“Was he frightened?”
Theo hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Sometimes.”
I began crying again.
He gently put an arm around my shoulders.
“But not every day,” he added. “There were plenty of days when he was happy. He still laughed. He still made plans.”
That mattered more than he could have known.
Jack hadn’t spent his final months simply waiting for the worst.
He’d experienced hope and fear together.
And somehow, he’d made room for both.
For a long time afterward, people remembered the red dress Theo wore to my son’s funeral.
At first, that bothered me.
I didn’t want Jack’s life reduced to an unusual story about his best friend.
But eventually, I understood.
The dress wasn’t really about Theo.
It was evidence that even during the hardest months of his life, Jack had remained himself.
Funny.
Sarcastic.
Stubborn.
Thoughtful.
And always ready with one more ridiculous joke.
