After my son Mason died in a car accident, my seventeen-year-old daughter Hazel withdrew from everyone except her best friend, Eli. Mason had always called her “Hazelnut” and promised to take her to prom if she needed a date. Now she barely wanted to leave her room.
I persuaded Hazel to try on a prom dress, hoping the outing might lift her spirits. Instead, several boutiques turned her away, and one saleswoman told her plainly that she was too big for the gown she liked. Hazel came home, locked her door, and said she wasn’t going.
A few days later, Eli asked for Hazel’s measurements. He spent the next two weeks sewing an ivory dress covered in silk roses. When prom night arrived, Hazel was frightened, but Eli promised they could leave after one song. She put on the dress and went with him.
At the dance, Eli asked Hazel to look beneath its largest rose. Tucked into the fabric was embroidered silk. He explained that he had taken the cruel words classmates had said about her and stitched them into something beautiful. Some of those classmates recognized their words and came forward to speak to her.
Watching Hazel cry, I thought of Mason’s promise. Eli had found a way to be beside her when her brother could not.