Ethan’s Story
On what began as an ordinary Monday morning in June, my son Ethan was on his way to his grandparent’s house, where he would then be brought to school, we never imagined that our lives would soon be turned upside down.
On the journey down from his dad’s house, he was in a serious road traffic collision. My parents were getting worried when Ethan had not arrived within half an hour of the usual time, my dad phoned me and we agreed that it was time to start looking for him.
When my dad arrived at the collision site, the police were able to confirm that Ethan had been involved and that he had been seriously injured. The Air Ambulance was in attendance alongside other Emergency services. We rushed to the Royal Belfast Hospital for Sick Children, where Ethan was being transported.
Arriving at the hospital, I was overwhelmed with fear and desperation, but the doctors and nurses met me in the Emergency Department with a gentle compassion that I will never forget. They guided me into a small, quiet room and began to explain Ethan’s condition with such tenderness, helping me to process everything.
When I was finally allowed to see him, a small moment of time that the medical team made possible despite the urgency, I knew instantly that he was seriously unwell.
As I held his hand, surrounded by a room full of doctors, they all respectfully stepped back, giving us a precious moment together. Due to the critical nature of his condition, it was just a minute, but their kindness in that moment meant everything to me.
I couldn’t yet fully process the weight of the situation, but they allowed me that small space of closeness, allowing me to hold Ethan’s hand so that I could tell him that he would be looked after well and that he was safe now.
In the days that followed, I witnessed extraordinary care within the Paediatric Intensive Care Unit, not only for Ethan but for me as his mother. As he was carefully prepared for transfer and sent for scans, the medical team made sure I was never alone. Every question I had was met with understanding, and every worry was acknowledged with patience. I was offered food, water, and gently encouraged to take breaks. They saw me as Ethan’s mother first, respecting my role and my need to be by his side, while gently guiding me through each difficult step.
The entire team, from nurses to neurosurgeons, worked tirelessly on Ethan’s behalf. They not only met my expectations but continually went above and beyond, giving me a clearer picture of everything, even when the news was devastating. When they took Ethan for scans or saw that I needed rest, they guided me to a small room with a bed, a shower, and basic toiletries. Such simple gestures – a warm shower, a bed to lie on, soap and shampoo – gave me comfort and a moment’s peace when my world felt like it was falling apart. There was even a kitchen where I could make myself coffee, though the nurses often brought it to me with quiet support and an ear to listen.
Ethan’s diagnosis became clearer through the days, though it was a reality I struggled to accept. His CT and MRI scans revealed severe, irreversible damage, and I was told he could no longer see, hear, or feel. Processing this news was like being caught in a nightmare I couldn’t escape from, yet the medical team stood by us every step of the way.
Each day, they tended to Ethan with the utmost dignity and respect. Even as they delivered difficult news, they took care of him with tenderness, and those small acts of kindness helped me. They even placed a beautiful, hand-made quilted blanket over Ethan as he lay in his bed, surrounded by his favourite toys.
I have displayed that blanket in a frame in his bedroom – lasting reminder of the compassion he received and how comfortable he looked despite the circumstances.
One of the most touching moments came when an orthopaedic surgeon came to set Ethan’s broken arm, even though we knew he wouldn’t recover. With such gentleness, they reset his arm and propped it up on one of his favourite teddies, ensuring he was comfortable, as though he were merely resting. The gesture meant the world to me. It was a reminder that they saw Ethan as more than a patient; he was my son, and they respected him in every way.
The medical team continued to extend every element of compassion imaginable. A nurse gave me a small journal, suggesting that I write down memories of Ethan. They encouraged me to record the smallest details so that I could hold onto every part of him. Later, they even helped me create moulds of his hands, gave me handprints, and presented me with a memory box. Inside were two small teddy bears – one for Ethan and one for me. I sleep with that bear every night; it’s a small part of him that I can still hold close.
As Ethan’s condition worsened, I made the difficult decision to donate his organs. The care team handled this process with such sensitivity and respect, guiding me through each decision. They found matches for Ethan’s organs and carefully prepared to make this extraordinary gift.
The night before, they arranged for a bed for me to be brought into Ethan’s room, filling the space with light projectors, gentle music, books, and his favourite toys. They allowed me to spend his final hours doing the things he loved at bedtime.
I was able to read to him, hold his hand, and be his mum one last time. It was the most painful yet precious night of my life, and I will always be grateful to them for giving me those moments.
On Saturday, as Ethan was brought to surgery for organ donation, my family and I had a chance to say our goodbyes. I was overwhelmed when he returned in fresh pyjamas, surrounded by his teddies and a new teddy I didn’t recognise. A nurse explained that the surgical team had bought it for him, a final act of love and care.
Their empathy, their willingness to see Ethan as a precious 6-year-old child, not just a patient, moved me beyond words.
The experience of losing Ethan will forever be the hardest part of my life, but it was softened by the profound compassion we received. One doctor hugged me on the day he passed, sharing that she had seen a rainbow on her way into work, a small sign of hope in a time of despair.
I will never forget the quiet strength, warmth, and respect shown to both Ethan and me. The team’s empathy allowed me to focus on my love for my son, rather than the trauma of losing him.
After Ethan’s passing, I felt compelled to honour his memory and give back. Last November, I held a fundraiser – a 6 Peaks Hike across the Mourne Mountains. Friends, family, and I raised over £7,500 in Ethan’s memory, a small gesture to thank those who gave us so much when we needed it.
I also attended the memory walk, along with close family who hadn’t been able to say their goodbyes. Though Ethan was an only child, he was deeply connected to his cousins, and that event gave them a way to honour and remember him.
My gratitude to the Royal Belfast Hospital for Sick Children and Little Heroes is beyond words. Though my time with Ethan was heartbreakingly brief, they ensured every moment we shared was wrapped in compassion, respect, and love. Their kindness brought light in my darkest days, and I will hold that close forever.
Ethan’s spirit, and the warmth we felt through their extraordinary care, will always live on in my heart. I am committed to supporting the Royal and Little Heroes NI, so that every child can continue to receive this level of dedicated care when it is needed most.