Ethan burst out laughing.
Then Chris immediately leaned over him.
“You okay, Captain?”
A game was playing on television.
Ethan’s smile faded a little.
“Dad, I laughed.”
“I know.”
“I’m allowed.”
Chris sat back.
“Of course you are.”
I lifted my phone.
Click.
Ethan looked at me.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said.
But from then on, almost everything became something I wanted to save.
Almost everything became something I wanted to save.
Ethan eating cereal.
Him sleeping with one sock on.
The face he made at hospital gelatin, or the hours spent arguing with Chris over football statistics.
Pictures.
Short videos.
Voice recordings.
I told myself I was collecting our life.
I didn’t realize I was being noticed.
I told myself I was collecting our life.
***
A few days later, a woman from a wish organization visited Ethan’s room.
She pulled up a chair.
“If you could do one really special thing, Ethan, anything at all, what would you pick?”
I expected a famous player.
Maybe a trip.
Maybe something extravagant.
I expected a famous player.
Ethan chirped immediately.
“A football game!”
He named his favorite team.
Then he added, “With Mom and Dad.”
Chris squeezed his shoulder.
“Obviously, Captain.”
The woman laughed.
She worked with Ethan’s medical team, arranged accessible seating, transportation, and everything that would make the day memorable for my son.
“A football game!”
We thought we knew the entire plan.
Apparently, Ethan had made another request when we weren’t in the room. He had no idea anyone had taken him literally.
***
On game day, I understood why he had chosen the stadium the second we walked inside.
He stopped at the entrance.
