thought I knew every secret my husband had taken to his grave. Then, after my son died, I received a letter from him that made me question our entire family.
My husband, Daniel, had died four years earlier, so I raised our son, Ethan, alone.
He was all I had.
A year before Ethan died, he was perfectly healthy. Then he collapsed outside our kitchen.
Weeks later, a doctor diagnosed a rare progressive neurological disease.
I raised our son, Ethan, alone.
The doctor asked whether anyone in my family had died young.
“My brother,” I said. “But that was years ago. I don’t even know what he had.”
He made a note and kept talking.
“There has to be something,” I said.
“I wish there were.”
“Another specialist?”
A doctor diagnosed a rare progressive neurological disease.
“We can get another opinion.”
“Then get me ten.”
Ethan squeezed my hand. “Mom.”
