PART 3
A painful murmur moved through the chapel.
“I told him he was being ridiculous. I said we’d be laughing about all this in ten years. I told him he would be standing at my wedding, embarrassing me in front of my future wife, and reminding everyone that I used to cry whenever my mother left me at school.”
A few people smiled through their tears.
Theo managed a small, trembling smile, too.
“Jack laughed. Then he looked at me and said, ‘I’m serious, man.’”
Theo paused, staring at the coffin.
“He asked me to wear a red dress to his funeral.”
My husband stiffened beside me.
I felt as though the entire room had tilted.
“A dress?” Daniel whispered.
Theo nodded.
“He told me that when he was little, he once saw a photograph of a woman wearing a beautiful red dress. He said she looked fearless. She looked like someone who didn’t care if the whole world was staring at her.”
Theo took a breath.
“Jack told me he wanted one person at his funeral who wasn’t afraid to look different. Someone who would make people uncomfortable enough to stop pretending they understood everything about another person.”
He glanced at the guests.
“But that wasn’t the most important part.”
His fingers tightened around the edges of the podium.
“Jack told me he was afraid that after he died, people would remember him only as the sick boy. The boy who lost his hair. The boy who couldn’t walk upstairs without getting exhausted. The boy everyone felt sorry for.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“He said, ‘I don’t want people to remember me because I died, Theo. I want them to remember that I lived.’”
A sob escaped someone near the back.
Theo lowered his head.
“He made me promise to wear something bright. Something impossible to ignore. And he told me that if anybody laughed, stared, or whispered, I wasn’t allowed to explain myself until I had finished telling everyone what he wanted them to hear.”
For the first time since Theo had entered the chapel, I understood.
The red dress wasn’t a joke.
It wasn’t disrespect.
It was the final gift my son had asked his best friend to give him.
Daniel slowly sat back down.
I reached for his hand, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at Theo with an expression I had never seen on his face before.
Regret.
Theo continued.
“Jack also told me something else. Something I promised not to share until today.”
He reached into the pocket of the dress and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“He wrote this himself.”
My heart stopped.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
It was Jack’s handwriting, the same uneven letters he used on birthday cards and school assignments when his hands were shaking too badly to write properly.
Theo unfolded the paper.
“Dear Mom and Dad,” he began.
My knees weakened.
“I’m sorry I never told you this while I was alive. I know you were already carrying enough pain, and I didn’t want to make you sadder than you already were.”
Daniel covered his mouth.
Theo struggled through the next sentence.
“Mom, I know you sometimes sit beside my bed at night and think I’m sleeping. I hear you crying. Dad, I know you go into the garage when you need to cry because you don’t want Mom to see you.”
Daniel bent forward.
A sound came from his throat that I had never heard before. It was the sound of a father whose heart had finally broken in front of other people.
Theo stopped reading, allowing us a moment.
Then he continued.
“I need you both to know that I was never angry about being sick. I was angry that I couldn’t do all the things I thought I would do. I wanted to travel. I wanted to drive a car. I wanted to fall in love and get married. I wanted to be old enough to complain about my back hurting.”
A few people laughed softly through their tears.
“But I had something many people spend their whole lives looking for. I had people who loved me. I had a home where I never felt alone. I had a best friend who stayed even when things got ugly.”
Theo’s voice broke.
“And I had parents who gave me everything they could, even when they couldn’t give me the one thing I wanted most.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“I love you, Mom and Dad. Please don’t spend the rest of your lives thinking you should have done something differently. You took me to every appointment. You held my hand. You stayed awake when I couldn’t sleep. You fought for me when I was too tired to fight for myself.”
Theo wiped his eyes.
“Please don’t turn my death into a punishment for yourselves.”
I buried my face in Daniel’s shoulder.
For fourteen months, I had asked myself the same questions every night.
Had I noticed the symptoms too late?
Had I chosen the wrong hospital?
Should I have insisted on another treatment?
Should I have spent less time working and more time sitting beside his bed?
I had replayed every decision until even my happiest memories were covered in guilt.
And now my son, in his own handwriting, was asking me to stop.
Theo turned the page.
“There is one more thing Jack asked me to do,” he said quietly. “He wanted me to tell you what happened the night we talked about the red dress.”
He looked directly at Daniel.
“Mr. Harris, do you remember the night Jack asked you to teach him how to shave?”
Daniel nodded, unable to speak.
“He told me afterward that he had never seen you so happy. He said you treated him like he was a grown man, even though he could barely stand in front of the bathroom mirror.”
Theo swallowed.
“Jack told me that was the first time in months he had forgotten he was dying.”
Daniel began to cry harder.
“And Mrs. Harris, he told me about the night you sang to him when the pain was so bad he couldn’t sleep. He said you sang terribly.”
