Then Theo got quieter.
“When Jack got sick, everybody started calling him brave.”
He looked down. “He hated that.”
I knew that.
Jack once told me:
“Mom, if one more adult tells me I’m brave while putting a needle in me, I’m going to become violent.”
Theo continued.
“He said being sick wasn’t brave. It was just happening to him.”
Theo’s hands tightened around the podium.
“But I think there was one thing he was brave about.”
He looked at us.
“He knew before most of us were willing to know.”
I closed my eyes. “He knew he might die.”
The words hurt even though we’d already buried him.
“And somehow he still spent half his time trying to make everybody else less afraid.”
Theo touched the dress.
“This wasn’t Jack making fun of me.”
He smiled.
“Okay. It was partly Jack making fun of me.”
More laughter.
“But mostly I think he wanted one last thing he could control.”
That landed harder than anything else.
Cancer had taken control away from Jack piece by piece.
His school. His hair. His appetite. His privacy. His plans.
Eventually, his ability to walk without help.
But he had chosen this.
A red dress.
A promise.
A joke waiting six months for its punch line.
Theo finished, “So this is for Jack.”
He looked down at himself.
“I hate it.”
His sister called from the back, “You look great!”
The room erupted.
Even I laughed.
Theo shook his head.
“Thank you, Emma.”
Then he looked at the coffin one final time.
“You win, idiot.”
And stepped away.
After the service, everyone wanted to talk to Theo.
That was almost funny considering how many of them had stared when he entered.
Daniel’s brother was first.
He walked over awkwardly.
“Theo.”
Theo looked nervous.
My brother-in-law cleared his throat.
