View fullsize

I’ve often wondered when Mitchell’s journey began. Did it start the moment of his diagnosis? I think not. When he was born? No. What about when Natalie and I were married? Or perhaps that magic moment we fell in love? Is it possible my son’s journey began when Natalie and I were born? After all, we were the recipe for his creation. In many ways, I believe our life’s journeys are not only complex but interwoven with generations past.

“I can’t help but think our journey’s weave like a tapestry of threads that don’t really have a clear beginning or end – but instead, at least spiritually, seem to meld together and blend. Therein lies the answers, I believe, to when our journeys truly begin.”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

This is a photo of me and my mother, just before I came into the world. While I don’t remember any of this, I do have vivid memories of her throughout my childhood. When I was a very young child, in Vancouver, Canada, I have flashes that appear in my mind like short video clips; I remember her in the kitchen preparing meals, or the way she rocked me in a velvet chair, and how the summer’s afternoon sun broke through the thinly-laced curtains as she smiled at me. I don’t know why we remember the things we do. I only know I’ve carried certain memories, like a photograph in my mind, since I was a very young child. The images have never changed – and my feelings about them remain the same. I feel peace and gratitude.

So, when did my son’s journey begin? As I examine the circumstances of my life, I am convinced Mitchell’s journey started long before he was born … and long before I was born, too. The more I read about genetics, consciousness, and the soul … I am convinced we pass on much more than green eyes and blonde hair. Somehow, whatever we become, we seem to pass a portion of that along to the next generation. We see evidences of this all around us. Even adopted children who finally meet their biological parents 50 years later discover they have similar interests, personality traits, and more. In so many ways, I marvel over the human and spiritual experience. The closer I look, the more I see both my parents in Mitch and my other children.

“Time is what we want most, but what we use worst. ”

— William Penn

Today is my mother’s birthday and I can’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for all that she ever was and is. I love my mother deeply and I’m grateful how she taught me to love and to be strong where it counts. I’m grateful for the way she tickled my back when I was a little boy … and then to see her tickle my young children’s backs in the same loving way. I’m grateful for the times she would listen to me when I was in college – those late nights when she was tired and needed rest, yet she smiled patiently as I yammered on about life and other things. I’m grateful for her unwavering love for me and my family.

I’m grateful for the many chocolate cakes from Costco she had ready for little Mitch when we came to visit her. I loved watching his smile growing ever brighter as neared her home – for he knew he’d be greeted with warm hugs and a soft cake. I’m grateful for her den parties with popcorn and shaved flavored ice & Sprite. I’m grateful for a life of love and learning at her feet.

I once asked my mother what surprised her most about life and she responded with a quiet sobriety, “What surprised me about life?” she paused a moment and said, “The brevity of it.” Indeed, time passes quickly and if I’m not careful I can get caught up in the thick of thin things and one day, to my horror, I might awake to realize I’ve missed out on life’s most important things. Mitch was one of my awakenings – and though I write of grief and death so that I might examine my life more fully, I very much live in the moment and appreciate everything about my life. More today than at any time before.

I can’t help but think our journey’s weave like a tapestry of threads that don’t really have a clear beginning or end – but instead, at least spiritually, seem to meld together and blend. Therein lies the answers, I believe, to when our journeys truly begin.

William Penn observed, “Time is what we want most, but what we use worst.” I haven't always been the best at doing it right with time - so I hope to use time more wisely. And for whatever time I have left with my mother, I hope to honor her with my every word and deed. Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you.

I’ve heard it said, “Sometimes memories sneak out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks.” This is a memory did just that.

It was cold outside, but my heart couldn’t have been warmer at this moment. We took our kids on an adventure to play in the freshly fallen snow. As the kids were putting on their snow clothes, Ethan pointed to his Spiderman hat and said, “Hey Mitch, look at my hat!” Mitch smiled and said, “Dat’s cool. Look at mine; it’s mommies. Its soft and will keep me warm.” Were he given a choice to wear any hat on earth or his mom’s hat, he would have chosen his mother’s every time. To Mitch, wearing her hat was like getting a constant hug from her.

“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”

— Winnie the Pooh

With that, our kids ran outside to prance about in fluffy fields of white. Mitch reached down to gather snow in his tiny hands and threw it up in the air. He laughed as a chunk of snow landed on his brother’s head. Ethan giggled, then reached over to kiss his brother on his cheek.

By this time, the warm tears streaming down my face were turning to ice on my chin. If I could have frozen time like molecules of water in ice and forever live in this moment, I would have. I suppose, in a way, this photo did just that. I am forever grateful for tender memories – however much they might evoke feelings of loss and sorrow.

I think Winnie the Pooh said it best, “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”

View fullsize

In November 2012 we were nearing completion of our basement in preparation for putting our home on the market.  We wanted to get into something more suitable for Mitchell’s growing medical needs and hoped to simplify our lives a little.  Though everything seemed to fall into place at the time, things didn’t turn out as we planned.  In retrospect, I can see that all that happened was, in fact, Heaven’s plan. 

While construction was underway, we received two large cardboard boxes, each containing a bathtub.  Wyatt and Mitch immediately staked their claim on each box and wanted to make forts of them. 

Every morning Wyatt would come up with a new way to configure his fort, and we’d find him breaking his box down more each day.  His box was akin to cardboard origami, and we never knew what shape it would assume each day.  It wasn’t long he broke his box into oblivion. 

By contrast, Mitchell’s box was always in mint condition.  In our living room, he carefully placed his box fort next to an electrical outlet on the wall.  He then approached me and whispered, “Dad, will you help me cut a hole in the box?”  I giggled as he pointed to the outlet.  Mitch then ran a cable through the box so he could charge his iPod.  He also asked me to cut a few secret flaps, allowing him to get a beat on people who were approaching him.

When visitors came to our home, they’d enter our front door and see a large box just a few feet away.  It never bothered us.  While we always keep our home clean and orderly, Natalie was never caught up with pretense, pomp, and show.  She cared far less what others thought, and instead focused on helping our children learn and grow.  I’ve always loved that about Natalie – she always chose the better way.  For years, our China cabinet was a showcase for Lego creations, not fancy dishes.  And when it came to any part of our home, it was dedicated to children’s youthful adventures.

Mitch slept in his box fort almost every night for well over a month.  Sometimes he imagined his fort a pirate ship flying through a sea of stars; other times, his cardboard box became a log cabin deep in a dark forest. 

At bedtime, we’d tuck him in, and he’d fall fast asleep surrounded by his dreams before dreams. 

When I examine my footpaths as a parent, I always find myself treasuring the little moments far more than the big ones. I hope to always remember what I learned from Mitch; at the end of the day it's not the things we get but how well we play. 

I love moments like this … building blanket forts, box forts, or cuddling on the couch.  Fancy things are great, and all … but they get old and decay.  And to worry about the opinions of others ... well, that just gets in the way.  But the soul of a child is forever, and they are here to stay.  So doing things that build their minds and hearts is always the better way.

View fullsize

As far back as I can remember, storytelling has been a special part of our children’s lives.  At night, the kids would huddle around me as I played music in the background and narrated stories that came to mind as I listened to the mood of the music.  None of us knew where we would go – we only knew every turn was an adventure.  Sometimes we’d laugh, other times they’d clutch their pillows in anticipation – but every time, we’d make memories in real life and imaginary worlds at once.

The magic of story was something Mitchell held close to his heart.  One day, probably soon, I’ll share a story he wrote with his own handwriting in his special journal.  For Mitch, and my other children, stories were not only a means of escape, they became a window to possibility, and a candle that illuminated strengths I saw in them. 

Over the last year I’ve been slowly assembling some content to help other families enjoy the same thing our children did.  I’ll be posting some of this content here over the next few days.  Some of the videos share tender stories of Mitchell and his love of stories, others give ideas on how you can try this form of storytelling with those you love.

I share this because storytelling was a big part of Mitchell’s life.  Even during his final weeks on hospice, he wanted to get swept away in story so he could take his mind off heavy things.

So, whether you have sick kids or healthy kids, young ones, or old ones … this content is for you and anyone willing to experience the magic of storytelling. 

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize