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“It was a perfect day.  To be clear, life wasn’t perfect – but as days go, it was perfect.”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

It wasn’t many years ago Natalie and I took little Mitch to Shriners Hospital for a check-up.  The leaves were crunchy and the season had changed from a hot summer to a crisp, cool fall.  I love every season for many reasons; each is beautiful in its own way and I’m grateful for the reminder that things are temporary and everything changes.

I remember this day so vividly.  Mitch was ever-so-tender and Wyatt was full of life and energy.  Natalie chased the boys around the park as they threw leaves in the air and giggled.  Sonya, Natalie’s sister, worked at Shriners and left the hospital to enjoy a little of the afternoon with us.  It was a perfect day.  To be clear, life wasn’t perfect – but as days go, it was perfect.

Little Mitch was young and our hearts were tender – our fear of the future, raw.  I made it a point to go to the hospital with Mitch as often as I could.  In fact, I almost never missed an appointment because I didn’t want my little boy to see an empty chair where his daddy should have been.  I wanted him to know how much he mattered and that I cared – for I knew a time would come when he would have to step into the dark abyss of death and I wanted him to be assured we were always at his side.  That abyss came much sooner than we ever imagined and I know in the quiet of that sacred winter night, my son didn’t feel alone. 

This photo was taken almost exactly 10 years ago; and today, that's about the half-way point in my life with Natalie, thus far.  Today marks our 20th anniversary. 

That’s 20 years I can’t get back and 20 years I would never give away – not for anything.  This dear woman has been the best investment in time, energy and love I’ve ever made.  Because of her, I’ve had 4 beautiful children and 1 amazing soulmate.  I am a better me when she is around and I’m forever grateful for her.

In honor of our 20th anniversary, here are two essays I’ve posted on anniversaries past that describe the thoughts and feelings of my heart. These words aren't still true ... they are more true today than the day I first wrote them.

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JUST THE BEGINNING (2014)

THE PEASANT & THE GLASS SLIPPER (2016)

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This Essay is part of the September Seasonal Content.  Visit each month to get more.

August  -  September  -  October  -  November  -  December

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September 6, 2017  |  7:20PM

The best 20 years of my life have been with this girl. Tonight I gave her a surprise anniversary gift that represent her greatest treasures. Her dad took this photo and I had it framed to include little Mitch.

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Little Mitch was so nervous on his first day of school.  I had just given him a fatherly hug, told him how proud I was of the young boy he’d become and that I believed in him.  I told him that of all the people I have ever known, I knew he [above all other people] could do hard things. 

“I believe, in matters of the Spirit, we experience similar help from those on the other side – however much we may feel alone at times.”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

With that, I whispered, “I love you, son.” Mitch sniffled and said softly, “I love you too, Dad.” As I turned to walk out of the classroom, Mitch said, “But … Dad?” I responded, “Yes, son.” “Will you be here to pick me up from school? I don’t want to fall. I’m afraid.” “Yes, sweet boy, both Mom and I will be back to get you. We will never leave you alone.”

Mitch swallowed the tender lump in his throat, held back his tears and tried to muster whatever courage his little heart could find. Natalie lingered in the classroom so she could make sure his new teacher and aids understood our son’s special needs. Though Mitch felt alone at times, he had a small battalion of people helping him. I believe, in matters of the Spirit, we experience similar help from those on the other side – however much we may feel alone at times.

There was a part of me wanted to take my son’s hardships away – to shield him from difficulty, pain, and sorrow. The other part of me knew that through struggle comes strength – both in matters of the body and the soul. Instead, I just prayed to my own Father that my son would be blessed with strength beyond his own.

As I waited in the hall and watched Mitch dig deep to find courage, I began to choke on the lump in my throat. Mitch wasn’t worried about making new friends, nor was he afraid of school work. He was nervous about being knocked over and that nobody would be around to help him up. Little Mitch was worried teachers would understand that he’d be asked to run and jump like regular kids – that he wouldn’t have the muscle strength to do what he was asked and that somehow, he’d get in trouble for it. This little boy wasn’t just worried about keeping up; he was worried about being left behind, getting knocked over in the hall and being trampled on by a swift river of students going from one place to the next. Such was the mind of my little child … innocent and pure.

True to our word, Natalie and I returned to pick Mitch up from school. Mitch carried a look of relief and determination on his countenance. As his Dad, I was so proud of him. He wasn’t perfect – nor did I expect him to be. He tried, and he grew because of it … and that made my heart glad.

I was then, and remain today, an imperfect dad.  Having kids was hard, losing one was harder and learning to live without him is hardest.  Sometimes I feel like Mitch in this photo – unsure and afraid.  But then I remember my Father sits just out of view, looking in, knowing that through struggle comes strength.

Being mortal, it’s easy to forget the things that hurt and sometimes break us are the same things our Father uses to refine and shape us. And when, like Mitch, we think we’re on our own – if we look up and around – we may sense help from beyond … and strength beyond our own.

This I know. I know it in my bones.

This video is the first installment of a 5 part video series entitled "Letters to My Son." In these visual essays, I narrate letters I wrote my son after he passed away. Collectively, these meditations explore my journey with grief, thoughts on healing, living a life of significance and life's search for meaning.

In this video, you'll see a collection of videos I shot with my drone while returning to Mitchell's favorite places to visit. Everything you see in this video are actual locations that were near to Mitchell's heart ... places he and I forged memories and talked about our dreams.

These are the meditations of my heart.

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In the month of September, Mitchell's Journey will be focusing on the theme of growth and change. 

This Essay is part of the September Seasonal Content.  Visit each month to get more.

August  -  September  -  October  -  November  -  December

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“Mom, will you go with me?” Mitch said softly as he pointed toward a towering set of stairs leading to a waterslide.  Mitch loved his mom and always felt safe when she was near.  Natalie lifted Mitch in her arms and began to make the long upward journey.  It was unseasonably hot for that time of year – so any chance at getting in the water was welcome.

As Natalie rounded the stairs, Mitch saw me in the distance and waved with his fingers.  My heart melted as I saw a boy whose muscles were made weak from disease and a mother who was made strong through the struggle.  Those two made a beautiful symphony whose songs I still hear in my heart.

“... being seen wasn’t about vanity, it was about validation”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

As I look at this photo, I can’t help but think of the thousands of photos where my kids looked over to see if mom and I were watching them.  Not only do I have photos of them looking over at us, but I also captured their expressions of relief, appreciation, and fresh courage when they knew they mattered.  Growing up, I remember how often being seen by an adult mattered to me.  At least for me, being seen wasn’t about vanity, it was about validation.  And it didn’t take many moments of validation to make a profound difference in my life.  Being seen was as simple as having a parent ask me how my day went, a scout leader taking a moment to make a personal observation about me, or my high school English teacher who saw something in me I did not.  To those adults, those encounters may have seemed insignificant – but to me, they were pivotal moments … shaping moments.  I’ll never forget those good people for their positive contribution to my life.

Mitch also had great school teachers who saw him – and when they saw him, he felt empowered to be the best version of himself.  His principal, Shelly Davis, always took the time to let Mitch know she cared.  She had mastered the art of seeing the children in her school – and every single one of them felt noticed and special.  I am forever grateful for Mitchell’s Principal and teachers who made my little boy, who was unsure of his place in the universe, feel that he mattered and that he had an important role to play.  That is, in my experience, the best education of all; to learn that no matter how big or small, each of us has something to contribute.  Everybody has value.

As the school year starts, I think about my 3 remaining children.  Laura-Ashley is in college forging her way through young adulthood with plans to pursue nursing.  Ethan is a Junior and already taking college-level classes in film and cinematography.  Wyatt is now in 6th grade – showing signs of a bright and promising future.  Though I have many things on my mind and work tugging for my attention, I will not forget the lessons I learned in my youth and those same lessons I saw play out in Mitchell’s life.  Today, tomorrow, and for as long as I live, I’ll make sure I take the time to see my kids and recognize the good in them. 

Although both are vital for healthy relationships, it’s my experience giving your attention has a greater impact than giving someone your time.  With technology at our fingertips, it is so easy to spend time with someone – but never really show up.  Twenty minutes of sincere connection has more influence than 20 hours of being somewhere but nowhere.  Those pivotal moments in my youth were short conversations – but they were focused and sincere.  These good people gave me their attention – and that made all the difference.

I hope as Mitchell’s life was coming to an end, that his mind was filled with moments like this photo – where he was seen, loved and validated.  Of all the gifts we can give each other, those are chief among them.

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This Essay is part of the September Seasonal Content.  Visit each month to get more.

August  -  September  -  October  -  November  -  December