Brave

I am not brave. I’m not hoping you’ll say Oh, sure you are! I’m not, and I’m fine with that. I’m always looking for the easy way out, the shortcut. I don’t want to face my fears. I don’t want to be afraid at all. I’d do almost anything to avoid being in a place where I might have to try to show courage.

But a few weeks ago I got a tiny tattoo. It simply says I’ll be brave

Those aren’t my words. They’re Ethan’s. Some of the last words he ever said to me, in fact. And those words have been a big piece of shrapnel in my heart. I couldn’t say them out loud for a long time. It’s super strange to be typing them now, to be sharing them. The words. The memory. It all became so loaded. So awful. They still hold some power over me. But I’m trying. I’m trying to hold the words to my heart and love them. Not let them turn ugly in my head. They were Ethan’s words. And Ethan was braver than he knew.

Ethan was brave for a million reasons. But on April 6, 2020, when Ethan found himself alone in the hospital, sicker than he’d ever been the nurse held the phone up for him and he told me he’d be brave. He didn’t tell me about his pain. He tried to ease mine. He thanked the nurse for holding the phone. He told me he loved me. He heard me tell him how much I loved him. He let the nurse hold his hand. In those moments, possibly some of the last hours he could think clearly, he let himself be vulnerable. He kept his heart wide open. He thought of others. He accepted comfort and love

There is no truer bravery.

My son was given only 26 years on earth. He lived them with a courage that took many shapes. He loved with vivid light. He’s the person I want to grow into.

I’m not brave by will or by nature. Moving forward, though, I will try. I’ll be brave. The words are over my heart now. They’re no longer barbs in my psyche, they’re a mantra and a blessing. They’re Ethan’s words, and Ethan was brave.