I don’t know that I really want to do this. People say it’s good to talk about it, but it’s so fresh I’d rather not. My son died. He was only seventeen. Not even ‘only’ but ‘just’. He and his friend Turner, who was born on the same day, went out to celebrate their birthday without any of us parents knowing.
I don’t have all the details, but they found a body. Some man. Then they heard something in the woods I guess. Someone running away. James may have seen them. That had to cost his life.
Who wants to talk about losing their only child? So I’ll talk about me instead. I’m James Valentine, III. My son was James Valentine, IV. I hoped he’d take after me in so much more than name. I’m an architect, and I actually designed most of the houses in the neighborhood where my wife Emily and I and Turner and his family live.
Turner’s parents are Brad and Pam, and the four of us grew up together here in Glass, so it was only natural that our sons grow up together, too. They’ve been friends forever, and I know Turner is as torn apart by it as Emily and I are.
My age and all that doesn’t really matter. You don’t need to know my school or other background either. Just know I’m a grieving father and leave it at that.