Today is 29 years since our friend James, Robbie’s best friend, died. He had just graduated and had his whole life in front of him.

He joined the military but had to delay boot camp since he broke his arm. He had gotten an inheritance from his grandmother at 18 and bought a street bike. He got in a motorcycle accident right after and died. I have always thought that everything happens for a reason, but why this?

Robbie and I were talking about what a great life he would have had. He was so smart. He is the one that got Robbie into music.

I went to his funeral and had to sit in the back row since it was an open casket. I can still see him in my mind. When I think of James that’s the picture I have in my head. James, in a dark suit, propped up on a pillow. He looked discolored. Purple.

When Robbie’s dad was transferred to the Midwest, James helped them move and then stayed with them for awhile. Robbie’s entire family loved James.

When he died, Robbie and his family were devastated. Robbie’s mom packed them up and drove 18 straight hours to get them to the funeral. Robbie and Parker were pall bearers. She drove them straight back right after. Robbie says he doesn’t think his mom slept for three days but she knew she had to get them to his funeral.

Robbie has his name and date of death tattooed on his arm.


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