As a dad processing grief, there are many, many times I feel guilty saying yes.
Yes to actually living my life. Yes to having fun. Yes to going out of town. Yes to dinner with friends.
You get the point.
In a way, I feel like I have taken some sort of religious vow of “No Fun” since Matthew has been gone. Somewhere along the way, I apparently decided that enjoying myself was something I needed permission to do.
Is that what Matthew would want? No! I guarantee Matthew would have something to say about our behavior.
Knowing that, however, does not automatically turn off the guilt.
At the same time, Jennifer and I don’t want to stay home. But we don’t want to go anywhere either.
It’s a weird place, for sure.
So when we tell you no—to dinner, a weekend away, or simply getting together—please know that so often we really want to say yes. But sometimes we just can’t.
Please keep inviting us. And please understand when we aren’t quite ready. We are still learning how to live with this grief, and what feels possible one day may feel overwhelming the next.
Your invitation matters, even when we can’t accept it.
Home reminds us of his absence. Going somewhere reminds us that he isn’t coming with us. And doing something enjoyable can bring a question I never expected to ask:
How can I be having a good time when my son is gone?
I am learning that the Bible makes room for sorrow and enjoyment in the same life. We can grieve, love someone deeply, and still receive the good things God gives us.
That sounds simple when I write it. Living it is harder.
There is a difference between guilt over something we have done wrong and feeling guilty simply because we feel good.
When we have done wrong, God invites us to confess and receive forgiveness. First John 1:9 promises that He forgives us when we confess our sins. Second Corinthians 7:10 describes godly sorrow as something that leads us toward repentance.
But what am I asking forgiveness for when I enjoy dinner with Jennifer? When I laugh with friends? When I look forward to getting out of town?
Have I done something wrong? Or am I hurting because someone I love isn’t here to share it?
I think that is a question I need to keep asking myself.
Ecclesiastes 3:12–13 describes eating, drinking, doing good, and finding satisfaction in our work as gifts from God. First Timothy 6:17 reminds us that God richly provides us with things to enjoy.
And Ecclesiastes 3:4 tells us there is “a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.”
I used to read that as though each one had its own separate place on the calendar. First you mourn. Then, eventually, you laugh again.
Grief has shown me that those moments can happen in the same day. Sometimes within minutes of each other.
A laugh does not make the sorrow less real. A good evening does not mean I have stopped missing Matthew. And staying miserable cannot measure how much I love him.
My love for my son does not need that kind of proof.
That brings us back to last weekend.
Should we go to Texas Tech for Homecoming?
Jennifer and I went back and forth. Should we go? Should we stay home?
It was a decision about a weekend, but it carried so much more. Texas Tech holds so many memories of Matthew. The thought of going brought both the possibility of enjoyment and the certainty that we would miss him.
Then came that familiar guilt about doing something just for Jennifer and me.
But Texas Tech is also where our story began.
Kevin & Jennifer Texas Tech Carol of Lights December 1994, one of our 1st dates
Jennifer and I met there. I worked for Texas Tech as manager of the Greenhouse and Ornamental Gardens and taught horticulture classes. I earned two degrees there, and Jennifer earned her bachelor’s.
Lubbock is where we got engaged, where we lived after we were married, and where we both had our first real jobs.
Long before we were Mom and Dad, we were Kevin and Jennifer, building a life together in Lubbock.
Later, we took the kids back for Tech games, fraternity events, and sorority events. And, as “luck” would have it, Macie and Matthew both attended Texas Tech. Macie joined Jennifer’s sorority, and Matthew joined my fraternity.
What started as our story became part of theirs, too.
Texas Tech is special to our family in many ways. We are forever grateful for how the university cared for Matthew and continues to honor his legacy.
Could we let ourselves look forward to going back? Could we enjoy being together and still leave room for whatever grief showed up?
I believe I began getting my answer along the way.
The drive was cloudy, without those familiar blue West Texas skies. When we got out at our halfway stop, Ranchland—IYKYK—Jennifer said, “Look, there’s a rainbow.”
That rainbow seemed to follow us all the way to Lubbock.
Then, as we entered the Lubbock city limits Friday evening, the most amazing sunset welcomed us to town.
To me, those were little “God winks.” In the middle of all my second-guessing, I felt reassured that it was okay to be there. It was okay to look forward to a good weekend with Jennifer.
Then Saturday morning, Zack from the Red Raider Club sent me a text saying he was coming by the hotel to say hi and drop something off.
“Something” turned out to be a special helmet from Coach McGuire, along with the passes from the game honoring Matthew, signed by Coach McGuire.
The message read: “Forever part of the Red Raider family.”
Those words mean so much to our family.
We had wrestled with whether we should even make the trip. And there we were, being reminded that Matthew was remembered and that our family was still being cared for.
Some gifts mean far more than words can express. This was one of them.
Before the game, I got a text from a fraternity brother.
“Hey, where are you? I’m coming to pick you and Jennifer up at the hotel, so you don’t have to walk to the stadium.”
A few minutes later, the golf cart showed up.
“I didn’t want Jennifer to have to walk,” he said.
A simple gesture, but one that meant so much. Once again, someone was thinking about us and finding a way to care for us.
Then, during a midgame break, I heard someone call out, “Mitchell!”
It was a former Kilgore classmate, a former Texas Tech football player, and someone who had worked with Matthew at the Red Raider Club. It was great to reconnect for a few minutes, especially with someone whose life had crossed paths with both mine and Matthew’s.
And the Red Raiders? They showed up looking like a top-10 team. The game was amazing.
I share all of this because, if we had said no, we would have missed those moments. When we were trying to decide whether to go, we couldn’t have known who we would see or how much those gestures would mean.
The weekend didn’t end in Lubbock.
At 4:30 a.m. Sunday, we woke up and headed to McKinney, Texas, for the Good Ol’ Days Festival at The Stix Icehouse, held in support of Matthew.
We are especially grateful to “Coach CG,” Colby Goodman, for taking a turn in the dunk tank to benefit the Matthew James Mitchell Red Raider Club Endowment.
Seeing Matthew’s former coach continue to show up for him means more to our family than words can express. His willingness to get a little wet will help create opportunities for Texas Tech through the Red Raider Club for years to come.
From Lubbock to McKinney, we were reminded how many people continue to remember Matthew and support our family.
I don’t have this figured out. I am still the dad who wants to say yes and then feels guilty for considering it.
But I want to learn how to accept a good moment without questioning whether I deserve it. I want Jennifer and I to have things to look forward to, even while we wish with everything in us that Matthew could be part of them.
This weekend didn’t take away our grief. But it gave us time together, reminders of Matthew, and the kindness of people who still show up.
It also gave me something to remember the next time we find ourselves asking, “Should we go?”
We went. We missed Matthew. And after all was said and done, we were grateful we said yes.
So this is my prayer:
Lord, help me recognize what needs Your forgiveness and what needs Your comfort. Help Jennifer and I say yes to the good things You still place in our lives. Teach us to receive joy without feeling that we are leaving Matthew behind. Amen.
