I sit dead center in the middle of the pew with a straight and clear path to the altar laid out in front of me. I can still see Ethan’s tiny white coffin at the end of it. Behind the altar on the east wall of the church, the stained glass image of an open-armed Jesus confronts me. He is larger than He has ever been and His eyes meet mine. “Tucker, would you mind holding Griffin while I dig out a towel?” my cousin Allison asks. Griffin, who had been born three weeks after Ethan, has spit up and Allison is looking for something to clean her lapel with. “Sure.” His chest expands and air whistles from his nose. I close my eyes and hold him tight to my chest, listening to the lovely sound of his blessed breathing. Tears began to trickle down my face, leaving my mouth salty. I open my eyes to again see the arms of Jesus still opened before me and I hold that baby boy tighter, cannot imagine letting go. When Allison sees me crying, she realizes what’s going through me. “Oh, Tucker.
