"Go when you need to," she told her dying son, Charlie. And then he did

Charlie's mom had been sleeping with her little boy for months, and near the end as he grew weaker, cancer taking him away, she whispered it to him each night.

It's OK," she said. You go when you need to."

Charlie Paparo, the Hamilton boy who loved dinosaurs and Spider-Man and lollipops and the colour yellow, died on May 4, three months and 12 days after his fourth birthday.

Just over two weeks earlier, he had been strong enough to witness a parade in front of his east Mountain home, where family and friends drove by with signs and balloons to honour Charlie - at a distance due to COVID-19.

That sparked a second parade three days later, organized by a church, featuring a fleet of fire trucks, police cars, motorcycles and tow trucks.

But Charlie was even weaker by then. His mom, Christina Winton, close friend Amanda Lera, and Charlie's dad, Phil, described the parade to him from inside the house.

He wanted to go outside, but it's not easy for people to see a child like that," says Winton. He couldn't sit up, we were supporting his head like he was an infant."

And yet, while the terminally ill boy faded, in his final minutes with his family he wrote his own ending, as though taking a page from his beloved superheroes.

He was born Jan. 21, 2016, and was diagnosed with an aggressive sarcoma tumour in his right calf in May 2018.

The tumour was removed and he received treatment, but relapsed the following year. At that point, his body seemed to respond well to chemo and radiation, and was starting protocols for remission, when a scan in November 2019 showed the cancer had returned and spread.

He was sleeping with his mom, so his bedroom turned into a playroom where he kept his superhero costumes, as well as a mini sandbox where he played excavating and reassembling dinosaur bones.

He also created multicourse meals with a toy kitchen set, insisting that his family sit and eat every last imaginary bite.

He had such an infectious personality," says Lera. It was just so pure and genuine. Everyone he met fell in love with him."

In January, Charlie chose his Make-A-Wish Foundation experience: an RV road trip. Winton and Lera drove him to Halifax.

What Winton didn't anticipate was that her cousin, Ryan, who is in the military, would set up a visit for Charlie on a navy ship in port.

It was incredible," says Winton. They called all personnel on deck and saluted Charlie, who was promoted to captain ... They didn't even know he was terminal; they just knew that a little boy in remission was coming on board. When we disembarked they did Three cheers for Captain Charlie.'"

They also presented him with badges they stripped from their uniforms, and gave him a stuffed toy black Lab. Charlie immediately named it Rocky Sonar, after learning about sonar on the ship.

They headed back home, stopping to play in the snow on the way, and celebrated his birthday.

The first week in March, his treatment was stopped, and he left McMaster Children's Hospital for the last time.

Sunday night, May 3, he lay in bed with his mom, joined by Lera, and his dad.

A nurse was in the room, too, working at a desk that had been set up.

The family had decided that when Charlie died, they would - on the spot - hold yellow glow sticks, eat Ring Pop candies and light a firecracker out the bedroom window in his honour; all his favourite things.

They had talked about that moment, when Charlie would be free from pain.

He couldn't be himself anymore," says Lera. Not strapped to that body."

They kept checking Charlie's heart rate with a monitor as he slept.

Just after 11 p.m., he stopped breathing. His heart stopped.

They thought the nurse was about to pronounce him. They began saying final words through their tears.

But Charlie was not done.

He took six deep breaths. His heart came alive.

He had his own agenda," says Winton. Sneaky kid."

Now they wondered if maybe Charlie didn't want to miss his own party, so they broke out the glow sticks and candy, and lit the firecracker.

And then, 48 minutes after his heart had restarted, just after midnight, at 12:02, Charlie died.

They had a special casket ready for him, painted yellow and with dinosaurs on it. They sat with him at home the next day.

Just before he was cremated, his mom was the one who closed the lid.

They had placed a favourite toy and candy inside the casket, but held back Rocky Sonar, the black Lab. Winton has a friend who is going to sew a zipper into the toy, where some of Charlie's ashes will be kept.

Mother's Day, one week after he died, was tough. Charlie was Winton's only child, and she says she won't have another. She had only ever wanted a second so he would have a sibling.

It has been difficult, too, parting with some of his toys; watching a family that bought the big kitchen set drop by with their child to pick it up.

Charlie filled the house with so much.

It feels pretty empty," says Lera. Before, you were always either playing with him or caring for him."

For Winton, the hardest times are in the middle of the night, trying to sleep in the house, alone, her mind wandering.

But she has a tight circle of friends who check on her in person constantly, and they chat online all the time.

One of the friends, Nicole Ransome, sent her a poem dedicated to Charlie just the other night. She loves it:

We knew you were sick but still so strong/ Only a superhero would have the strength to fight so long/ Our hero who battled a beast/ It's time for you to be in peace/ Have a lollipop for us and fly high in the sky/ Please check in on us from time to time."

Charlie's mom reminds herself that while her boy left far too soon, he lived all his days full-tilt.

He crammed a lot into those four years."

That included, on the day he finally left hospital, a little dance party in his driveway.

Charlie had been so happy to be set free from the chains of the IV and needles.

I want it gone forever," he said of his IV port.

That evening, as the music played, he held a sparkler for the very first time.

Charlie stared at the golden sparks dancing, and while twirling the wand in circles, could see the traces of magic left behind.

Jon Wells is a Hamilton-based reporter and feature writer for The Spectator. Reach him via email: jwells@thespec.com