I’m CSPC member Mitch Stewart, and this is how I’m living deeply.  

“Our daughter’s terminal diagnosis at three years old shattered our world. In the days and years after, I’ve learned more about prayer and patience than I ever imagined I would. When the doctors told us Mary Mitchell’s rare condition was fatal, Sarah and I initially prayed for her healing. We hoped that a clinical trial would help, but it quickly became apparent that was not going to be the answer to our prayers. So as reality set in, we began to pray for different kinds of healing. We asked God for understanding and guidance on how to navigate life with Mary Mitchell, how to cope with the inevitable changes, and how to move forward despite our fears of the unknown. We had such a sense of helplessness and hopelessness. I felt paralyzed- I was facing a situation no one could fix. Mary Mitchell’s illness is commonly referred to as childhood Alzheimer’s, and hearing that was devastating. I’ve always been someone who likes to fix things, to be in control, but this was something I couldn’t control. Our counselor once asked me what my worst fear was, and I realized it was exactly what we were facing – losing control, not being able to protect my daughter. It drove me to a place of darkness and despair I had never known before. There was nothing I or anyone else could do to change what was happening, and that was a terrifying realization. Mary Mitchell passed away just after her fifth birthday. Those two years -from diagnosis to her passing- were essentially an extended grieving process, and the time after her death was even harder: hitting rock bottom, wondering how you’ll ever climb out of that pit. Throughout this time, our conversations with God changed. Initially, we asked for miracles, for a cure. But as time went on, our prayers shifted. We sought understanding, strength, and a way to move forward. We asked God to help us cherish the time we had with Mary Mitchell and to make sense of the pain.

This period also overlapped with my dad’s battle with cancer, which he lost in April 2020, just months before Mary Mitchell passed in October 2020. Losing both my daughter and my dad in the same year took an unimaginable toll on my mental health. I spent about a year in a fog, just going through the motions of life, unable to process the trauma fully. Prayer became a lifeline for us, even when it felt like our prayers were not being answered in the way we wanted. We had to trust that God had a bigger plan, even if we couldn’t see it. Through the darkness of losing Mary Mitchell, God started to redirect our perspective on life and faith. We realized some things (social status and financial status, to name a couple) ultimately don’t matter. What truly matters is our faith, our family, and our relationships. I struggled with anxiety and depression -I still do, to smaller degrees, today- but counseling and the support of close friends helped us navigate the pain. Sarah and I made a conscious decision to share our story, to use our experience to help others. We wanted people to know that even in the darkest times, there is hope. We clung to the belief that Mary Mitchell was healed when she went to be with Jesus, and that we would see her again one day. That hope was the cornerstone of our healing process. We’ve also had countless opportunities to share our faith. One day, a coworker asked what was different about me, and the only answer I could give was, ‘Jesus.’ Our story is a testament to the power of prayer, even when God’s answers are not what we expect. We prayed for transformation, and though it came through immense pain, God did transform our hearts, our faith, and our relationships in ways we could never have imagined. We learned God’s ‘No’ can still lead to incredible blessings and growth.

Because we knew she was with Jesus, Mary Mitchell’s passing was, in one sense, a blessing- for us and for her. She was past her pain, and that was a relief. I guess I kind of felt that with my dad, but the thing I still struggle with is my dad and my daughter were both dying, and I didn’t have the time or attention I wished I’d had available to give to my dad. I hated that. He understood; he told me that multiple times. He didn’t want to burden me. Still, I got frustrated because he wouldn’t keep me updated on things as his cancer would progress. ‘I don’t want to put more on you than what you’re already going through,’ he’d just say. I probably didn’t fully grieve his loss. We still had a very sick little girl when he passed, and of course we would soon be grieving her. A week after Mary Mitchell’s death, we had her service. And as the dust settled, it was strange- things had been hard and busy and just constant for two years. We were so used to caring for Mary Mitchell. We went from that to a quiet house. But there were still -are still- blessings. Our son Reynolds, who’s in sixth grade now, has grown immensely in his spiritual maturity. We talked to him about everything- age appropriate, of course; working through the mess we had just walked through and will continue to walk through. It’s been about four years now- it’s changed, not been quite as heavy. One reason for that? We’ve experienced the joy of expanding our family again. We talked about adoption before Mary Mitchell passed away. Obviously, we put it on a hard pause for a time, and a lot of people thought we were kind of crazy to move forward, but we felt like our family wasn’t complete. Sarah and I always kind of talked about having three kids. Reynolds, the day Mary Mitchell passed away, said, ‘I don’t want to be an only child.’ So he was part of that conversation, from the beginning all the way up until we adopted. That’s been a huge part of his growth & his maturity, the way he looks at other people & cares about other kids, his interaction with adults. His emotional maturity is incredible. Hard times grow you fast, and this is a young man who knows & loves Jesus.

With the adoption, we went through a lot, trying for about a year. Nothing. We almost gave up, and we didn’t renew one of our contracts, but we kept the other contract active. A few weeks after we decided to keep that one, we heard from them: ‘Hey, this mom is expecting, and she wants a family that has multiple children.’ She saw our report and knew our story. We had to respond and say our daughter had just passed away. I don’t know if that’s what convinced her to choose us, but we ended up adopting the baby she delivered. We had to go to Louisville, Kentucky, to get her. Poppy Jane Stewart just turned two back in June. We’re kind of in the throes of things right now with a two-year-old running around (we’d kind of forgotten what that was like!). Reynolds is the most amazing big brother. (The ten-year difference helps out a ton!) Poppy Jane keeps us busy and she’s into everything, but she’s such a joy. Literally a miracle baby because her mom was on everything- she admitted herself into detox during her pregnancy. Poppy Jane passed all her “tests” in the hospital and we avoided the NICU. We thought she’d be there indefinitely, but she’s healthy as can be. Any withdrawal symptoms were only minor. Her bio mom took good care of her after the first part of the pregnancy. We have no contact with the bio mom, but know she comes from a great family and just made some bad decisions. The company I work for now, Seeds of Change Landscaping, we hire a lot of guys who have incarceration in their pasts and who’ve been through addiction. It’s one of our ministries- helping these guys, giving them second, third, fourth chances. Knowing what our daughter’s biological mother went through opened my eyes to a lot of things. Instead of writing somebody off, I have more compassion for people now. We’re all one bad choice away from life taking a dramatic turn and getting a lot harder.

Sarah has made the comment that it will be hard once Poppy Jane surpasses five years old, beyond what Mary Mitchell lived to be. So that’s in our minds- what’s it going to look like? It reminds me how, leading up to the day Mary Mitchell died, we were all struggling. She was suffering so much, and as caregivers, we felt utterly helpless. We wanted to keep fighting for her, but she just couldn’t go on. The moment she took her last breath was surreal. It happened in her bedroom, with family around and Sarah holding her. There was worship music playing softly in the background, and right as she passed, a line from a song about a roaring lion came on. That was meaningful to us- Sarah has a tattoo of a lion on one of her arms now. Right after Mary Mitchell’s last breath, hundreds of birds outside started going crazy. It was mid-morning, and though I can’t say for sure what it meant, their sudden chorus felt like a sign. Her passing was both heartbreaking and a moment of joy. We rejoiced, telling her to run to Jesus, that she was finally free from her suffering. The shock of it all held us together in those first moments. When the hearse came, it was pink. I don’t know why, but it was just another surreal part of that day. I was grateful to have been through the dying process before just a few months earlier with my dad. I knew a bit of what to expect, which helped. Death is a natural part of life, but this was still our daughter, and she was still so young. Everything still felt unreal. But as we said our final goodbyes at the funeral home, I felt an unexpected sense of joy and relief. Through tears, yes- but also just the pure joy of knowing our little girl was free to run to Jesus. Only God could give us that peace in that excruciating moment. Hard days followed, but so did transformation. I’m so different now after walking with God in prayer and waiting as I -and He- held Mary Mitchell’s hand through it all. I used to struggle so much with control and anxiety, but God has taught me to let go and trust in Him. Living deeply means embracing the highs and lows, the joy and the pain, and finding God’s presence in all of it.”