Six months ago we lost our four-year-old son to leukemia. He fought bravely for two years, and in the end, his little body just could not fight anymore. Our family is shattered. His name was Ethan, and he loved dinosaurs, pancakes, and jumping in puddles. He had a laugh that could fill a room and a smile that made strangers stop to say hello. He was brave in ways that no four-year-old should ever have to be. The grief is unlike anything I have ever experienced. It comes in waves that knock me to the ground when I least expect it. I find his toy cars under the couch. I hear a child laugh at the grocery store and my heart stops. His bedroom door stays closed because none of us can bear to open it. My wife and I are trying to hold each other up, but we grieve differently, and sometimes our pain pushes us apart instead of pulling us together. Our eight-year-old daughter does not understand why her brother is not coming back, and we do not have the words to explain it. We need prayers for healing — not the kind that erases the pain, because we know that will never fully go away. We need prayers for the strength to carry it, for our marriage to survive it, and for our daughter to grow up knowing that love does not end with death.