My biggest fear.

Here's my biggest fear in all of this.

That the world will forget Ethan.

It's simple and terrifying.  Simply terrifying.

So few of you had the chance to meet him, to make memories of your own with my sweet boy, to take pictures with my sweet boy.  After Ethan died I kept telling myself and anyone who would listen that Ethan was real.  His life, though brief, was real.  I think that is why I clung onto the letters and cards the nurses and doctors who cared for him sent me.  They were among the blessed few who met him.  Their letters were "proof" that I had a fourth child, a third son.

This is a going to sound strange.  I am thankful that I had a c-section with Ethan (it was my only section of the 4 deliveries) for the sole reason that I have a scar.  I carry a scar on my flesh as proof that Ethan was real.  After Ethan was ripped away from me I could no longer place my hand on my swollen belly and feel his kicking and squirming.  But I can place my hand on my scar and find reassurance that he was real.  Every time I get dressed in the morning I see my scar, and a small smile spreads across face.

I fear that Caroline, Jackson and Ryan will tell the world they have 2 siblings when people ask them how many they have.  I fear that Ethan will be an afterthought.  I acknowledge that there will come a day for each of them when they will shape how they choose to remember their brother.  It is their choice if they include Ethan in their family pictures or conversations, but I try to model an inclusive approach.  Ethan's baby hat is framed in a shadow box with his 3 older siblings' hats.  Photos of Ethan neighbor photos of Jackson in the stairwell.  Photos of Ethan's name, written in sand, are among our family beach pictures in the entryway.

I beg you all to remember my sweet Ethan with me.  To never forget that he was hear for 28 weeks inside of me and for 4 days outside of me.  Please don't forget him, I know I never will.