I am saddened that he did not actually make his fourth birthday. When I knew he had little time left I had it in my head that he would get to four, but not to five.
It was quite a shock that he died aged three. My poor little baby.
Today I laid Ethan to rest in a beautiful place, a place he loved and I love.
I laid him to rest realising that the box that held him was probably the same size as he was born. It also weighed the same as his birth weight (very strange fact).
Later that day the children released three golden star balloons, with Oliver shouting "Happy birthday Ethan". Oliver also declared at dinner that Ethan was with us and was sitting next to him, in his memories.
For me, Ethan is my heart.
It was strange laying him to rest so to speak, as it did not feel like him at all. He is in my memories, in the photographs, and not in a box.
He was the most amazing little golden haired boy who stole so many hearts.
I wish beyond wishing that I could have saved him. That I could have watched him grow up.
My gorgeous little boy, forever three years old. Happy Birthday Ethan.