A stadium employee eventually offered us a quiet family room where Ethan could rest and Ray gently encouraged the other visitors to leave us alone. I sat beside my son and asked why it was so important to have his hospital friends attend the game. Ethan explained that they were the only ones who still acted normal around him while his parents had completely changed. He pointed out that Chris no longer watched the games but only watched him to see if he was tired and I was always hiding behind my phone camera taking pictures. He admitted that he hated how we treated every single moment as a precious milestone just because his time was limited. He desperately wanted his father to yell at the television again and wanted me to argue with the referees just like we used to do. He just wanted things to be ordinary and he wanted us to have fun with him instead of simply monitoring his every breath. He confessed that he picked a football game for his wish so we could finally just be normal parents again.
We returned to our seats for the final quarter of the game with a completely new perspective on our time together. Chris complained loudly about a terrible play on the field and I jumped to my feet to yell at a referee which made Ethan laugh harder than he had in months. When our team finally scored Ethan pulled himself up between us in pure excitement and his little plastic football player fell onto the concrete. Instead of reaching for my phone to record his smile or bending down immediately to retrieve the toy I chose to stand there holding his hand and cheering alongside my family. I finally understood his rule that everybody plays and nobody just watches. Love was not about standing on the sidelines capturing memories for the future but about showing up fully for the ordinary moments we were fortunate enough to share right now. I left that tiny plastic football player on the ground so I could experience his laughter instead of recording it and that became the greatest lesson our little boy ever taught us.