But sometimes, while everyone else was laughing, his own eyes seemed unbearably sad.
One afternoon, Eli asked about Wade's tattoos.
The biker had just finished an imaginary race between a fire truck and a police car. Eli was sitting upright, looking more energetic than he had in several days.
He pointed toward Wade's forearm.
"What's that?"
The biker glanced down.
A faded design covered most of his arm.
"That's a motorcycle."
Eli leaned forward slightly.
"Does it come off?"
Wade shook his head.
"Nope."
"Ever?"
"Not easily."
My son looked horrified.
"What if you take a bath?"
Wade laughed.
"It stays."
Eli considered that.
Then he asked whether the tattoos hurt.
Wade looked toward me before answering.
"A little. And they're something grown-ups should think about very carefully."
Eli nodded.
"I want a car tattoo."
I raised an eyebrow.
"You're going to have to wait quite a while for that."
He frowned.
"Until five?"
Wade laughed so loudly that a nurse looked through the doorway.
"Not quite, champion."
Eli sighed.
"Being little takes forever."
I smiled.
"Sometimes."
Then he pointed toward Wade's hand.
"What about that one?"
Across the biker's knuckles were several small symbols, worn enough that I couldn't clearly identify them from where I sat.
Wade lowered his gaze.
"Those are reminders."
"Reminders of what?"
The biker considered the question.
"Things I don't want to forget."
Eli looked thoughtful.
"Like your keys?"
Wade laughed.
"Those too."
My son nodded.
"Mommy forgets her keys."
I looked at him.
"Thank you for telling everybody."
Wade grinned.
"Important information."
Eli smiled.
Then he pointed toward a small tattoo near the biker's wrist.
It was shaped like a flower.
"What about that?"
Wade's expression changed.
He looked down at the tattoo.
For several seconds, he didn't answer.
Then he said, "That's for somebody special."
Eli looked up.
"Who?"
Wade's thumb moved slowly across the faded flower.
"Somebody I love."
My son nodded.
"Like Mommy?"
The biker swallowed.
"Yeah, little man."
He looked toward me.
"Something like that."
I saw tears gathering in his eyes.
Before I could ask anything, he reached for the toy cars.
"All right. Who wants another race?"
Eli immediately raised his hand.
The moment passed.
But afterward, whenever I looked at Wade's wrist, I wondered about the person behind that little flower.
Eli's fifth birthday arrived during another hospital stay.
I had dreaded the day for weeks.
Before the diagnosis, I imagined his fifth birthday in our apartment, surrounded by balloons, cake, and the kind of chaos that followed a room full of preschoolers. I had pictured him wearing a paper crown and demanding that everyone sing louder.