Ethan was our second child, but our first son. We so looked forward to expanding our family. Ethan's big sister, Tory, was really excited about becoming a big sister. It deeply saddens me that our precious daughter became so intimately acquainted with both the concept and the reality of death at the age of 3.

I don't laugh as much,I'm not as lighthearted as I once was, little things don't bother me as much as they used to. But there's something much deeper, on a much more fundamental level. People around me have commented about how I'm not the same person I used to be, but they can't really put there finger on it or know what to call it. I think they see the inner-torment I carry with me. My wife is pregnant again and we will be going in to be induced 4/23. This has not been a happy time, this pregnancy. It's been stressful for both of us. Ethan died of an apparent cord accident on his exact due date, so every movement or lack of movement is cause for concern. We won't rest until that baby is in our arms...alive this time.

At different times I've been both more critical and more forgiving of family and friends. It's strange...I want them to help me, but I understand that they cannot. They understand that they cannot and I think at times they think that the best thing to do in that case is to ignore the subject altogether. But then I don't know if it's on their mind and they're ignoring it or if they've actually forgotten. And that infuriates me. Forget about him on your own time, but when you see me...you better see my dead son.

On holidays we cry. And we do things that make us cry some more. We baked a cake for Ethan's one year birthday this year...left a piece on top of his grave. Left some balloons their with him as well, but I let one of them go. A white one that climbed until I couldn't see it anymore in the clear blue sky of March 15th. I like to think that that balloon is still climbing, or maybe he caught it.

Whenever I visit the cemetery, I lay down next to him where I myself will be buried someday. I rub the grass over his grave as if I'm stroking the hair on his head. Then I pluck 2 of the longest blades of grass I can find over his grave. I put one inside my left sock, up against the tattoo I have of my angel-son on my left leg. The other I put in my wallet so that I have it with me at all times. And then I tell him that daddy loves him forever. Those are the words I always leave him with whenever I talk to Ethan.

I would tell other bereaved parents to do whatever makes you feel better, even if that means making yourself feel worse in the short term. I feel the best after a good, long, hard cry. And sometimes he's on my mind and I don't realize it at first, but I know I've got to get it out...so I make myself cry. I look at the pictures of him, I sit in that empty nursery and I make myself cry. It's okay to do that.

I would also recommend the Internet. There are a lot of people who have gone through the same or similar things. Share in their grief and share yours with them. It helps.

Creating a memorial web page for Ethan has also helped me tremondously. I have trouble talking about my feelings. Those words usually come out of my pen not my mouth, but the still need to get out. Expressing them on his web page has been a wonderful outlet.

Please visit Ethan's page and read the words I have written for him. Look at the horrible pictures, but see the real beauty. And sign the guestbook, even if just to say "I'm sorry for your loss." Every signature is a little prayer that lifts Ethan higher and mitigates our pain a little. His page is at: Lifting Ethan.

Thank you. Ethan's Daddy

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