And sometimes it meant finding a way to live after losing someone you couldn't imagine living without.
That evening, Caleb asked me to say a few words.
I walked toward the microphone.
For a moment, I stared at the audience.
Families.
Friends.
Volunteers.
People who had never met Ethan.
But whose lives had been touched by something he once said in his bedroom.
I took a breath.
“My son was nineteen when he died.”
The room grew quiet.
“He was funny. Stubborn. Sometimes impossible.”
A few people smiled.
“He loved terrible movies and thought he was much better at chess than he actually was.”
Laughter moved through the room.
I smiled.
“And he had a best friend named Caleb.”
I looked toward him.
He was standing beside Rachel.
His eyes were already filling.
I continued.
“On the day we buried Ethan, Caleb walked into the chapel wearing a red dress.”
