During this time of uncertainty, I've thought long and hard about life and what matters most.

Just tonight, as Natalie and I were visiting grocery stores trying to find some essentials for our family, we talked about our little Mitch and the risk the Coronavirus would have to his health and safety.

My little10-year old son would have been 17 by now, which means he'd likely be unable to lift his arms, susceptible to respiratory infections, and so much more. We then turned our minds to other families who care for children with DMD, and we said a prayer in our hearts for them. My eyes welled with tears for medically fragile families who fight for another day, another month, or another year with their children.

As we drove home, this video came to mind, and I thought I'd re-share it. I posted this a few years ago about our experience witnessing the solar eclipse. It was a profound moment - especially considering how something so infinitesimally small as our moon could make me feel even smaller. This experience enriched my perspective about life - and this video shares my thoughts to that end.

I still think about my little Mitch. Every single day. I carry him in my mind and heart - and the tears I shed for him have become lenses that bring what matters most into focus.

I hope this video helps someone struggling to take heart and find a measure of peace and purpose.

View fullsize

For those who don’t know, Mitchell’s dog Marlie, whom he received only a few weeks before he passed away, has been a tender blessing to our our son during his last few weeks. I’ll never forget how she comforted him the day/night he passed away. I’ll share a post about that tender exchange soon.

Ever since Mitch passed away, Marlie has been a curious comfort to us. About a week ago, just a few days before Christmas, she had her first set of puppies. These little pups have grown so much in the last week. Mitch would be thrilled to see his little grand doggies.

Our family continues to heal - every person in their own way, and on their own sacred time. Marlie has become something of an echo of Mitchell’s love and affection. Though a dog is not the same as a son, Marlie occupies a healing place in our hearts.

These little pups are tiny tender mercies and we are so grateful for them. We’ll only have them for the next few weeks, until we find a loving home for them. I share this photo from tonight to gladden a trembling soul or lift a heavy heart.

May 2020 be kind to us all, and may we find healing in tiny tender mercies, wherever we find them. 🙏🏼

Dear Mitch,

This time of year brings you back to me … in ways I can’t explain.

For you, the holidays were always magic. Sure, you loved Santa and things, but you treasured the magic of family and being together more – it's ironic that the gift you treasured most was the very gift you gave to others.

I find it interesting that your favorite time of year was always the darkest and coldest. There’s some beauty to that – for it is only in the dark of night that we learn to appreciate light and warmth.

My son, if you could see what your light has done to lift and serve others. Your life has inspired many to show up with their art, strangers who saw your story and combined their compassion with their passions and shared beautiful stories, strangers who are now friends remember your life and loss and honor it with theirs. If anything, you have shown me anew that the human family is one family.

All over the world, people are making changes for the better.

And they take that light, that spark of meaning and purpose, and become a light to others. Whether they’re serving friends, family or complete strangers … they are lights.

Though you were small in stature, the impact you continue to make is no small thing.

When I look back, I can see so many points of light. So many blessings, big and small. They were as real and miraculous as anything I know. The timing of your life and everything that happened in it was a miracle. You are, sweet boy, like all of us, woven in a tapestry of light.

I don’t get to hold you anymore, but I can hold you in my heart. That is all we can do when we lose the one we love. You are the wind in my face and the lift to my soul.

I treasure my memories with you.

Some of my memories are hard – and I hang on to them, too. I don't shut them out because they remind me how fragile life is – and the need to make the most of the time we have. For one day, we will all die and go to that place beyond the hills.

When I lost you, we were surrounded in darkness. But as I allowed my spiritual eyes to adjust, I saw there was more, much more, happening behind the veil of darkness.

Were we to see through the window of life and peer beyond, I think we’d be awestruck by how much light surrounds us.

We’d be breathless to know we have not, and never will be, alone.

But for reasons we don’t yet know, that door is shut and we must learn to see through the eyes of faith.

I cannot see what’s over there … but I can see what is right here. And I believe. I believe in the goodness of the human family. I believe we’re inspired to love and serve … to make the world a better place in any way we can … in every way we know to do.

I miss you. And though I don’t get to make new memories with you, I can make new memories because of you. I’m learning to live without you – and it’s hard sometimes. But each day I’m getting stronger.

Each day I’m inspired by others, who serve because of you.

I’m not afraid of the dark anymore. Instead, I look upward and search for light. And I see it everywhere.

Well, this is dad, sighing off, for now. Thank you. Thank you for being my son. My teacher. My light.

This holiday, I’ll remember that no matter how difficult life can seem at times, there are blessings along the way. I will look for them because I know, I just know, they show the way.

Love,

Dad

View fullsize

I’m sitting quietly under the canopy of night reading my journals. These worn out books cover over 30 years of my life: stories of struggle, despair, breakthroughs and spiritual awakenings. The sound of crickets makes this moment even more nostalgic.

I have over 200 new #mitchellsjourney stories I’ll begin to publish soon. But tonight, I wanted to look further back in time.

In an earlier essay, I made reference to a dream I had that was a foreshadowing of my journey with Mitch. I’ve had two of them, years apart, in fact. They weren’t ordinary dreams - they seemed to come from a much deeper place. It’s interesting to read the details of those dreams in my own handwriting; a kind of forewarning from so many years ago.

I don’t pretend to know what’s really happening in this life, I only know we’re not alone and that something divine walks before us, beside us, and guides our ways ... most often sight unseen. Only in retrospect do things make the most sense, it seems. All the pain, injustice, joy and opportunity I’ve ever known are deeply interconnected.

When I take the time to recognize and document the many points of light in my life, I discover a kind of new, fresh courage when I step into the unknown. Life can be bewildering and hard at times, but it is also sweet and good.