Most of the 5am crowd at my gym are not the lookers. You know, the groups of people who come to the gym to see and be seen. So, it would be really awkward if anyone were to even notice my attire on any given day. But for me, my attire on some days is both energizing and nostalgic. Mentally and physically, I am in a different place with certain items from my wardrobe. On this day, it is a blue athletic shirt with a substantial logo on the front that reads GoMitchGo. For me, every time I stumble across this shirt, in my hurried routine to get out the door by 4:30am, it changes my morning and often my whole day. For me, this shirt signifies the valiant and courageous fight of a 10 year old boy who, although he eventually lost his battle with leukemia, won so many hearts. For me, that is the canvas, but the rest of the painting is an even more powerful story.
I met Mitchell's dad, John, through my younger brother, Ed, while both were working in Enid, OK. Since my brother and I, rarely got to see each other during the time immediately after college, I had driven out to Enid America to play golf with him and I met a group of his friends/co-workers. John happened to be in that group and though my brother spoke highly of him, he seemed a rather pedestrian character who did not stand out significantly from the others in the group I met that weekend. There was no way for me to know, on that day, that this young man had the fortitude to boldly declare his beliefs in situations both lighthearted and testy. While I admire that in a person, corporate America usually exacts a small toll for such boldness. There was no way for me to know that this young man would be one of very few people who took his faith seriously enough that it would pop up and interject itself into conversations over a cubicle, a ballgame, or over a beer. Not in the "holier than thou" way that strong faith sometimes manifest itself. But in the "I may be a little late to the game because I am picking up some other kids who might not get to see a game like this otherwise" kind of way. Finally, there was no way for me to know that this young man would possess the internal fortitude to eulogize his 10 year old son, after a protracted battle with cancer that included: treatment, remission, recurrence, and finally submission.
Cancer is something my family knows all to well. My father has lost 3 sisters to this insidious monster which affects far too many lives. Both of my grandparents, on my father's side, had their lives shortened by the ravages of this disease. My own father's heart was softened in a way that my siblings and I cherish, while taking his father back and forth to treatment over the course of his final year of life. I have had some experience with the funerals that signify another battle lost. I also had the unpleasant experience of seeing another young life cut short by leukemia. When I was in 4th grade, long before I could fully understand why a little girl named Linda had stopped coming to church on Sundays, I first heard the word leukemia. It was the kind of word that sent me scrambling for a dictionary, as a precocious young man, and the definition within did not foretell the dastardly way leukemia would show disregard for the promise of youth.
Linda was a beautiful girl. The kind that my young eyes would notice even in a crowd, regardless of the crowds size. I remember hearing over and over from my teary-eyed mother, Linda was sick and was not getting better. In my naivete at the time, life was simple. Solutions were simple. She was sick. We were all praying (and "we" included some powerful people: pastors, ushers, stewardesses, board members, and even other churches). So, I reasoned, God should heal her shortly and life would go back to normal. But it didn't go back to normal. Miracles were not as commonplace as my reading of the bible had led me to believe. This would be my first experience with the fact that not all stories have an ending that I can understand. Truth be told, it was one of my first big personal disappointments and true misunderstandings of my God. It was not the first, which had occurred a couple of years prior. It would not be the last either, but it was a disappointment that added to a scar on my heart that had already formed. So Linda was the first and more than two decades later, Mitchell would be the second. At the time, I thought the disappointment with Linda was too much. I remember thinking, "I will never forget this". Mitchell's loss was so much more devastating. I was much older, for one, and I had two sons of my own. My oldest son, Ford, was only 3 months younger than Mitchell.
Many days and nights, I prayed for Mitchell's parents, John and Tracy. Not only because their path was a path that I could not fathom the strength and courage required to endure, but because I understood that tragic events can change our lives in ways that we do not fully appreciate until years later. My prayer was only that God would sustain them in the unceasing march forward that time demands. That they would somehow keep pace with the world and not get lost forever in that moment and that pain. In the years since, John and Tracy have used their loss to captivate and motivate others to help raise money and awareness about Leukemia and other blood diseases. In fact, I have had the honor and privilege to play in the GoMitchGo golf tournament sponsored on Mitchell's behalf, that continues to raise money for the cause and the foundation. The beauty and grace they have exemplified is clearly a God thing.
Unlike the marathoners and many volunteers who work tirelessly on behalf of the GoMitchGo Foundation, my efforts on this day at my gym were subdued, at best. It seemed that donning my superman shirt on this day did not stop the back pain that I have been battling for the last week. However, that could never stop the smile that comes to my face every time I look down and see that logo emblazoned across my chest. It is a reminder that I had the pleasure of meeting and knowing, however briefly, an incredibly unique kid. The kind of person who has come to represent so much positivity, for so many different people, and still looms larger than all the events held in his honor. For me, and I'd be willing to bet many others, Mitchell Graham Whitaker has come to symbolize all those I have lost to cancer at times in my life when I wasn't sure how to properly memorialize their lives. When tears did not seem quite enough, but I had nothing more to offer. Today, I feel safe placing that weight on the shoulders of a kid who will forever be 10 years old, because he was and is large enough to handle it. This shirt, on this day, will have to suffice as my reminder that I once knew a kid, who at 9 and 10 years old, embodied a spirit that most of us aspire to attain for fleeting moments throughout our lives. His words are an inspiration to me, and I am sure many others, as I traverse the pathways of my life: "Keep Fighting". Two words that mean so much more almost 7 years after they were uttered.
