'Sorry' can't fix this

When was the last time something reminded you how fragile life is? For me, it was a little more than a week ago. A 44-year-old friend left his home for a walk and never returned. Just like that, he was gone.

Originally, the report was that a distracted, texting driver hit and killed Steve Flesher of Illinois. Later, news reports indicated the blood alcohol level of the man who hit him was twice the limit. So whether it was the alcohol only or the alcohol combined with texting, the bottom line is that in the blink of an eye, Steve was dead. Yes, life is fragile.

Many of us, those who are wise, have realized we cannot approach our daily doings with our heads buried, oblivious to what's going on around us -- although, truth be told, we do spend too many moments engrossed in our phones and would not even notice if the sky landed around us. But with the world's state of affairs, many are now taking notice of who enters a place, who approaches us, where exits are located. I do. I even turn my head and look every time someone enters the church sanctuary. When I hear that door open, I look. Evil people are looking to do harm, so the rest of us need to pay attention. I won't live in fear, but I won't live in foolishness, either.

Nonetheless, some things we just cannot prepare for. Some things do not give us time to react. Some things happen in an instant without our being able to process them. That's what happened to my friend.

Police said Cyle Smith-Colbert was driving "east ... and then drove into the westbound lane all the way to the shoulder and hit Flesher." Before hearing all the details, before hearing about alcohol, upon originally hearing the driver was texting, believe it or not, my heart went out to him. I cannot imagine what a person who meant no harm would feel knowing he had killed someone. True, a person in that situation should have counted the cost ahead of time, but knowing your choice took a life has to be unbearable, has to be something you would give anything to change if you are a decent human being.

But this reminds me of what I used to tell students: "Some things 'sorry' can't fix." When you get on kids' cases for doing something careless that hurts someone, they love to wield a phrase they think is a cure-all: "I said, 'Sorry.'" Well, that's great. But "sorry" doesn't restore an eye that was poked out when you threw a pencil across the room. "Sorry" doesn't resuscitate the friend you punched in the chest, who then collapsed. And "sorry" doesn't resurrect the young man out for a walk whom you mowed down because you had too much to drink and with debilitated faculties got behind the wheel.

As agile and astute and aware as we like to think we are, none of those things are enough to save us in a moment like Steve found himself in. Steve was a successful accountant and a talented writer with a sharp mind, yet none of that saved his life; he had no time to utilize any of those qualities. Indeed, life is fragile.

A few days after Steve's accident, I was again reminded of how quickly things happen. I was in a car accident late Tuesday afternoon. The driver just didn't see me. Mistakes happen. We call them accidents -- meaning, "Oops." He was most apologetic. But, again, "Sorry" and "Oops" don't erase damage. It could have gone down a lot worse, so without delving into details of the wreck, which transpired in an instant, I'll just say I am fine, and he is fine, thank God. Our cars? Well, that's another story, but hey, cars are replaceable. My point is I realized yet again the fragility of life. In a breath, worlds can change. I'm grateful I was not on my Harley. If he didn't see me in my small car -- a "roller skate," as a friend not-so-affectionately calls it! -- it's still larger than my motorcycle, so he wouldn't have seen me on that, either.

The question I leave with you is the question with which I started: When was the last time something reminded you how fragile life is? It shouldn't take tragedies or near-tragedies to remind us, but we're dust creatures, and we forget. Perhaps if we pondered this more often, we would live differently. Perhaps we would love the so-called unlovable. Perhaps we would manage to defend our political persuasions without being ugly to those who disagree. After all, most of what we fight about may no longer matter -- in a heartbeat.

Adrienne Ross is owner of Adrienne Ross Communications and a former Southeast Missourian editorial board member. Contact her at aross@semissourian.com.