Happy birthday, Ethan.
You can’t tell in the picture, can you? It looks jovial but under it all, a death blow had just been delivered.
This is an unreleased photo of my precious little warrior, Ethan. It was taken the very moment that I heard the news that the gods flipped his hourglass without hope for more sands.
I was never good at hiding anything from him. Even when he was a tiny little thing, he knew when my heart ached and always sought to ease it. Even with the knowledge that he had run out of time, he reached out to soothe me.
When your child is diagnosed with terminal cancer, you hear the words and your heart stops. Time stops and your head spins. Despite what the literature tells you, despite what the science and doctors tell you, you still pray to a God you don’t even believe in. You race against time, and you beg for more time. You beg for enough time to find a miracle that doesn’t exist. You pray without ceasing. You cry out to the heavens without ceasing. There isn’t a second thought that you would trade your life for his.
Tomorrow is his 21st birthday and I can’t help but feel jilted by the gods. I know he’s not battling cancer anymore. I know his heart isn’t writhed with anguish over a life ending, but I find no solace in it. A piece of me that lived and breathed has been ripped away and I feel it cut my heart every waking moment.
My heart aches so badly today; more than most days. I miss you, Ethan. I always think of the sun on your face and the sound of your voice. I think of your smile and the rambunctious little giggle that would resound from your room whenever you obtained a TACTICAL NUKE! I miss the smell of your hair when you would climb in bed with me because you were afraid you wouldn’t wake up. I remember how soft it felt on my cheek as I begged the gods, with silent prayers, for your life.
With every dawn that comes to pass, I miss his life. I especially miss his hugs and the way his hand felt in mine. There aren’t enough words to express the emptiness I feel without him.
Some days, I look in the mirror and catch a glimpse of my mother. I remember seeing her in Ethan’s face when he was transitioning. The Hospice Social Worker, Debra, once told me that sometimes when people are close to death, they take on the appearance of a passed loved one. Silently, those days, I pray to the gods that she is here for me. The hurt is just too much to carry. A piece of me is missing and I’m now alone in this world without my best friend.
I know it’s selfish. I know his brother and sister do their best to ease the void that his death left behind, but they are left with their own wound. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for them and how awful it must’ve been to watch their mother slip into the darkness so completely. I love them with all the love I have left but sometimes, it doesn’t feel like I will ever catch my breath. I know they see it and I know they feel it.
I look at photos of me since that day. I really thought that I hid it well, but clearly there is sadness in my eyes. My fractured soul weighs heavily upon my face. A dagger has pierced my heart and life-force escapes a bit more with each passing day. I yearn to sing my death song. I am tired and I am weary.
As I felt his last breath escape his chest, I felt my heart explode within mine. As my eyes closed in disbelief, I begged the gods for his life. I had hoped they heard my prayers, and he would suddenly breathe again. I begged for it not to be done. I begged for more time. I would’ve cared for him a million years, if it be their will, so that I would never know another moment without him.
Before I had my children, I never imagined that anything in this life would ever touch my soul so deeply. Before I lost my Ethan, I never imagined that anything in this life could cut so deeply.
Mor Freyja, vær så snill og hjelp meg. Jeg har vondt.
