And he had been doing it right back at me the entire time.
Two people in a house lying to each other out of love, and the only honest conversation in that entire house was happening on a bedroom floor between two teenagers.
Then He Reached Into the Pocket of the Dress, and That Stupid Thing Had Pockets
I laughed. Out loud, at my son’s funeral, because that dress had pockets and Jack Harris would have considered that a personal victory.
Theo took out a folded piece of notebook paper.
“This is why I didn’t just blow him off.”
He held it up.
“He wrote it down.”
My head came up so fast that Daniel’s hand came off mine.
And Theo looked right at me across that chapel and said:
“Mrs. Harris, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you before today. I just — I couldn’t do it.”
What My Son Wrote Was Three Numbered Items and the First One Made a Funeral Laugh
