And then—
we lost her.
Afterward, Ethan barely spoke.
Not about graduation.
Not about college.
Not about much of anything.
HIS FATHER HANDLED GRIEF DIFFERENTLY
My husband, Dean, became angry.
At doctors.
At himself.
At me.
At God.
At strangers who complained about ordinary problems.
Eventually—
even Ethan became somewhere for that anger to land.
So when Ethan showed us the dress and explained what he intended to do, Dean reacted immediately.
“Absolutely not.”
Ethan stood in our living room holding the dress.
“It’s my graduation.”
“Then dress like you’re graduating.”
“I am.”
Dean stared.
“What are you trying to prove?”
“Nothing.”
“Then don’t turn the entire ceremony into some spectacle.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened.
“This isn’t about you.”
Dean stood.
“And it shouldn’t be about Mary either.”
The moment those words came out—
I saw Ethan physically recoil.
Dean saw it too.
He didn’t apologize.
