Theo paused.
“He hated it.”
I let out a small, broken laugh.
Jack had once told me, “Mom, if one more adult calls me brave while sticking a needle in my arm, I’m going to become a criminal.”
Theo smiled.
“He told me being sick wasn’t brave. It was just happening to him. He said he didn’t have a choice.”
His expression grew serious.
“But I think he was wrong about one thing.”
He looked toward the coffin.
“He was brave when he let us see him on the days he couldn’t pretend everything was okay. He was brave when he admitted he was scared. And he was brave when he kept making plans, even though he knew things might not work out the way he wanted.”
Theo’s voice trembled.
“I used to think hope meant believing everything would turn out fine. Jack taught me that you can hope for something and still be afraid of losing it.”
