“Aaron, what are you doing with that?” I asked, although I already knew.
He ran his thumb along the seam. “I want to wear it to graduation.”
For a moment, I thought grief had made me misunderstand him. “You want to wear Mary’s dress?”
Everyone Laughed When My Son Walked Across the Graduation Stage in a Red Dress—Until He Revealed Why He Was
“Yes.”
I pulled out the chair across from him. My first response was not anger. It was fear. I imagined the auditorium, the phones, the comments that would follow him long after the ceremony ended. I imagined strangers reducing my son to a picture and a joke.
“People will laugh,” I told him.
“I know.”
“They will record you.”
“I know that too.”
“And once those videos are online, we cannot take them back.”
Aaron finally looked at me. His eyes were exhausted, but there was no uncertainty in them. “I know, Mom. I have thought about all of it.”
I reached across the table. “Then please do not make yourself suffer again. You have already lost enough.”
