The half-empty glass

I've often written about the differences between optimists and pessimists. Pessimists think it will never work, optimists refuse to accept failure as an option. Optimists see a glass as being half-full, pessimists see it as being half-empty. I've always been an optimist. I've always believed there were better ways to do things than the way we do them now; I've always believed that the human race has not yet reached its full stride and that, because we haven't, many miracles still await us; I've always believed that whatever it is I'm pursuing, I will one day accomplish it because to not do that is to accept the possibility, perhaps even the reality, of failure. That's not the way I was raised, nor is it the person I've become.

Being an optimist doesn't always gain one the smiles and support from others one might believe. We're often perceived as living in a fantasy world instead of the real world, trying to find the best in people rather than looking for the lowest-common denominator, and battling wind-mills in true Don Quixote style.

Events of yesterday (Thursday) and today (Friday) have allowed me to see a part of the world that I've not spent much time in. My friend, Kirt Ruble, was killed yesterday in a traffic accident as he was on the way to North Platte to carry out some of his extended-campus activities in his role of Area Student Services Vice-President. I've been home most of the week fighting pneumonia and it was one of my other true and close friends, Rick Michaelsen, who called and gave me the news. As I listened to Rick's words on the phone, the lifeblood drained out of my glass of water until it was literally a glass half-empty.

It seems I've written too many of these columns recently. My son Brandon, Dick Driml, Jack Hermann, Tami Allen and now, Kirt Ruble. Regardless of their ages or conditions, it wasn't time for the world to lose any of these people because they still had so much to give to the world. Kirt was in life's prime. He was doing what he loved and he loved those young people that he was responsible for every single day. And those who were fortunate enough to know him loved him back. Kirt and Sheila have great kids themselves, and even though Spencer is in Kearney, Jeff in Kansas City, and Tim in Emporia, Kansas, Kirt talked to them every day on the phone and sometimes several times a day.

It seemed that in this stage of Kirt's life, he was where he was supposed to be, doing what he was supposed to do. And then, out of the blue, tragedy strikes and he's gone. Since he was traveling by himself, we'll probably never know what happened that caused the crash. He probably did something similar to what every one of us have done many times. Reached across the seat for something, dropped something in the floorboard, spilled the tea he always drank out of this huge beverage cup, or any number of other possibilities. He got distracted for some reason. His attention was diverted from the road and he's gone because of it. Most of us get away with our distractions and suffer no consequences. Kirt's distraction cost him everything.

These stories happen daily and usually we find out about it by reading a brief paragraph in a newspaper or hearing a blurb on the television or radio news. And yet, all of those people who die have family and friends just like Kirt has us. And they hurt and they grieve, just as we will for him. And they will miss their loved ones and wish they had one more chance to tell them how special they were, just like we will feel about Kirt. Every life is special and unique and is making contributions no one else could make. That's why I've always personalized death notices, giving them an identity to go with their name, thinking how I would feel if something terrible had happened to someone I knew. Thursday at 12:15 pm, it did.

I've written in this column before that when we lay down to breathe our final breath, if it takes more than the fingers on one hand to count the true friends you've made in a life time, you've lived a special life and you've been a special person. I don't know how many of my fingers it will take when I get to the end but Kirt will occupy one of them. He just wasn't one of them for long enough.

Kirt will be memorialized today (Saturday) at 2pm at The Herrmann Funeral Chapel. Sheila and her children believe, as I do, in celebrating a person's life rather than eulogizing a death. If you knew Kirt and you would like to send him on his way with a smile instead of a tear, please join his family and friends at this special service. One of the last things he did before he left campus for North Platte yesterday was to put some cartoons into an envelope, hand-writing on a post-it note that these were some of his favorites and stuck them in my mailbox at school.

Kirt had a great sense of humor. He always departed on his journeys with smiles rather than tears. Today's journey should be no different.