Jack never made a big deal about it.
He’d just say, “Mom, Theo’s staying.”
Not asking.
Informing.
I always said yes.
When Jack got sick, Theo returned the favor in a way I still don’t know how to describe.
He came over after school.
Did homework on Jack’s bedroom floor.
Watched bad movies with him.
Hair loss.
Steroids.
The days Jack didn’t want to speak.
The days he couldn’t stop speaking because he was terrified that if he went quiet, everyone else would get scared.
There were weeks Theo saw more of my son than I did because Daniel and I were working opposite shifts trying to keep our jobs while living at the hospital.
Theo never complained.
So when he walked into the funeral wearing a red dress, I didn’t understand.
It was bright red. Knee-length.
Simple, but impossible to miss in a room full of black, navy, and gray.
