PART 2
My husband’s face went completely white.
He stood up so quickly that his chair nearly fell backward.
“Ethan…” he whispered.
My son stared at the person walking toward us.
Then his eyes widened.
“Grandpa?”
I looked at my husband.
“Why is your father here?”
He didn’t answer.
The older man continued down the stadium steps, smiling through tears.
When he finally reached us, he bent down and hugged Ethan tightly.
Ethan laughed.
“I thought you were in Florida!”
His grandfather pulled away and held his face in both hands.
“I wanted to surprise you, buddy.”
I was completely confused.
My husband looked at me.
“I was going to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
Before he could answer, the announcer’s voice came through the speakers again.
“There’s one more surprise for Ethan.”
The entire stadium erupted in applause.
A giant video appeared on the screen.
It showed photographs of Ethan from the time he was a baby.
His first birthday.
His first football jersey.
Him playing in the backyard with his father.
Then the screen showed something I had never seen before.
A letter.
It was written by Ethan.
The announcer began reading it aloud.
“Dear everyone at the stadium…”
My eyes filled with tears.
Ethan had written the letter months earlier, when we still believed he had more time.
He wrote about how much he loved football.
How his dad had taught him everything he knew about the game.
How his mom had stayed beside him through every hospital visit.
Then came the final paragraph.
“If I ever get the chance to watch a real game in a stadium, I want my mom and dad sitting beside me. I don’t need anything else.”
I covered my mouth.
I looked at Ethan.
He was crying.
The announcer continued.
“Tonight, Ethan, you aren’t just attending a football game.”
The screen changed.
It showed a photograph of Ethan wearing a football jersey.
Then another.
And another.
Thousands of people in the stadium began chanting his name.
“Ethan! Ethan! Ethan!”
My husband wrapped his arm around our son.
I couldn’t stop crying.
Then the announcer said:
“Your favorite team has heard your story.”
The stadium erupted.
“And they have a special gift for you.”
A player walked onto the field carrying a football.
He signed it.
Then another player joined him.
Then another.
The announcer explained that the entire team had signed the ball for Ethan.
But that wasn’t the biggest surprise.
The coach had arranged for Ethan to meet the players after the game.
My son looked at me with the biggest smile I’d seen in months.
“Mom… is this really happening?”
I hugged him.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
Then my husband took my hand.
“I need to tell you something.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
He smiled through his tears.
“The doctors told us Ethan might not have much time.”
My heart sank.
“I know.”
“But the doctors were wrong about one thing.”
I stared at him.
“What do you mean?”
He pointed toward the field.
“There is a specialist here tonight.”
My breath caught.
“He flew here because he heard about Ethan.”
A man in a white coat appeared on the stadium screen.
He was a pediatric cancer specialist from another hospital.
And he had reviewed Ethan’s medical records.
The announcer spoke again.
“He believes there may be another treatment option.”
I couldn’t speak.
My husband squeezed my hand.
“We weren’t sure if we should give you hope.”
I started crying.
“But we wanted Ethan to have this night first.”
Ethan looked between us.
“Does that mean I’m going to get better?”
Nobody answered immediately.
His grandfather knelt beside him.
“It means we’re going to fight.”
The stadium stood as one.
People were clapping.
Some were crying.
And my ten-year-old son held the signed football against his chest.
For the first time in months, he wasn’t talking about hospitals.
He wasn’t talking about pain.
He was talking about football.
And then something happened that none of us expected.
The specialist walked onto the field.
He held up a medical folder.
“I’ve reviewed Ethan’s case,” he said.
“There is a clinical trial that may be appropriate for him.”
I looked at my husband.
He looked at me.
Neither of us dared to breathe.
Because suddenly, our son’s “final wish”…
might not be his final memory after all.
PART 3 — TO BE CONTINUED…
See more on the next page