Editor’s note: The following letter was submitted by Kari Romeo Marek, whose son, Jack Marek, died in February and would have graduated last month with the Wilton High School Class of 2026. GOOD Morning Wilton verified the factual assertions regarding the commencement ceremony referenced in this letter and sought comment from Superintendent Kevin Smith, who declined to comment. References Ms. Marek makes to “BELIEVE” are explained in the accompanying funeral homily by the Rev. Matt Stone, published with the family’s and Rev. Stone’s permission.
To the Editor:
The students remembered.
I want to begin with gratitude.
To every Wilton High School student who wore “BELIEVE” on a graduation cap. To every young woman who quietly pinned a BELIEVE button to her gown. To every friend who carried my son’s name and spirit with them as they crossed the stage — thank you.
You showed courage. You showed loyalty. Most of all, you showed that love does not end when someone is no longer here.
My son, Jack, should have graduated with the Class of 2026 last month.
He was just three credits shy of earning his diploma. Before his death, he had already been accepted to many of the colleges to which he applied and ultimately he was accepted into his top three choices. His future was bright, and his life was filled with promise.
GOOD Morning Wilton published extensive coverage of graduation. There were many wonderful photographs, some of them showing the BELIEVE message that Jack’s classmates chose to wear. Yet nowhere was there any explanation of what BELIEVE meant or why many students felt compelled to honor their friend.
The story behind those caps and pins was missing.
More painful still was the decision by the school administration not to award Jack a diploma at the graduation ceremony.
Reasonable people can debate policies. But leadership is measured not by how well rules are enforced; it is measured by compassion, humanity and the ability to recognize extraordinary circumstances.
What message do we send when a student who spent four years in our schools, who was loved so deeply by his classmates, who was only three credits from graduation, receives no acknowledgment from administrators at commencement?
The students answered that question themselves.
Without being asked.
Without seeking recognition.
Without concern for policy.
They remembered their friend.
Their quiet act of solidarity became the most meaningful moment of graduation. They reminded all of us that community is not built by administrative decisions. It is built by empathy.
The adults had an opportunity to teach compassion.
Instead, it was the students who taught the adults.
To Jack’s friends and classmates and all of their families who stood behind these remarkable young people, thank you for making sure he walked across that stage in spirit. Your BELIEVE message spoke louder than any announcement ever could.
I will never forget your kindness.
Kari Romeo Marek
About the accompanying homily: Many readers saw “BELIEVE” displayed on graduation caps and buttons during the Wilton High School commencement ceremony. The following funeral homily by the Rev. Matt Stone explains the significance of that message. It is published with permission from both the Marek family and Rev. Stone.
Believe: Words of Comfort for Jack Marek’s Funeral Service
The Rev. Matt Stone
Rector, Christ’s Church
Rye, NY
Many of you know this word. Believe. If you love “Ted Lasso” like Jack, you’ve seen it hanging in the locker room. Believe. That word might feel hard today, because today we are carrying grief, shock, questions, and heartbreak. But look around this room. All of you being here — Jack’s friends, family, this whole community — tells us something important. When grief comes, people gather. When life feels dark, we reach for each other. And that tells us something about the human heart. Deep down, we believe that love is stronger than sadness, and that together, we can make it through things that feel impossible.
Jack was a gentle giant who could walk into a room like he owned the place. He loved fishing and pizza, the Giants and the Nets — even when they were terrible. He could quote The Godfather and Star Wars, and share his dark, dry humor.
Jack had already been through more than most people his age. Four years ago he lost his dad, John, after a long illness. For nine years their family walked through that struggle together. And after John stepped into paradise, it was Kari, Jack and Dylan holding each other up and trying to figure out how to keep going.
For a while, it seemed like Jack was doing well. School. Friends. Life moving forward. But last fall something shifted. Depression can be like that. It can show up quietly and suddenly make the world feel too heavy. And in the middle of that darkness, Kari did what loving parents do. You fought for your son. You took time away from work. You looked for help. You stayed beside him every step of the way. And that matters. Your love matters. And love like that never ends.
When we leave today, what will we carry with us? We’ll carry Jack’s humor. Our memories. Our stories. We’ll carry grief too — and the questions that come with it. But I hope we take one more thing with us.
“Ted Lasso” is a show about an American football coach who ends up coaching an English soccer team — even though he barely knows the rules. What he does know is how to bring people together. With humor, kindness and hope, he helps people become better versions of themselves. And hanging in the locker room is this one simple word: Believe.
Ted tells his team, “If you care about someone, and you got a little love in your heart, there ain’t nothing you can’t get through together.” Together. That word matters today.
As the show goes on, we learn more about Ted. Life has given him some scars. His father died by suicide when Ted was a teenager. Beneath the humor and quirkiness, there is pain. Reflecting on that moment, Ted says: “And I knew right then and there that I was never gonna let anybody get by me without understanding they might be hurting inside, you know. ‘Cause life, it’s hard. It’s real hard.”
The best part of Ted came from his loss. Ted’s kindness. His attention to people. His way of bringing others together. It all grew out of the pain he carried.
After a particularly difficult event for the team, Ted says something else that feels especially important today: “There is something worse out there than being sad . . . and that’s being alone and being sad.” And then he looks around the room and says, “Ain’t nobody in this room alone.”
Ain’t nobody in this room alone. Just like so many of you were there for Jack — texting, calling, hanging out — now we are here for Kari. For Dylan. For each other. And maybe, the love you show each other because of Jack will become one of the best parts of you too. Because that’s one of the strange, mysterious things about love and grief. The people we lose continue shaping who we become. Believe that.
Part of believing is also hope. Near the very end of the Bible, the end of the story, we hear these words: “See, the home of God is among people. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more.” And then God says something remarkable: “See, I am making all things new.”
In five short verses, we are told to see twice. Because a loving God knows that what we see with our eyes day in and day out can be really hard. But the things we cannot see are often more real than the things we can see. One day, God will wipe every tear from our eyes. Everything that hurts will become untrue.
But my favorite part is the end. We don’t have to wait without hope until then. Because God says, “See, I am making all things new.” Not someday. Not far in the future. I am making all things new — right now. People of faith believe that when Jack left this life, he was not alone. We believe love, God and his dad met him there, and that he was held, welcomed, brought home and healed. And there is another part to that promise: God is making us new. Even here. Even now. Turning our pain into peace, ashes into beauty, death into life.
In “Ted Lasso,” the coaches meet every week just to support each other. They call themselves the Diamond Dogs. Jack loved that so much that one Halloween he and his friends dressed up as the Diamond Dogs. So here’s one way to honor Jack. Be the Diamond Dogs for each other.
And that may be one of the ways Jack continues shaping your lives. The kindness you show because of him. The way you check in on a friend who’s struggling. The way you choose love when life feels heavy. Those things become part of who you are. Just like Ted’s pain helped him become someone who made other people feel seen and cared for, Jack’s life — and your love for him — can shape the kind of people you become too.
So carry this with you. Believe. Believe in love. Believe in each other. Believe that even in the darkest moments, God is still making all things new. Believe love doesn’t end here. Neither does hope. Believe.
If you or someone you know is struggling with depression, suicidal thoughts or another mental health crisis, help is available. Call or text 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline 24 hours a day, or visit 988lifeline.org. If there is an immediate risk of harm, call 911.
