The Red Dress at My Son's Funeral
Caleb stared at the final paragraph for so long that I thought he might faint.
His fingers trembled around the paper.
The red fabric moved slightly as he struggled to breathe.
I sat frozen beside David.
All around us, nearly two hundred people waited.
Finally, Caleb lifted the note closer to his face.
“Ethan wrote this three days before he died,” he whispered.
Then he began reading.
“Mom, Dad, if Caleb ever tells you this, please don't be upset with him. I asked him to keep something from you, because I couldn't stand watching you lose hope while I was still here.”
I felt David's hand tighten around mine.
Caleb swallowed.
“Everyone kept telling me to be strong. The doctors. The nurses. Our relatives. Even you two.”
His voice cracked.
“But sometimes I didn't want to be strong. Sometimes I wanted to be nineteen and frightened and angry that I was going to miss everything.”
