Ethan’s Dad: Our boy would have turned 8 yesterday. Of course, one boy did turn 8 — our Noah — and I certainly do not take that for granted. It is a joy to watch Noah be happy, to watch his face light up when he receives a gift he loves. But it also hurts because there should be a boy right beside him doing the same thing — lighting up our lives with his wonder at receiving new things. Ethan is not here to offer us that joy which comes from giving him presents as a celebration of being part of our lives for another year. It is the eighth year we have celebrated this day without him because he never made it even to the first birthday. I do not know how to quantify such a loss of joy, but the absence is very apparent with each smile or gasp from Noah. I usually do not feel it in that particular moment, which is a small blessing, because then I would miss the joy that is there. But later, in the silence — after the party, the laughter, the cake, and the toys — the absence is there. It is a gnawing deprivation, a robbery worse than the grandest of heists.

It is also at that moment — in the silence, amidst the darkness, surrounded by emptiness — that I am reminded that it could be worse. How? That joy could have not come in the first place. We were not trying to have twins. We were not expecting to have twins. Initially, we were just excited that we would be having another baby at all. And then that sonogram showed two heartbeats rather than one. It was colossal news. I remember Ethan’s mom, for a second, thinking it could not be true. Yet there he was, and everything changed. We already had three children. But five? Yes, five — it turns out we were delighted with that. It required a lot of scrambling, recalculating, reimagining . . . and every bit of it was worth it. (I would give absolutely anything to be living the chaos of five right now).

Even so, it still almost did not happen. There is no need here to retell the whole story in this post, but Ethan was not in the correct position around the time of birth, and then he and Noah decided to pick the rare event (for Alabama) of an ice storm, of all times, to join the world. That precipitated the elegant bravery and unflinching fortitude of their mother to will them into this world, with just a little help from an EMT in an ambulance traveling on an ice-skating rink of a road. Honestly, Ethan beat some long odds just by making it that far.

And there was still more to overcome because, a short time later, we learned of Ethan’s heart defect. Again, this post is not the place to delve into all that was involved there. However, I mention it just to illustrate the point that nothing says we were ever entitled to be graced with his presence. Ethan was a gracious, unmerited gift, a blessing bestowed despite immense obstacles. He and Noah together gave us overwhelming joy. I truly thought I was the most blessed father in the whole world.

And really, I was. That is the reason it hurts so much. To lose the double nature of that precious blessing is excruciating. I cannot hold him, hug him, tickle him, light-saber battle him, shoot hoops with him, laugh with him, correct him, watch him fall asleep, or see the light in his eyes when he opens a birthday gift. Why would such a unique gift be given and then taken away in such a brief time? This blog is full of posts exploring that inscrutable question, and the probing will continue.

But I would not know the immensity of Ethan’s absence if he was never with us in the first place. “God does great things, and unsearchable, marvelous things without number.” (Job 5:9). “Many, oh Lord, are Your wonderful works which You have done; and Your thoughts toward us cannot be recounted to You in order; if I would declare and speak of them, they are more than can be numbered.” (Psalm 40:5).

The Lord did a great and marvelous thing in giving us Ethan (and Noah) eight years ago. He was thinking about Ethan when we were not, and He gave us Ethan without our asking for such joy because the Lord “is able and willing to do more than we ask or imagine.” (Ephesians 3:20). And He continues to think about Ethan. “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not evil, to give you a future and a hope.” (Jeremiah 29:11). That Scripture passage is usually quoted as if it is some kind of high school graduation slogan. I will save all the reasons I think that is a misreading for another time, but presently I will observe that Lord is not talking about the here and now: He is referring to eternity. As much as Ethan’s absence here and now hurts, Ethan is living in peace with the Lord right now, and we soon will be. In the meantime, the Lord says to both to us and to Ethan that He “is in our midst,” and that “He will rejoice over us with gladness, He will quiet us with His love, and He will exult over us with singing.” (Zephaniah 3:17). Amen. And Happy Birthday, Ethan.