In skating over thin ice our safety is in our speed. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson



Ethan James Brandt

 It has been 55 days since we learned  about Ethan's tumor.  Some of these days have been great.  Others, well...not so great.  I've been both optimistic and pessimistic.  I've been both strong and weak.  I've been courageous and absolutely terrified.  And I've been able to swing between these two  extremes sometimes in a matter of only minutes.

So it should come as no surprise that while I feel ready for tomorrow, I'm also ready to throw Ethan in the car and drive to South America.  Right now. 

Tomorrow is the surgery.  I am trying my hardest to keep myself together.  I'm losing the battle.  But I have to say that I am so appreciative of all of the kind words and the prayers and the warm sentiments we have received from our friends and family.  It makes me fully realize how special Ethan is and how loved he is by all who have the good fortune of knowing him. 

While Adam and I are prepared for whatever news we might receive tomorrow, what we hope (above all) is to get the same little boy back tomorrow afternoon.  That kind, sensitive, thoughtful, agreeable,  generous, caring, affable, and smiling little boy. 


Best friends.

I took Ethan to the dog park a few weeks back and after he grew tired of the  park, he took off for the playground.  I watched him as he went.  He's 8 years old and he still skips when he runs.  Ethan is a wonderful little spirit, who has always managed to see the good that exists in this world.  He whistles and sings to himself in the shower.  He loves his dog and he so easily makes friends.  And he has and will always be the best big brother in the world.  He'll tell you that Emerson drives him crazy, but for those that know them both, you know they truly are the best of friends.  He is and has always been so full of joy.

 Come what may, I know that we can handle any adversity that comes our way. But what I cannot handle is not getting MY Ethan back.  My unique and clever little boy.  I need him back so that we can continue talk about things like the periodic table, and the Titanic, and outer space, and all of those completely random things that he's interested in; those things which set him apart from any other kid his age.   Thank you lord for giving me a child less interested in wrestling and one more interested in the world in general.  Thank you for giving me this little boy who will watch a documentary with me, and remember all of it.  Thank you for giving me this little boy who I know will grow up to fight for the less fortunate, and might one day leave this earth a better place than he found it.  You didn't let me down.  You gave to me a son...a loving son. A devoted son.  A funny little sprite, who lacks a single attribute that I would ever desire to change. Perhaps with the exception of this tumor.

But we're going to take care of that tomorrow.

Happy happy little boy.

 There really is no worse reality to have to face as a parent.  I'd be angry at the world probably... but I could deal with cancer, I could deal with chemo and I will deal with radiation if that is what becomes of this.  I just can't fathom the idea of MY Ethan being replaced by a different Ethan tomorrow.  It's petrifying to to think, will his smile be the same?  Will his laugh be the same? Will he still be able to play with his Lego's?  Will he still skip along with that same zeal for life?

I sure do hope so. 

So, please pray for Ethan. Or think happy thoughts about him.. Or meditate and send a positive energy out into the universe for him. Whichever belief system you rely upon when your mind is burdened...  please, whatever you do, just keep him in your thoughts.

I will send an update tomorrow when he is out of surgery.