The first time someone I went to high school with died it was a complete shock to me. Tim Burn and I ran cross country and track together. He was 2 years older than me and was driving alone to the state sectionals track meet. He apparently ran a stop sign at a 4-way stop and was hit in the side by a dumptruck he hadn't seen coming. Apparently the dumptruck ran the sign, too. I don't know the details for sure. But the entire track team, including me, was at his funeral. I'll never forget it. He was buried in his uniform. I ended up quitting the next year because, in addition to getting shin splints, every time I ran with the team I thought about Tim's funeral and all of us there crying. I remembered them lowering the casket into the hole and pouring the dirt on it. It bothered me that they were pouring dirt on top of Tim down there. It just didn't register that he was really dead until that moment. From then on I couldn't focus on running when I was with the team anymore. I switched to football, but the track team had practice around the football field, so it did me no good.
The next person from high school to die too soon was Rita Pfaff. We had only just graduated and she was one of the last people I'd expect to be killed, but Rita died at 18 years of age in a near head-on collision with a Cadillac. Her friend who was riding with her died instantly, but Rita lived until that night. The car she was driving was crushed to half its' width. She had apparently managed to turn the car and get sideways before the Cadillac crushed the little Plymouth Horizon hatchback. It's a wonder she lived as long as she did.
About 2 years after Rita died, Bridget Junen died of leukemia. Bridget had been in my homeroom for as long as I can remember. We even went to kindergarten together when we were 4 years old. I still have the class photo. I remember the last words I ever said to her were to call her a bitch for something stupid that happened during homeroom. She wasn't a bitch and it seemed odd for me to say even as the words left my mouth. She just looked at me funny, but didn't say anything back. I had never said anything like that to her before. And I never did again. But I'll regret what I said until I die, because I never took it back or apologized.
Chris Chapman died several years later. He'd been born with a heart defect and we all knew his time was going to be limited, but even so it came as a shock. He founded a magazine while in college at Montevallo, called "Fred's Wonderful Newsletter." He co-edited it with Chris Fitts. It caught on and spread to other colleges in the SouthEast because it was so unlike anything anyone had ever seen before. I wrote several stories and drew several cartoons for it while it was in publication. I was proud to have been "published" in Chris' highly unique magazine. I remember riding in Chris' huge Chevrolet Caprice with Kevin Fotovich in the back seat. We were driving around mooning people for no particular reason. It was just the sort of thing you'd do while riding with Chris Chapman. His strange sense of humor could inspire you to do things you'd never thought of before, such as hanging your bare ass out a car window at 50 mph and honking at your target to make sure they didn't miss the show.
Ian's death is just as shocking and confusing to me as any of these others. He has 5 sons and a beautiful wife named Diane, all of whom he has had to leave behind. It seems too unfair. Several of us went online to sign a guest book at the funeral home's website for him. Several of his closest friends were able to express their feelings so well, but I was somehow at a loss for intelligent words. I have no idea what I wrote.
I know we don't live forever, but it still doesn't make any sense that he should die now. It's just too soon. He was a great guy. He had more to do. And there are a lot of people who care about him and don't want to see him go.
Maybe that's selfish?
I don't care if it is. I'm tired of being philosophical about things like this. I'm tired of the good dying young and the bad living to be old and gray and rich and seemingly never unhappy or stressed. O.J. Simpson will probably live to be 100. Hillary Clinton will probably still be alive when I die. Maybe she'll die at 150?
I guess it isn't accurate to say that just because the good die young, the evil will all live to be old. Some good people live to be old. It's just hard to remember that when the only people you see dying are good people.
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