you take a moment on Monday, August 21, 2017, to experience any portion of the eclipse and look upon the sky with a child-like sense of awe.

Christopher JonesAugust 13, 2017Seasonal_August, Camping, Enhanced Essay, August2017_Exception Comments

DISCOVERING SIGNIFICANCE IN SORROW

Mitchell’s casket had been removed and all that was left was his scooter, gently adorned with his little shoes, a bottle of water he loved to drink, and a few memorial gifts and flowers. My cousin-in-law, a professional photographer, took this photo just after my family was escorted into the chapel where my tender-hearted wife and I would give the most painful address of our lives.

“My little boy’s journey through life and death has taught me to not ask why, but rather “What am I to learn?” That, it seems, is the gateway to significance. To think less about the why of things, and more about what they mean.”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

The last thing on my mind was this scooter that was left behind – so, weeks later, when I stumbled into this photo, I wept. Then, I caught my breath and wept some more. Vacant and alone, this ordinary image of my son’s abandoned scooter stood as a stark reminder of what really matters in life. This was a moment of significance for me.

I remember kneeling at Mitchell’s bedside just a few days before he passed away. I remember almost everything, in fact, with vivid clarity. To carry such vivid memories has been both a blessing and a burden. With great sorrow I watched my little baby made of sand slip through my fingers and into the abyss. As I sat by my little boy, who was struggling to breathe, and I ran my fingers softly through his hair and tickled his arms as we just talked about stuff that was on his mind. My sweet ten-year-old only wanted to run, play and be like all the other young children he knew. At one point during our conversation at the side of his bed Mitch lamented, with great feeling, how much he wished he could be like “regular kids.” My soul, already broken, broke some more.

With tears in my eyes and love pouring out of my soul, I said, “Oh, little Mitch, you are so much more than a mere mortal. If only you could see who you really are and what you may one day become. Just remember: our bodies are temporary, our souls are forever. You, my little boy, are so much more than you know.” Mitch smiled softly, closed his tear-filled eyes and drifted to sleep. I kissed his face and then prayed to my Father that my back might be strengthened so I could carry such a burden as grief. How heavy it would soon become, I knew not. Soon, my legs would buckle and my hands tremble from the weight of grief. The hell I knew was just a foretaste of what was to come.

A few days later my little boy was gone and I journeyed through the deepest, darkest recesses of the soul. All that I thought I knew of sorrow … all my mental and emotional preparations for his death failed me. I thought I was prepared, but I was not. The grief I felt prior to my son’s death was merely a whisper. A faint shadow. A feather … as compared to the heavy and harsh realities of death. New to this form of grief, I had to remember what I told my son, “Our bodies are temporary, our souls are forever.” Though I know that the soul lives on, that knowledge doesn’t take the sting of death away. It provides context and meaning, but it offers no insulation from sorrow. Though I have also experienced a comfort and peace that defies my human understanding, those moments of heavenly peace come and go just like the tides of grief.

I’ve heard it said, “Those who mistake success for significance, will lead a deeply unfulfilled existence.”

My little boy’s journey through life and death has taught me to not ask why, but rather “What am I to learn?” That, it seems, is the gateway to significance. To think less about the why of things, and more about what they mean.

Christopher JonesAugust 8, 2017Seasonal_August, Significance, Funeral, HospiceComment