My young son Ethan nearly jumped out of his stadium seat as he pointed toward the enormous screen above the professional football field. I looked up and saw our family staring back at us with our faces magnified across a screen that seemed forty feet tall. Ethan wore his favorite blue football jersey that we had deliberately bought a size too large back when we believed he would have plenty of time to grow into it. That afternoon none of that mattered because he was wearing a genuine smile that made his entire face glow. He looked like any other excited little boy rather than a child whose illness had stopped responding to treatment. I reached for my phone to capture the moment but the stadium announcer welcomed Ethan over the loudspeakers and announced a special surprise. I turned toward my husband Chris who looked completely confused. The voice instructed us to turn around and we saw several familiar people walking down the stadium steps toward us. At the front was a hospital employee named Ray carrying the battered plastic tabletop football game alongside a few other friends from the hospital floor.
Three months earlier our lives had looked completely different as an ordinary family living in a three bedroom house with a mortgage. Sunday afternoons belonged to football with Chris shouting at the television and Ethan correcting his father with the confidence of a professional commentator. I always insisted I did not care about the sport only to become furious whenever I disagreed with a referee. That messy and wonderfully ordinary life changed completely when a doctor explained that his medical treatments were no longer working. Chris immediately began asking questions about alternative medications and clinical trials because he believed every problem had a solution. When we returned to his room Chris tried to force his usual enthusiasm during a game but quickly reverted to asking Ethan if he was in pain. That day marked the beginning of a habit that would slowly change my relationship with my child. I became obsessed with preserving memories and photographed everything because I was terrified of forgetting his voice. My phone filled with thousands of pictures but I failed to notice that every photograph placed a little screen between us.
Chris was changing too by constantly checking whether Ethan was tired and monitoring his every expression. We thought we were protecting him but we were gradually surrounding him with our fear until a wish granting organization visited his hospital room. Ethan immediately asked to attend a professional football game with his parents. We believed Ethan simply wanted to watch his favorite team but our son had quietly made another request that the organization decided to honor. When game day arrived Ethan was amazed by the enormous green field and the thousands of cheering fans after spending months confined to medical facilities. I photographed every single moment while Chris constantly leaned over to ask if Ethan was cold or tired until Ethan finally told his father to stop watching him and start watching the game. Shortly after halftime the stadium camera found us and the surprise guests arrived at our seats. Ray raised the plastic football toy like a championship trophy causing Ethan to laugh. These friends were regular visitors who always respected his strict rule that anyone who entered his room had to play the tabletop game.