There are so many unfinished posts sitting on the draft pile and they will most likely stay there forever. The thoughts expressed don’t feel relevant any more, mostly they are way too optimistic.

New year has started with a wish to somehow survive another year. This house does not aim for stars, we are grounded in our reality, like wearing concrete boots.

Our days have merged into one giant hazy cloud of broken memories. Our brains no longer remember, they are on autopilot, no longer dreaming at night. We now fall asleep with dread of hearing blood curdling shriek coming from Tomas’ room. We are prisoners being tortured by sleep deprivation, some days we can’t remember if we slept at all. In this state J goes to work, which itself is just mind boggling, while I prepare Tomas’ medications and take care of everything else. Any day now we are ready to break during the interrogation and say we did it, we committed any crime the accusers throw at us, we did it, just please make this stop, let us sleep.

Our life has become a strange mesh of the Groundhog Day movie and Robinson Crusoe trying his best to make his life as comfortable and “normal”. Majority of people got the taste of our life during the lock down, but that is an ancient history now never to be repeated, while we continue to live in isolation protecting our son and we will continue doing it till he dies. Our rescue ship might arrive one day, we keep daydreaming seeing the smokestack of hope at the horizon, but at the same time we know it is most likely not coming.

I grapple with the meaning of existence, but my exhausted brain can’t wage philosophical war over life’s meaning. Just like a marathon runner who has “hit the wall” I just keep putting one foot in front of the other and hope the nasty dark feeling surrounding my brain will magically vanish, that the bright decorations of the finish line will appear and I will collapse after crossing the magic mark. I will feel full and empty at the same time, triumphant and defeated. Ready to give up marathon running forever and just sleep and maybe read a book or two.

I have been slowly inching away from things and people in my life. I find myself living away from friends, feeling removed and emotionally apart from everything I have held close before.

I find myself mourning too many losses. I find myself skipping over Facebook posts, because seeing accomplishments of my friends’ children is too painful to see. And I’m not talking about typical children here. Those have not been in my feed for the past 2 years. I used to eagerly invite new members into the GRIN community. These days I can’t find anything nice to say to them, so I stay silent. Seeing their children sitting, looking at their parents, holding a toy… It’s just too painful to see.

I have given up on therapies, I have given up on hope. I try to enjoy every pleasant moment with my boy while I can. It is utterly cruel to live knowing that death is at your doorstep, but you don’t know when it decides to walk into your home, again.

Our last hospitalization was beyond traumatic and we know we are living on a borrowed time. We decided to not fight anymore. We signed DNR for Tomas, we discussed scenarios and legal issues of choosing not to intervene when the inevitable comes.

Since then I have sunken into a deep darkness that is only bearable thanks to my garden. I long for solitude and dread this loneliness at the same time.

I try to imagine my life without Tomas, but I no longer know who I’m. I’m alive, but my heart can no longer feel anything, because it has been destroyed by the pain of Sara’s sudden death and daily witness to my son’s slow brain death. Very few people understand my reality. I’m part of an exclusive club of humans punished for no reason with a sentence that is more cruel than any prison. I live in a prison of my son’s disability, I get punished daily for loving him.

I’m quietly waiting for the next seizure, for the next medical event, for the next ambulance ride, for the next talk with doctors after being awake for 20 hours. There is nothing I look forward to, because I don’t want to be disappointed when yet again it doesn’t happen. It is freeing to live without expectations, but it is also beyond joyless.

I always end on a positive note, but not today. For the first time there is no relief with sharing my burden. There is no silver lining. There is only resignation to the fact my time with my son is limited and I will have to witnesses his death, just as I witnessed my daughter’s last moments. I have been resisting the notion that losing Sara broke me, but now I know there will be nothing after Tomas’ death. The black hole will swallow me for good.

It has been almost four months since we moved into our truly “forever home”.

We somehow managed to make 4 rooms fully functional, but our new joint office and the rec room downstairs have been neglected so far. It is almost comical how the state of our home reflects our minds. I have a hunch that J’s mind is in fairly similar place as mine.

The recreation room, for the lack of a better label, is currently home to a spin bike, tv and a pile of boxes that nobody wants to open. As they are true Pandora’s boxes of our own. They contain all the evil and dark to be released upon us if we lift the lids.

Today I’m alone, but not lonely, all but longing for the one I can’t hold anymore.

When the lid of the box was lifted all I could see was her t-shirt with large slogan “DON’T FREAK OUT” on the chest. We have used this phrase countless times, because her intensity of emotions was beyond this world. I have grabbed the empty sleeves where her hands used to be, clutching the emptiness desperately searching for a metaphysical trace of her… the radio playing in the background;” I died in your arms tonight…” and I felt the black hole altering time and space open in my heart again.

I know this entity well now. It first opened when the ICU doctor told us that “she will not recover”, the second time it opened upon me reading what GRIN1 mutation means. Both times my brain stopped working, no thoughts, just automated behaviors creating no memories. Just my body going on about the day with me no longer here. My heart sits at the edge of this empty blackness trying to escape the gravitational pull. With each word written, each tear shed my heart becomes lighter and lighter. But this time it will be long before it is light enough to escape. This time it is shedding tears for Sara and for Tomas.

Sara is gone, but Tomas is also not here. His strangely deep and yet bizarrely pointless existence is a gift and the biggest burden in one. I do not believe in God, so that whole line of explanation is not valid in my world. He is our brain dead daughter in a new body, what we tried to escape came back to us. Is this a proof of destiny? No point proving what you can’t change.

How do you find the urge to continue?

I know that in the past month I have slowly lost the fire that used to fuel me for the past four years. The flame is now a tiny flicker, as the fuel was destroyed by the non functioning system of social supports for our son. I no longer have energy to advocate for him, to chase people who are supposed to help us. I still hope I will find some fuel, but I will not be mad at myself if I chose to abandon this pursuit.

I had to leave my dear community of GRIN parents for now, because I can’t be around this much hope and positivity. The black hole in my heart just swallows this energy up and somehow it gets fueled by it growing bigger and bigger, sending painful flashes to my brain. Painful reminders of “you will never… Tomas can’t… he will never…”

I see to have a voice that would shout at those thoughts, but this voice have grown quiet.

My stories used to have messages of hope at the end. Even the Pandora’s box supposedly had only one thing left inside, hope. But my box still have too many things in it. Sara has left an enormous pile of possessions, treasures, creations. They all have to be unpacked, touched, find a new place to live. But all her things contain all the sadness in the world, with each touch this energy fuels the black hole. My heart is holding onto the edge with all its might, periodically regaining better grip only to be pulled back in, closer and closer to the point of no return. I have never gone in, I always managed to escape, emerging back into this world. Only this time I fear the one re-emerging will have little to say to the people in this world as the black hole is now two holes living in my heart. One’s heart can only be alive with couple tiny holes, not two endless black holes.

Some people thrive in fully packed lives. I think I used to be just like that. Keeping up, artificially busy, trying to achieve somewhat superficial goals.

I’m not saying I’m better than parents immersed in after school activities and clubs. Firstly I see no point of this better or worse comparing exercise, secondly I wouldn’t dare to judge other parents, and most importantly I do not live in the same universe anyway.

I was kicked off my home planet almost five years ago. I packed my hospital overnight bag without emotion. I left my home in an ambulance repeating the non eventful day to the EMS. When I returned 48 hours later to retrieve more underwear and other bits and bobs I also grabbed Sara’s monkey I have sewn her, her quilt and her favourite books about Hilda she just got for her birthday two weeks ago. I entered our house, but it wasn’t the same place, Sara’s bathrobe was still on the floor in the middle of the living room. A silent witness to Sara’s body disappearance from this world, like a snake skin left after new, bigger snake emerges. Only this time the motionless, strangely puffy body was at the PICU instead here where it belonged.

The events of these six days of our lives are forever buried in my brain, the sheer trauma replaced by the narrative I had to repeat so many times for so many reasons. This replacement story is devoid of all feelings, smells, sounds. Only dozen painful photographs hidden in a folder bring those back. This story was created by my brain to protect me, it served its purpose, but it has caused more harm as the time goes on.

The sale of our forever house has put wheels of change into motion and as this cart gathers more speed with the move out date approaching it has become more and more destructive. Crashing into carefully sealed boxes containing Sara’s clothing, treasures, her books, spilling them everywhere for me to pick up. Touching a ghost of your child is the most exhausting and painful experience. My brain was being torn into shreds, with preoccupation about the most bizarre things. Where do I put my child’s ashes during the open house?… so I don’t have to explain anything to anyone. One of the offers we were presented with even contained the strangest clause of “sellers certify that no death occurred in this house…” like WTF!? Our realtor gave us a blank stare and my mind went to “the spirit of our kid is moving with us, so thanks for bringing that up”

Two weeks after Sara’s death we renovated the main living space. I ripped out and installed new flooring, painted walls. It was this frantic, forced upon myself rebirth. Transformation of our house to erase the pain of the enormous void. Both J and I kept ourselves busy as not to have time to feel anything. I have been avoiding feeling for almost 5 years now. Avoidance made easier by constant preoccupation with the extreme needs of our complex son.

But the time is up, I know I have to say goodbye, I have to feel, I have to create closure of our life here. Our community have been with us on this heck of a journey, I hope our family had a positive impact on their lives. Even if it meant explaining to their young children that kids can suddenly die and babies can be born with disabilities. I apologize for being the party pooper of your children’s sheltered lives. I wish you didn’t have to explain all that to them, but it turns out I have no powers to prevent those things.

I guess I have to thank this house for allowing us to create a home. We improved it, with me literally finishing my last creative project two weeks before we decided to sell. I had run out of projects, which itself have filled me with dread. This house has been a patient participant in my design trials. This house has been a sanctuary, protector, and a witness to our lives for 13 long years. The last 5 have been extremely painful, but strangely rewarding. I thank you house for your services, we made you the best you can be.

It is almost cathartic to slowly put the words on paper (I’m the slowest typer ever). I feel ready to take down all Sara’s photos, her artwork, knowing that some of these pictures will not be hung again. Our new house will be Tomas’ forever house. She will not be given room or consideration. This is all about the best life for her little brother. I’m excited and overwhelmed by the task of creating home. The prospect of moulding this hard empty shell of a brand new house, that wasn’t built with our lives in mind, into a home for a very unique family. But this is easy when you have a great partner to do it with and you are starting fresh with heart full of fire stoked by honoring your past life.

I say goodbye our wonderful house, have new adventures with someone else. And don’t worry, I won’t sneak off without the last wave and a hug.

Since Tomas’ diagnosis I do not live in this world. I spend my wake hours in a completely different universe. My reality is full of schedules, medications, research papers, advocacy meetings, therapy sessions and obituaries of children.

My universe does not contain rose colored glasses. There is only 20/20 clarity vision that is reserved for parents of children who frequent the brink of death.

This clarity is liberating, it divides your confusing world into very black and white parts. It’s either good or bad, it either helps or hurts. Everything can be reduced into the primary qualifiers, simplicity that cats out the pointless BS designed to benefit someone or something.

I still slip into thinking that this object or this event would make me happy, but happiness is something else. I have never felt this deep, unconditional love full of fear, pity, anger, and sorrow wrapped into this immense blissful feeling that all is right with the world. Death of my firstborn and severe disability of my second born had turned the impatient, judgmental, and perfectionist me into a zen master. I do not look into the past, it is too painful. I do not look into the future because it is terrifying. All I have left is this moment and the conscious choice to add one more positive through or action into this world.

Today the immense black hole of grief for ones child opened again. It opened for a friend with whom I share very unique and special bond. My heart hurts just like it did after I called my mother that our daughter died. The one sentence containing all of totality, all memories and the future that will never be.

Our black holes are so same and so different. Death can be uninvited intruder or a welcomed savior. It is always raw and surreal. It is always most cruel to the ones left behind.

As my community will mourn yet another child I know this painful reminder of our children’s very fragile life will only add one more hug, one more minute of therapy, just one more step when we were ready to give up. The grief will yet again fuel the fire in us to give our children better future, even if the future can abruptly vanish tomorrow.

I’m getting ready to leap into an unknown territory. Ready to use all my knowledge and experience to make meaningful positive change in the life of one special family.

I do not believe in higher power, but life keeps presenting me with proof that unrelated events can create a brand new path. So I thank the Universe for the opportunity to grow beyond my wildest dreams in the past four years. I still underestimate my abilities and the term self confidence in my case is more along the lines of “fake it till you make it” rather than assertive display of my knowledge and abilities. But I guess that even the faking it requires the first step, the faithful leap into the brand new world.

This year have been a brand new territory for the entire world. Let’s just say humans did not surprise me, since I’m already rather disillusioned, you get that way by having a child with complex needs, it’s given. I had to stop watching news, we lost therapies, months of worth, we lost our grip. The world has forced me to pause and in this pause I was able to reconnect, to step out of the endless hamster wheel. I realized how much time we have spent on therapies that provided very little positive change. I became angrier than ever about the way my country’s leaders were treating the disabled community in the time of crisis. I had time to re evaluate the direction in which we are moving. I’m aware that the direction of my journey has shifted away from the previous one again. The road junction that appeared in March has offered me a choice. I do not know if I took “the right road”, but for the very first time in many years I like the scenery where the road travels. It is not because the countryside is nicer, it’s because hope has placed rose tinted lenses in my glasses…I will savor looking through them until I trip over the numerous pot holes in this road and my glasses will fly off my face and break. But maybe by then I won’t be needing them, because I will know how to find beauty in the strange landscape I was destined to travel through.

This life journey has been a freaking rollercoaster so far. I’m fast approaching my 45th birthday, possibly the mid point of my life…

So it’s time for a bit of a midlife crisis, taking stock kinda a talk.

I don’t remember much of my “previous” life anymore, my brain is sheltering me from the pain of our loss. I remember being scared to forget how it felt to touch my daughter’s body. The last four days of her life I have spent holding her foot, while J was sitting across from me holding her hand. We were both silently trying to desperately engrave the feeling of our daughter’s warm skin into our brain forever, because we knew the clock was ticking. We were so excited to hear a recipients for her kidneys and liver have been found. We were excited her precious organs will not be wasted by meaningless death, but this has also started the countdown clock. Because finding the heart recipient had taken a bit longer we have bought ourselves another day with her quiet, motionless body. More precious time to stock pile the very last memories.

I have worn my empty heart pendant for a first time in a very long time today. It felt light and so heavy at the same time. We had survived yet another anniversary month, 4 very long years. We are so busy surviving these days we have no time to look back and over analyze our feelings. I prefer that anyway.

It has been three long years of my life holding me hostage. Imprisoned in my life and my caregiving duties. My life has grinded me down, the once sharp jagged pieces sticking out are now smooth. There are still some spots that will cut you like a knife. I still overreact, I still speak my mind too often, I still say things I regret. It happens less and less, but that could be because I speak less and less to humans. Just as I was ready to give up and somehow to be ok with not being able to work for another two years a miracle gift came my way. Sudden offer for childcare funding for a support person for Tomas. Instead of elation I have been sitting here terrified. I understand now when people talk about prisoners serving long sentences becoming institutionalized. I no longer know how to take care of myself, I only know how to care for others. I no longer feel I have the right to put my feelings and needs first. They are always second and most times they are only the third option to consider. So just like newly released prisoner I’m terrified of the possibilities that freedom has to offer. This freedom still does not contain family vacations or traveling (and not just because COVID). The only traveling I will be doing is a yearly pilgrimage to meet my beautiful “GRIN family” at the annual conference. This freedom is still very dependent on Tomas’ health or the lack of it most likely.

It has taken me several weeks to come to terms with this new version of our possible future. I still find myself too scared to dream big. But you don’t have to dream big to accomplish great things.

This year have been the hardest one so far. So many aspects of our daily living have been out of our control with possibly devastating consequences. We are phrased in living in fear, but this was, and still is, something very different. I find myself mentally collapsing in situations that would not phase me before. I know I’m balancing on a razor blade, keeping a precarious balance. But that what life is when your child might not wake up tomorrow.

The most growth comes from facing hard times. I have grown this year beyond my wildest dreams. I’m still unsatisfied with parts of my life, but I’m trying to be patient with myself. I know that the rest of the year will be even harder than the start, but I know the enemy now and I’m a very fast learner.

So it’s time to kick some butt again. Last year I raised money by baking thousands of cookies for Christmas. That might not be an option this year for many reasons. CureGRIN Foundation is organizing new campaign starting in August. My family is signing up and pledging to walk full marathon over the course of the month. Couple kilometers each day will add up, because you don’t have to aim too high to achieve great things.

First of the dreaded dates is upon us. Tomas is still in Canuck Place and I’m not sure if it’s good or bad. I find that every time I’m relieved of the care duties I invent high pressure projects to continue living with the extreme level of stress we have in our lives. I was doing exactly the same during this break, only to be given extra two nights of “caregiving freedom” and the shit just came crashing down.

Since early morning J and I are playing the tip toe game. We suffer in silence, each in our rooms making ourselves busy, trying to trick our brains into thinking it is not Sara’s birthday…

We have been silently hugging each other for the past week, carefully choosing our words as not to upset each other.

Yesterday CBC Radio reporter Cathy Browne asked me how do I go on. I told her that I just don’t know how to quit. But I do know how to quit, the problem is, quitting on our current life means abdicating on our responsibilities towards Tomas, towards our parents. And that can only happen in two ways, we will forever live in guilt for abandoning our son or we kill ourselves. Just to be clear, we will not do either of those things, so we just have to go on, since there is no real alternative.

Not many parents celebrate their child’s 12th birthday by talking about suicide, but here we are. Again, I’m not suicidal, I’m incredibly sad, my whole being in pain that I carry in my soul. This deep pain and emptiness is forever part of my life. It has robbed me of happiness, but it also gave me a great gratefulness, that only people who have lost everything can experience.

I’m trying to remember how I survived the previous 3 birthdays, but it must have been the same crap, since it got buried deep in my brain, actively trying to forget the experience.

I’m surviving this year purely by ignoring my thoughts and feelings. I know that is not a way to deal with grief, but this is my process, so bore off grief experts. I know when I’m strong enough to face my grief, today is not the day. I don’t want to sit with my feelings, I have no intentions to analyze them. I will keep up this charade for myself, but also for J, carefully observing his mood, protecting him from the pain, at least on the surface.

In two weeks we will remind ourselves of all the pain of our last goodbye, again revisiting all the conversations, the bizarre moments, the unsuccessful attempts to memorize every little detail of her body.

June sucks the life out of us, because the black hole opens and pulls everything into the deep void of existence. Poisoning every moment of our lives. We have very little life left in us right now. Surviving COVID lockdown, surviving living on one income, surviving having no help for 3 months, surviving future without any help, other than 7 more nights for Tomas at Canuck Place. Surviving being on the years long waiting lists for my surgery, surviving the endless wait for Tomas’ medical equipment.

I know there is always hope, but I can’t see any silver lining now, because I’m slipping deeper and deeper into the black hole and the light is being replaced by emptiness of the void.

Deep inside I wish this black hole to be an inter dimensional portal, spitting me out in a different universe. But for now I’m forever suspended in the moment I kissed my daughter for the very last time and whispered “Be brave”.

The ones who know me personally know, that I don’t panic. My emergency switch turns on, emotions are out the window and the focus on task at hand is the only thing that matters. I fall into pieces right after the imminent danger subsides…

I have attempted first food shopping in three weeks in a large store. I went in the first hour, reserved for seniors and vulnerable population. I even brought my son’s medical paperwork to prove to the store personnel I’m not making stuff up. But this is Canada, civilized place where I was greeted with a smile and called a senior citizen for the day, no paperwork needed. Ok I’m going to go along with this label, even thou the lack of care from my hairdresser clearly shows already. I was afraid of dark roots showing as my usually short hair is getting way too long for my liking. No dark roots, just white hair…

So senior citizen for a day I enter the store in tight fitting custom sewed mask and disposable gloves. And my list of basics comes out, I walk efficiently through the store, maintaining my distance, not touching my mask. There are several packages of toilet paper left on otherwise empty shelf, we are down to three rolls so I put the smallest packaging into my basket feeling so guilty as if I just pulled it out of hands of a old lady with a cane… Really brain, WTF? I have enough problems, I don’t need you to add to them.

The entire store has maybe 40 people in it, it is no problem to maintain your distance. As I look around I realize I’m the only one in a mask and just one another lady is wearing disposable gloves. I’m the weird one out. People here are told to wear a mask if they are sick. I’m not thou, I have been in isolation for two weeks (lost count), but I have to do my best to create another, albeit insufficient, transmission barrier between the world and my son. Do I have to print a t-shirt “I’m healthy and I’m doing my very best to keep my medically complex child healthy too”? I might have to. I complete my shopping with a weird polite shout through a plexi glass barrier with a clerk who is not even wearing gloves. I pack my own groceries, as per new store policy, well done there. As I start heading out the door my mental battle is over, I take a deep breath and start bawling my eyes out.

The emotional dam was already over capacity when I woke up this morning. This essential trip has pushed me over the edge and now the flood is imminent.

I live in a heightened state of stress already. Tomas’ seizures, his low blood ketone level and lack of any therapies and help has pushed me even further. My government’s response to protect the vulnerable said exactly zero words about how to help families with complex medical needs children, even thou there are couple thousand of them in this province alone. Instead my respite funding that ends today will not be renewed and I was placed on yet another bullshit wait list. So here I’m, gray, thinking hair, pushing a half empty cart and bawling, unable to contain the flood of bizarre emotions any longer.

I had to learn to be openly vulnerable, it was one of the hardest things, since I’m a control freak. I wouldn’t play group sports, because I have no control over people slacking. Yeah that’s how bad I have it. Competitive control freak living in a world that she has very limited control over. Now thrown into a bizarre outer reality of absolutely no control over other people’s actions… There is no way to pretend anymore that some control exists. So if I thought I have learned to be vulnerable I was utterly mistaken. I have learned how to internally deny certain aspects of my reality, but that reality’s boundary has just shifted and I’m trying to weather the storm of emotions that inevitably follow.

So I’m here, doing the very best thing for my mental health. Throwing that crap out into open through these words for everyone to see. We all are coping with various strategies. I thought I had it all figured out, but I don’t. To quote a line from “Ozark”; “There is a pain that uses you, and then there is a pain that you use…”

I’m choosing to use my pain. To grow, find strength to support my fellow “special parents”. To be the the responsible one, to be the kind one.

How about your pain, what will you do with it? No matter what you will or will not do, I trust you will do the best you can do in this given moment with the resources, skills, and knowledge you have.

My dear fellow GRIN parent asked me five questions last week. Here is the storm of words those questions have created. One of the questions was

What do you love about your child?

Unfiltered first thought was I love that he is alive, but at the same time I hate that he is alive. I love that there is a warm body to hold, but I hate the fact this body doesn’t belong to my daughter. I hate that this body might never use its arms to reach out to me and hug me. I hate that I have to forever move, carry, dress, clean, groom… this body. I’m writing this sitting in a hot bath, crying my eyes out trying to soak away the immense pain in my joints that came last week and barely goes away with painkillers.

November and December, together with June, are the most hated and feared months in my life. The celebrations, the gatherings, the joy is too much for my brain tormented by the physical and mental darkness. I drift away to the “just survive, somehow” mode, grow distant to my friends and to my husband. We carefully thread around each other, mindlessly ask “how are you doing?” not wanting to know the true answer. It’s just a way to fill the awkward silence between us. We still maintain the rule developed while Sara was at the ICU. Losing your shit is ok, but one at the time, please. I did my lion’s share of losing this weekend and the thoughts and words that came out of the hidden dark place were real and painful. I will stress here for the readers that I’m not suicidal, never was and most likely never will be. I don’t even bother fantasizing about it, since I know I’m too chicken shit to do it. So don’t worry about me.

All those awful feelings have the same origin. The absolute lack of control over my life. I’m a prisoner of my son’s disability and his medical needs. Day after day the same routine inside the walls of our house, isolated, separated, removed…

I’m the kind of person, sorry used to be, that doesn’t complain about the system but goes and finds a way within this system. That is a luxury I’m not longer allowed to have by the “disability prison system”. This system turned me into a complaining mother, who labels herself as a advocate out of shame and desperation. I have no control over my family’s financial well-being, since I can’t simply go and get a job, because nobody will care for my son. I’m sentenced by my own government to do it in perpetuity for free. Until I can do it no longer, forcing me to surrender my child into the care of the state. Whom ever will take him will immediately receive $2,000 a month tax free for their “work”, plus all the lifts they need for their house and a car. Makes sense? No. And look at me, I can’t even refrain from “advocating” when pouring my heart out into these pages. That’s how much this prison has changed me.

I tend to end my posts in a positive conclusion, upbeat message of hope. Sorry the injustice of my sentence is burning too deep today. It’s 9 am and the guard is banging on my door demanding me to resume the daily schedule. My Groundhog Day has begun,only I do not know the future and can’t change anything , or can I?

Ok upbeat ending once again, maybe I’m not completely damaged yet.