My son\u2019s best friend read the eulogy at his funeral in a red dress.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve known Wes since he was seven. He lives four houses down. He\u2019s slept in our spare room more times than I could count, and he was at our table three Christmases in a row when things were bad at his house.<\/p>\n
And when Miles got sick, Wes was there every single day.<\/p>\n
We found out late. Too late, as it turned out, and the treatment never caught up with it.<\/p>\n
Fourteen months. Wes sat on that bedroom floor through all of it. He did homework there. He fell asleep there. There were weeks he saw my son more than I did.<\/p>\n
So when he walked in like that, I didn\u2019t understand.<\/p>\n
I thought maybe they\u2019d fallen out and nobody had told me.<\/p>\n
I actually turned to the boys sitting near me and started asking: did something happen? Did they argue? Is this about something?<\/p>\n
Nobody knew. They were all just staring at him.<\/p>\n
And I\u2019ll be honest. Part of me thought he\u2019d done it on purpose. To be looked at. At my son\u2019s funeral.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t know what to do. Whether to have somebody take him outside or just sit there and get through it.<\/p>\n
We were already in pieces. And then this\u2026<\/p>\n
My husband stood up. He didn\u2019t say a word, just stood, and I grabbed his sleeve because I knew exactly where it was going.<\/p>\n
That\u2019s when Wes walked up to the podium.<\/p>\n
He stood there a long time without saying anything. People were whispering behind me.<\/p>\n
Then he looked out at the room.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know half of you want me out of here right now.\u201d<\/p>\n
He stopped. He had to.<\/p>\n
Then he looked down at the dress.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I know how this looks. It isn\u2019t even mine. I borrowed it from my sister. The reason I\u2019m standing here in it is very simple. And it\u2019s the saddest thing I know.\u201d<\/p>\n
He reached out and pulled the microphone closer.<\/p>\n
Wes swallowed. His voice cracked. My husband, Russell, was still half-standing beside me, and I still had one hand wrapped around his sleeve.<\/p>\n
The room went quiet.<\/p>\n
My son Miles died 17 days after his 18th birthday.<\/p>\n
Cancer.<\/p>\n
Fourteen months from diagnosis to funeral.<\/p>\n
It still feels obscene to reduce his life to those facts.<\/p>\n
Miles loved old horror movies and burned grilled cheese because he refused to cook it on low heat.<\/p>\n
He hated tomatoes but ate ketchup on everything.<\/p>\n
He could name almost every capital city in the world and couldn\u2019t remember to bring his laundry downstairs.<\/p>\n
And Wes had been beside him for most of it.<\/p>\n
The boys met when they were seven.<\/p>\n
Wes lived four houses down.<\/p>\n
By ten, he practically lived at ours.<\/p>\n
He slept in our spare room so often that I eventually stopped calling it the spare room.<\/p>\n
It became \u201cWes\u2019s room.\u201d<\/p>\n
His home life wasn\u2019t easy.<\/p>\n
His parents separated twice, reconciled twice, then finally divorced with enough bitterness to poison every holiday afterward.<\/p>\n
There were years when Wes spent Christmas with us because neither parent could agree whose house he was supposed to be at.<\/p>\n
Miles never made a big deal about it.<\/p>\n
He\u2019d just say, \u201cMom, Wes is staying.\u201d<\/p>\n
Not asking.<\/p>\n
Informing.<\/p>\n
I always said yes.<\/p>\n
When Miles got sick, Wes returned the favor in a way I still don\u2019t know how to describe.<\/p>\n
He came over after school.<\/p>\n
Did homework on Miles\u2019s bedroom floor.<\/p>\n
Watched bad movies with him.<\/p>\n
Hair loss.<\/p>\n
Steroids.<\/p>\n
The days Miles didn\u2019t want to speak.<\/p>\n
The days he couldn\u2019t stop speaking because he was terrified that if he went quiet, everyone else would get scared.<\/p>\n
There were weeks Wes saw more of my son than I did, because Russell and I were working opposite shifts, trying to keep our jobs while living at the hospital.<\/p>\n
Wes never complained.<\/p>\n
So when he walked into the funeral wearing a red dress, I didn\u2019t understand.<\/p>\n
It was bright red. Knee-length.<\/p>\n
Simple, but impossible to miss in a room full of black, navy, and gray.<\/p>\n
People turned.<\/p>\n
Some openly stared.<\/p>\n
One of Russell\u2019s brothers whispered, \u201cWhat the hell?\u201d<\/p>\n
My first thought embarrasses me now.<\/p>\n
I thought Wes was trying to make the funeral about himself.<\/p>\n
Then I thought maybe he and Miles had fought before Miles died.<\/p>\n
Something secret.<\/p>\n
Something ugly.<\/p>\n
I leaned toward two of Miles\u2019s school friends.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid something happen between them?\u201d<\/p>\n
Both shook their heads.<\/p>\n
One whispered, \u201cNo, Mrs. Bennett.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wes sat alone near the aisle.<\/p>\n
His hands were clenched together so tightly.<\/p>\n
Russell saw him a few minutes later.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is he doing?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is Miles\u2019s funeral.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
He started to stand.<\/p>\n
I grabbed his sleeve. \u201cDon\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s wearing a dress.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can see that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
Russell\u2019s face was raw from 17 days of barely sleeping.<\/p>\n
Mine probably looked the same.<\/p>\n
Grief makes you less patient with mystery.<\/p>\n
Everything feels like one more insult you don\u2019t have room to absorb.<\/p>\n
Then Wes\u2019s name was announced for the eulogy.<\/p>\n
I had forgotten he was supposed to speak.<\/p>\n
He stood.<\/p>\n
The whispers followed him all the way to the microphone.<\/p>\n
Now he was staring at the coffin.<\/p>\n
\u201cAbout six months ago, Miles and I were watching this terrible movie in his room.\u201d<\/p>\n
A tiny smile appeared.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said it was a classic. It was not.\u201d<\/p>\n
A few of Miles\u2019s friends laughed softly.<\/p>\n
Wes continued.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019d just gotten back from another scan. His parents weren\u2019t home yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at Russell.<\/p>\n
I remembered that scan.<\/p>\n
The results had been bad.<\/p>\n
Not hopeless. Not officially.<\/p>\n
But bad enough that the doctor had started using phrases like \u201cnext-line treatment\u201d and \u201cmanaging expectations.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wes said, \u201cMiles asked me if I\u2019d speak at his funeral.\u201d<\/p>\n
The air left my chest.<\/p>\n
Russell sat down.<\/p>\n
Wes looked toward us.<\/p>\n
\u201cI told him to shut up.\u201d<\/p>\n
His eyes filled.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was mad at him for even saying it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then he laughed through his tears.<\/p>\n
\u201cI told him, \u2018I\u2019ll speak at your funeral when you show up to mine wearing a dress.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
Several people smiled.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
I already knew where this was going.<\/p>\n
Wes continued.<\/p>\n
\u201cMiles said, \u2018Fine. Then you have to wear one to mine.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
Wes looked down at the red fabric.<\/p>\n
\u201cI told him absolutely not.\u201d<\/p>\n
He paused.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen he said red.\u201d<\/p>\n
My hands began shaking.<\/p>\n
\u201cSpecifically red. Because he said black makes me look like an undertaker.\u201d<\/p>\n
Someone behind me laughed and immediately started crying.<\/p>\n
Wes\u2019s voice weakened.<\/p>\n
\u201cI told him there wasn\u2019t going to be a funeral.\u201d<\/p>\n
He stopped again.<\/p>\n
This time he couldn\u2019t hide the tears.<\/p>\n
\u201cI said he was going to get better.\u201d<\/p>\n
The room was completely silent.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said, \u2018Probably.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
Wes wiped his face with the back of his hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut then he made me promise.\u201d<\/p>\n
\nI couldn\u2019t breathe.<\/p>\n
Miles had never told us.<\/p>\n
Not once.<\/p>\n
He had asked us whether his hair would grow back.<\/p>\n
Whether he could still go to college.<\/p>\n
Whether we\u2019d let him travel if treatment worked.<\/p>\n
He talked about the future so constantly that I assumed he believed in it as strongly as I needed to.<\/p>\n
But six months before his death, my son had made his best friend promise what to wear to his funeral.<\/p>\n
Wes said, \u201cI thought if I didn\u2019t promise, he\u2019d think I was scared.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at Miles\u2019s coffin.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was scared.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then he reached into the pocket of the dress.<\/p>\n
Yes.<\/p>\n
The stupid thing had pockets.<\/p>\n
Miles would have appreciated that.<\/p>\n
Wes unfolded a piece of paper.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is why I didn\u2019t just ignore him.\u201d<\/p>\n
He held it up.<\/p>\n
\u201cMiles wrote it down.\u201d<\/p>\n
My head snapped toward him.<\/p>\n
Wes looked at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cMrs. Bennett, I\u2019m sorry. I should\u2019ve told you before today. I just\u2026 I couldn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
He unfolded the paper.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt says, \u2018Wes, if you\u2019re reading this because I died, first of all, that\u2019s embarrassing for me.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
A ripple of laughter passed through the room.<\/p>\n
Real laughter.<\/p>\n
Painful, but real.<\/p>\n
That sounded exactly like Miles.<\/p>\n
Wes kept reading.<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2018Second, you promised. Red dress. Don\u2019t chicken out just because my relatives are judgmental.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
Russell made a sound beside me that was half sob, half laugh.<\/p>\n
Wes looked toward Russell\u2019s brother.<\/p>\n
A few people laughed harder.<\/p>\n
Then Wes\u2019s face changed.<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2018Third, don\u2019t let my funeral be the first time you lie to me just because I\u2019m not there to call you out.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
Wes lowered the paper.<\/p>\n
\u201cI almost didn\u2019t come.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at him.<\/p>\n
He said, \u201cMy dad told me not to wear it. My mom said people would misunderstand. My sister told me I was insane.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then he glanced down. \u201cBut she gave me the dress anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n
A young woman near the back covered her mouth.<\/p>\n
Wes\u2019s sister.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d barely noticed her.<\/p>\n
Wes looked at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t want to upset you.\u201d<\/p>\n
That broke me.<\/p>\n
Because he\u2019d been sitting ten feet away, terrified of hurting us, while I\u2019d been wondering whether to have him removed.<\/p>\n
I stood.<\/p>\n
Russell looked at me.<\/p>\n
I walked toward Wes.<\/p>\n
He froze.<\/p>\n
For one horrible second, I think he thought I was coming to take him away from the microphone.<\/p>\n
Instead, I hugged him.<\/p>\n
He was taller than me now.<\/p>\n
When had that happened?<\/p>\n
I\u2019d known this boy since he had missing teeth.<\/p>\n
Now he folded into me and started sobbing.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI should\u2019ve told you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t mean to make today worse.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
I held the back of his head.<\/p>\n
\u201cFinish it.\u201d<\/p>\n
He pulled away.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you sure?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFinish what Miles asked you to say.\u201d<\/p>\n
I returned to my seat.<\/p>\n
Russell was crying openly now.<\/p>\n
Wes stood at the microphone again.<\/p>\n
He looked at the paper.<\/p>\n
Then he folded it. \u201cI actually wrote a eulogy.\u201d<\/p>\n
He lifted several pages from the podium.<\/p>\n
\u201cSeven pages.\u201d<\/p>\n
A voice from Miles\u2019s school friends said, \u201cJeez, Wes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wes laughed.<\/p>\n
\u201cExactly. Miles would\u2019ve hated it.\u201d<\/p>\n
He put the pages aside.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo I\u2019m not reading it.\u201d<\/p>\n
And instead he talked.<\/p>\n
Not about cancer.<\/p>\n
Not mostly.<\/p>\n
He talked about the time they were 12 and accidentally broke our garage window with a hockey puck, then spent three hours inventing increasingly stupid explanations.<\/p>\n
They eventually blamed a bird.<\/p>\n
Russell had asked, \u201cWhat kind of bird carries a hockey puck?\u201d<\/p>\n
Miles answered, \u201cA strong one.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wes told everyone about Miles cheating at Monopoly and insisting it wasn\u2019t cheating because \u201cthe bank has insurance.\u201d<\/p>\n
He talked about the first day of high school, when Wes had a panic attack in the bathroom, and Miles sat on the floor outside the stall pretending they were skipping class intentionally.<\/p>\n
Then Wes got quieter.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen Miles got sick, everybody started calling him brave.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked down. \u201cHe hated that.\u201d<\/p>\n
I knew that.<\/p>\n
Miles once told me:<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, if one more adult tells me I\u2019m brave while putting a needle in me, I\u2019m going to become violent.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wes continued.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said being sick wasn\u2019t brave. It was just happening to him.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wes\u2019s hands tightened around the podium.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I think there was one thing he was brave about.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at us.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe knew before most of us were willing to know.\u201d<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes. He knew he might die.<\/p>\n
The words hurt even though we\u2019d already buried him.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd somehow he still spent half his time trying to make everybody else less afraid.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wes touched the dress.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis wasn\u2019t Miles making fun of me.\u201d<\/p>\n
He smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay. It was partly Miles making fun of me.\u201d<\/p>\n
More laughter.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut mostly I think he wanted one last thing he could control.\u201d<\/p>\n
That landed harder than anything else.<\/p>\n
Cancer had taken control away from Miles piece by piece.<\/p>\n
His school. His hair. His appetite. His privacy. His plans.<\/p>\n
Eventually, his ability to walk without help.<\/p>\n
But he had chosen this.<\/p>\n
A red dress.<\/p>\n
A promise.<\/p>\n
A joke waiting six months for its punch line.<\/p>\n
Wes finished, \u201cSo this is for Miles.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked down at himself.<\/p>\n
\u201cI hate it.\u201d<\/p>\n
His sister called from the back, \u201cYou look great!\u201d<\/p>\n
The room erupted.<\/p>\n
Even I laughed.<\/p>\n
Wes shook his head.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you, Josie.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then he looked at the coffin one final time.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou win, idiot.\u201d<\/p>\n
And stepped away.<\/p>\n
After the service, everyone wanted to talk to Wes.<\/p>\n
That was almost funny, considering how many of them had stared when he entered.<\/p>\n
Russell\u2019s brother was first.<\/p>\n
He walked over awkwardly.
\n
\n\u201cWes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wes looked nervous.<\/p>\n
My brother-in-law cleared his throat.<\/p>\n
\u201cI owe you an apology.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFor what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was judging you before you even sat down.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wes shrugged.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s okay.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked toward Miles\u2019s coffin.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt isn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then he held out his hand.<\/p>\n
Wes shook it.<\/p>\n
Others followed.<\/p>\n
Some hugged him.<\/p>\n
Some told him Miles would have loved it.<\/p>\n
One elderly aunt said, \u201cI still don\u2019t understand boys today, but your speech was beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wes said, \u201cHonestly, that\u2019s fair.\u201d<\/p>\n
For the first time all day, I saw something close to the Wes I knew.<\/p>\n
Later, after most people had gone to the reception hall, Wes found me alone beside the photographs we\u2019d displayed of Miles.<\/p>\n
There was one of the two boys at eight years old.<\/p>\n
Mud from head to toe.<\/p>\n
Missing shoes.<\/p>\n
Grinning like criminals.<\/p>\n
Wes stood beside me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI need to tell you something.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMiles didn\u2019t want you to know.\u201d<\/p>\n
My stomach tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cKnow what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat he thought he was going to die.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at the photograph.<\/p>\n
Wes rushed on.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot because he didn\u2019t trust you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said you and Mr. Bennett needed hope.\u201d<\/p>\n
That hurt.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe was the sick one.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI told him that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did he say?\u201d<\/p>\n
Wes smiled sadly.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said, \u2018Yeah, but Mom\u2019s dramatic.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
I laughed through my tears.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat little jerk.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe loved you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe wasn\u2019t pretending to be hopeful.\u201d<\/p>\n
That mattered.<\/p>\n
I looked at him.<\/p>\n
Wes said, \u201cHe wanted college. He wanted to travel. He really thought treatment might work.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then he added, \u201cHe just knew it might not.\u201d<\/p>\n
Both things.<\/p>\n
Hope and fear.<\/p>\n
My 18-year-old son had somehow learned they could exist together before I did.<\/p>\n
I asked Wes, \u201cDid he talk about dying often?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cReally?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe three times.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cWas he scared?\u201d<\/p>\n
Wes didn\u2019t answer immediately.<\/p>\n
That was answer enough.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d he finally said.<\/p>\n
I started crying again.<\/p>\n
Wes put an arm around me.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe wasn\u2019t scared all the time.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you for not lying.\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cI promised him that too.\u201d<\/p>\n
The red dress became one of the things people remembered about Miles\u2019s funeral.<\/p>\n
For a while, that bothered me.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t want my son\u2019s life reduced to some strange story people told about a boy in a dress.<\/p>\n
But eventually, I understood why people remembered it.<\/p>\n
The dress wasn\u2019t really about Wes.<\/p>\n
It wasn\u2019t even about the joke.<\/p>\n
It was proof that Miles had still been Miles when death was close enough for him to see.<\/p>\n
Sarcastic. Controlling. Funny. Annoying.<\/p>\n
Thinking six months ahead about how to make his best friend uncomfortable.<\/p>\n
Wes gave the dress back to Josie the next day.<\/p>\n
She refused to take it.<\/p>\n
She told him, \u201cAbsolutely not. It has funeral energy now.\u201d<\/p>\n
So he kept it.<\/p>\n
Years have passed.<\/p>\n
Wes is 23 now.<\/p>\n
He graduated from college last spring.<\/p>\n
Russell and I went.<\/p>\n
We sat beside his mother.<\/p>\n
Afterward, Wes came over in his cap and gown and hugged us both.<\/p>\n
Then he whispered, \u201cI considered wearing red.\u201d<\/p>\n
Russell said, \u201cDon\u2019t push your luck.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wes laughed.<\/p>\n
For graduation, we gave him one of Miles\u2019s watches.<\/p>\n
Nothing expensive.<\/p>\n
Just the black one Miles wore almost every day before treatment made his wrists too thin.<\/p>\n
Wes stared at it for a long time. \u201cI can\u2019t take this.\u201d<\/p>\n
I closed his hand around it.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, you can.\u201d<\/p>\n
He cried.<\/p>\n
So did I.<\/p>\n
We do that less now.<\/p>\n
But grief doesn\u2019t leave.<\/p>\n
It changes shape.<\/p>\n
There are days when Miles feels 18 years away.<\/p>\n
Then I hear one of his stupid phrases in my head, and he\u2019s right beside me again.<\/p>\n
I still think about the moment Wes entered the funeral.<\/p>\n
The staring.<\/p>\n
The whispers.<\/p>\n
My own suspicion.<\/p>\n
Russell standing up.<\/p>\n
For several minutes, almost every adult in that room thought we understood what we were looking at.<\/p>\n
We didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
We saw a teenager in a red dress at his best friend\u2019s funeral and invented reasons before he had said a word.<\/p>\n
Wes knew that would happen.<\/p>\n
Miles knew it too.<\/p>\n
He had predicted it six months earlier.<\/p>\n
That might be the most Miles thing about the whole story.<\/p>\n
The last line of the note wasn\u2019t read at the funeral.<\/p>\n
Wes showed it to me later.<\/p>\n
Under the part about judgmental relatives, Miles had written, \u201cIf Mom looks mad, give her thirty seconds. She\u2019s nice when she has all the information.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at it for a long time.<\/p>\n
Then I told Wes, \u201cHe gave me far too much credit.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wes smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
He folded the note carefully.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe knew you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Maybe he did.<\/p>\n
Maybe that is what I remember most now.<\/p>\n
Not the dress.<\/p>\n
Not the whispers.<\/p>\n
Not even the funeral.<\/p>\n
My son was dying, and he still believed that if people had enough time and enough truth, they might become kinder than their first reaction.<\/p>\n
That day, because of Wes, we did.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
PART 1 My son\u2019s best friend read the eulogy at his funeral in a red dress. I\u2019ve known Wes since he was seven. He lives four houses down. He\u2019s slept … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":23979,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[15,16,6,5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-23978","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-family","category-inspiration","category-news","category-real-life-story"],"brizy_media":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23978","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=23978"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23978\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":23980,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23978\/revisions\/23980"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/23979"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=23978"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=23978"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=23978"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}