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"A lot of parents, at that time, they're so wrapped up in their own situation, most of the time they're not real receptive emotionally to hearing somebody else's story," Kittiko said. "The one family I actually told [about Eric], the night before their son died, I used that as an introduction just to share with them that I had been through a similar experience.

"It was an opportunity for them to talk about what their concerns were" for their child's final moments, Kittiko said, "and not necessarily so much to share my story, but to offer myself for whatever questions they might have. I remember this particular couple, especially the dad, asking about siblings. He was real interested to hear how my daughters coped and how we helped them to cope with it."

All-star

Baseball was one of Eric's passions. He not only loved to follow his Atlanta Braves, but at 15, he played well enough to merit selection as a local all-star second baseman. At 5-foot-8, he was making big steps toward fulfilling his big league dreams, both figuratively and literally: A growth spurt pushed his shoe size from 8 to 12 in just one year.

In the summer of 1996, Eric went to a weeklong baseball camp to hone his skills. He was named the camp's most improved player, made all the more remarkable because of a persistent left knee pain that hobbled his fielding and running ability. Kittiko said no one, including Eric, remembered how he hurt his knee-a bike fall, a baseball slide or a long hike through his beloved North Georgia Mountains could have strained it.

"He was always an outdoor kid," Kittiko said. "I have pictures of him riding his tricycle over a mound of snow when we lived up in Michigan. Nothing detracted him."

The Tuesday after Labor Day, Eric could not stand the pain any longer. His mother took him for X-rays and, that September afternoon, they learned of a 7- by 9-centimeter tumor found in his left femur. A biopsy result the next Monday revealed a malignancy, and Eric was diagnosed with osteogenic sarcoma, one of the most common types of bone cancer disease in children. The Kittikos had no family history of cancer, and doctors had no answer to the potential cause of Eric's cancer.

"I was completely stunned and so was Eric," Kittiko said. "Eric had been very healthy. He had a broken collarbone when he was 3, and had stitches twice. Nothing else."

He started a chemotherapy program within weeks, on a day that brought a new wrinkle to the family's struggle. Youngest daughter Katie had her 13th birthday on Eric's first day of treatments. Even with friends, presents and a cake, Katie's special day was robbed of its celebration. Kittiko said she found herself at a loss to help her daughters cope.

"What people say about healthy children is that 'they just need to understand.' I don't accept that philosophy," Kittiko said. "How could I expect them to understand when it's hard for me to understand?"

Life after death

Since moving into her nursing education administrative role in May 2001, Kittiko doesn't see many patients these days. But she has a regular visitor.

On certain mornings a young boy peeks through her open door, having discovered a freely accessible candy jar in her office near the family kitchen at Atlanta Children's. He steps inside for a treat upon Kittiko's warm invitation.

His candy quest has given Kittiko the opportunity to befriend his mother, who brings the child to visit his hospitalized brother being treated for acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Kittiko talks with her regularly to follow the boy's progress, but mainly listens. Because the child's prognosis is good, she refrains from talking about herself and Eric.

"She is not someone I would necessarily tell," Kittiko said. "I think with a lot of people, [Eric's story] can give them hope that there is life after death, and that I appear to be coping well and surviving and doing fine. But a lot of parents are going to believe their child is going to be a survivor, and that's what they need to believe" and focus on.

The Kittikos believed early in Eric's illness that he would beat the cancer, especially when finding out that the survival rate was between 70 percent and 80 percent, according to Kittiko. Eric learned to talk with his sisters, Katie and Becky, about his disease and reassure them of his will to fight, even though nine months of chemotherapy wreaked as much havoc on Eric's frail system as it did the tumor, it seems.