Love of a father

John sat by his son's bedside, the sterile scent of the hospital room mingling with the sweet fragrance of the flowers he had brought. His heart ached as he looked at Ethan, his once vibrant and lively boy, now lying pale and fragile against the stark white sheets.

Helpless and closing his tiny eyes gives him a cruel reminder of the life that was slipping away. Ethan was only eight years old, his laughter still echoing in John's ears like a melody from a distant time. It wasn't long ago that they were running through fields, chasing the sun and their dreams. Now, John's dreams were filled with prayers for just one more smile, one more moment to hold his son without the shadow of death looming over them.

John reached out and gently held Ethan's small hand, feeling the coldness that seemed to seep from his skin. He wanted to transfer all his warmth, his life, into that tiny hand. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he blinked them away. He needed to be strong, for Ethan, for his wife, and for the family that was teetering on the brink of an unimaginable loss. Ethan, my brave boy," John whispered, his voice trembling. "I love you so much. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Do you remember our fishing trips? How you would always catch the biggest fish and I'd pretend to be jealous?" He chuckled softly, the memory bittersweet. "I cherish every single moment we had together." Ethan stirred slightly, his eyelids fluttering open. His blue eyes, once so full of life, now looked up at John with a distant, weary gaze. He tried to speak, but the effort was too much. A tear slid down his cheek, and John quickly wiped it away, his tears falling freely now. "It's okay, Son," John said, his voice breaking. "You don't have to say anything. Just know that I am here. I will always be here.

"The doctors had told John and his wife that Ethan's cancer was aggressive and unrelenting. They had tried everything – every treatment, every possible cure. But now, they were out of options. John felt a crushing sense of helplessness, a void that no words could fill. As the hours passed, John talked to Ethan about everything and nothing. He spoke of the stars, of dreams, of the future they had imagined together. He told stories, shared secrets, and promised that Ethan would never be forgotten. He wanted to fill the silence with love, to wrap his son in a cocoon of words and memories. "Do you remember the time we built that treehouse?" John asked, his voice barely a whisper. "You were so excited, climbing up and down the ladder, painting the walls with bright colors. We stayed up there all night, watching the stars. You told me you wanted to be a pilot, to explore the universe." Ethan's lips curved into a faint smile, a flicker of the boy he once was. John clung to that smile, his heartbreaking and healing all at once. "You will always be my little pilot," John said softly. "No matter where you go, you will always be in my heart, exploring the stars.

" The night deepened, and Ethan's breathing grew shallower. John felt every breath as if it were his own, each one a fragile thread connecting them. He sang lullabies, the same ones he had sung when Ethan was a baby, hoping to bring him some comfort. In the early hours of the morning, the room fell silent. The machines stopped their relentless beeping, and John felt a profound stillness settle over him. Ethan's hand, still held tightly in his own, was now motionless. John knew that his son had found peace.

UNFORTUNATELY to his surprise, he looked keenly into his eyes and he showed a brink, He called him "Ethan" and the boy shook his head. He was filled with tears of joy and for sure he knew his son was alive. John leaned down and kissed Ethan's forehead, his tears mingling with the softness of his son's skin. "I thank God for saving your life, I was desperate and without hope but now you have given me a reason to smile again." As the first light of dawn broke through the window, John sat quietly, holding his son's hand, cherishing the precious moments of a life that was almost to be cut off. What kind of a father, he was filled with immeasurable love.

After a week the boy was discharged and fully recovered and they live happily.