I was on a park bench with my wife and son when the news arrived. Jimmy had been murdered in a desert worlds away. My son was lost in his first-ever root beer float, and I felt something inside me shatter–something small but suddenly desperately important–something I didn’t know I needed, but now could barely breathe without.
That morning–hours before I got the news about Jimmy–my three year-old son tucked his toy cell phone into his underpants instead of his pocket and he and I went outside. He hooked a tape measure on the waistband of his shorts …Read article