Pastor Mike stood up at the front of the chapel. He’d known Jack since he was baptized.
He talked for a while. About heaven. About grief. About how no parent should ever have to bury a child.
Then he looked down at his notes.
“Jack’s best friend, Theo Mitchell, has asked to share a few words.”
I’d almost forgotten.
Theo had asked me three days earlier, on our front porch, if he could speak at the funeral. He’d been so nervous asking. He kept shifting from foot to foot.
“Of course you can, honey,” I’d said. “Of course.”
He’d hugged me for a long time.
Now he stood up from the end of the third row. And he walked slowly to the front of the chapel. In that red dress.
Every single eye in that room followed him.
He stepped up to the podium. He gripped both sides of it so hard I could see his arms shaking.
He looked out at a hundred and forty people.
Then he spoke.
“I know a lot of you are wondering why I’m dressed like this.”
His voice was trembling.
He looked over at Jack’s coffin.
“And believe me, this wasn’t my idea. I borrowed it from my sister.”
A few people shifted in their seats. Rick muttered something under his breath.
Theo swallowed hard.
“But there’s a reason I’m wearing it. And it has everything to do with Jack.”
He paused.
“It’s because of a promise I made him.”
My heart squeezed in my chest.
Theo looked down at the podium.
“About six months ago, Jack and I were watching a really terrible movie in his bedroom.”
A faint smile crossed his face.
“Jack said it was a masterpiece. It definitely was not.”
A few of Jack’s classmates laughed quietly.
“He’d just gotten home from another appointment,” Theo said. “His mom and dad were still at work.”
I remembered that day.
It was a Thursday in April. The scan results weren’t good. The spots on his lungs were growing. Dr. Patel was talking about new treatment options. A clinical trial in Houston.
Daniel and I drove home from that appointment in total silence. We were both trying so hard to stay hopeful in front of Jack.
Theo looked down at his hands.
“That day,” he said, “Jack asked me if I’d speak at his funeral.”
I stopped breathing.
Next to me, Daniel slowly sat all the way back down in his chair.
Sophia Rivers is an experienced News Content Editor with a sharp eye for detail and a passion for delivering accurate and engaging news stories. At TheArchivists, she specializes in curating, editing, and presenting news content that informs and resonates with a global audience.
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