The First Time I’ve Smiled in a Year

I came to lunch late. David was sitting next to someone who arrived earlier that day. We had spoken briefly our about her son, who graduated last year, and about colleges in California.

She said to David,

“I have not smiled in a year. This is the first time. I am smiling so much that I am scared my jaw is going to be sore tonight.”

Dave meet Mitch

David Best walks up to me after lunch. He is with a group of people that appears to be a family

“You both have tattoos for similar reasons,” David pauses, looking at us. “You should meet one another. Dave meet Mitch, Mitch meet Dave,” he touches both our shoulders with a squeeze and then disappears onto someone else, or an interview or some particular element that needs his blessing or rework vision.

Behind us is the Temple. Ornate, statuesque, shining like a beacon in the afternoon light. Mitch, his wife, Annika, and their son, Alex, are standing in front of me. A small awkward silence ensues. Alex turns 16 today. Alex was at Stoneman Douglas that day. Alex had been wounded by a bullet to his head. Today was his sixteenth birthday. Tomorrow, April 14th would be the anniversary of the murder of his older brother, Nick.

Mitch introduced himself with a firm handshake. His voice had a youthful quality, a kind of optimism hidden between his words, but I already knew his story, the one we share with our tattoos, so I also knew that the lilting positivity is also a practiced cadence to keep strangers at a distance. It is a voice that says, “I am strong, don’t grieve for me. I’ll be okay. Now I’ll just be on my way...”

Ana sees us and out of kindness and a friendly gesture greets Mitch with what is meant to be a kind gesture; something to break the ice, asks him a question:

“Hey Mitch, what do you think of the Temple?”

I felt my heart drop. Such simple words. Yet the complexity of his grief and his feelings in this moment cannot be fathomed by words. I see his heart drop at the same moment. This brave man, this fine husband, this good dad, stands speechless. He appears stalwart, his muscular stance, his athletic sport shirt, his fit body, short clean haircut, muscular arms. A body that run miles, save lives, hold his family together during this insane turmoil. I have known him for one minute as the question lingers unanswered. There is too much information to gather and process, information that the human heart and body cannot assimilate. What is it to grieve for a

son who was murdered among sixteen others, how this unsettled reality, one day from a year, could possibly be understood, possibly be articulate, observed, illustrated with failing words. He stuttered. The practiced voice hesitated. Words stumbled out like ancient pebbles that land with no sound. The sentences that were practice and the sadness I heard in a voice that was gifted to make people feel at ease and validated faltered.

“Yes, yes, I guess…It is beautiful. I guess I’m not sure, I don’t really know what to say, yes it is great. We are so grateful. Yes, thank you thank you.”

His wife stared blankly, his son looked hot and is looking for shade for their dog. He was here to protect them. I put my hand around his shoulder and guide us into a circle and whisper, “I know what just happened.”

Mitch suddenly looks exhausted.

“I know, I know,” I say. “I want to say I’m sorry. I know how people do not understand, how they say I’m sorry and cry and pat your shoulder and ask your opinion about the Temple. I know the paper bag with two slits for eyes you have to wear to exist. How great your grief is, but how you have to help heal the others before yourself.”

He looked at me, his eyes bright. There were emotions, almost tears beginning to form. He looked to his wife to acknowledge and find himself again. It was hot and Alex was hungry; there was food by the shade structure. His wife and son excused themselves.

Mitch showed me his tattoo. A swimmer in full stroke, showing grace and strength. Marjorie Stoneman Douglas High School was where the children and parents took a stand. A political one. The kids spoke up. Mitch is one of the parents who spoke to the President, spoke on 60 Minutes, and spoke to a room filled with the Senate, the President and intimidating, dark-suited lawyers. He’s a bad ass, but he is also cherubic, friendly and incredibly humble. “It’s true, we have to hide our feelings,” Mitch said. “There is no place to go,” I said.

“No there isn’t.”

“There is no church, no service, no words, not a place at the right-hand side of God… No, I’m still numb,” Mitch says.

Annika returns to ask Mitch for the keys, but hears our conversation. “Well, I’m angry!” Annika shouted. “It’s all bullshit. There is nothing to believe in.” She looked at Mitch for some kind of reassurance and then leaves to find her 16 year old living son.

It was a hot day. Clouds moved in circles with constant change all around us.

Mitch and I kept talking. As we stood facing each other, a strange thing happened. We shared stories about Phoebe and Nick. What kind of people they were. That special light in a person that wherever they go people notice something. I tell about Phoebe’s art Mitch tells me about what a great swimmer he was practicing for the Olympics. He was shot while trying to push a filing cabinet to protect his friends.

“Silly really thinking that would protect them, those bullets are made to go through metal and then when they hit the human body they spin and tear up their insides. He was that kind of person to always put the other person first. I’m so proud of him.”

“He is a brilliant light, I can see that.”

“And so is your Phoebe.”

I began to feel the goosebumps traveling up my arm. We are facing each other.

The next thing I am going to try to explain has had a lasting affect on me. In some ways has changed my life. We are both standing not saying a word. The goosebumps start to change into something else, heat begins to radiate. My arms stiffened and the heat feels like a kind of electrical force, a charge, a vibration and it begins to circle around both our bodies.

My feet are on the ground, but my body feels weightless. It is as if we were two magnets flipped into opposing force and and both our bodies held in a kind of electrical stasis.

I break the spell first.

“Dude! are you feeling this?” “What the hell is happening here Dave?” “I can’t explain this.” I shrug, I don’t want to explain it. I’m not sure Mitch will believe me. “I think Phoebe and Nick are here,” he says. “Yes, they are both here. This is so powerful.” We both believe this. I have never felt anything like that moment in my life. There is no doubt in my mind.

This Temple and the power of healing through these moments of gratitude, love, kindness and generosity can not be explained.

This was a life changing moment as I saw, felt experienced that there is more going on than just building something, it is technology that seems so simple, yet the experience is beyond calculation or comparison.

Mitch and I have become very close friend in the year that has followed. We spent a lot of time at Burning man together. What ever force we shared in that moment seems to follow us around. We made a lot of people cry out ther on the playa. Mitch opens a lot of hearts. He is on the forefront of gun control and trying to stop this insane violence. I love this man.

Dash and Eric are so tired. A14 hour day, but our last day. We both share something that we wish on no other, but it has bonded us with the closest friendship imaginable.

Our two daughters are both spirits. We love and support each other. Sometimes we choose our family sometimes the family chooses us. Here we are bone tired, so relaxed. There is not a thought in these bodies. There is only goodness. There is only gratitude.

There is only exhausted satisfaction and profound caring.

This man Crowe! A year after this photo was taken he has left his body. We are all so sad. We build these temples to help offer a small door towards gratitude. Crowe was a force with a tool in his hand. He worked fast and efficiently. But he also worked with joy and love. We miss him. He was a warrior. He also is the reminder of how much we love this group of people who show up with out pay to build something so beautiful and signigicant. He was part of our family. He is a reminder of how blessed we are to have each other, to have each other’s back, to hold a ladder or hold a heart. Love you brother!

We love you Stephen Crowe. Rest in peace Temple brother. I cried when I heard that Crowe had died. There was incredulous sadness, but the tears were for something else. All these photos of this group of people, David and Maggie, this core group of builders and generous humans. Crowe’s death reminded me that we are a family, we are warriors. We are building something that changes the world. Crowe’s death made me cry for the gratitude that this work has profound revelations.