The Good Man

In honor of our friend and classmate Kirk Knipp.

Yesterday I spent the day in a vague and depressed sadness. I have been carefully watching the updates about my friend from Costa Mesa High School days, Kirk Knipp, as he battled the last and perhaps most painful battle of his life-- that of metasticized cancer.

His illness was a shock to me. Even though we had not been close over the years I always felt his presence as a cheery lighthearted and lucid soul on this magical connection device we call Facebook. And in fact, once in the early days of Facebook "apps" I posted a list of people who were reading my page on a regular basis. He was one of them and his one word reply was, "Busted." It made me feel good to know we had that connection and that he enjoyed what I had to say. The feeling was mutual.

When I think back to Costa Mesa days I see him even then as a good man--a good young man. Someone who marched to his own drum, someone who was obviously raised well and was taught and cared about integrity and values. He wasn't showy, he wasn't loud or grandstanding. While he played sports (cross country) he didn't try to secure a place for himself in the popular crowd. He had a small group of loyal and intellegent friends and he went his own way. Being kind and being true to himself  even then. He was someone you knew, even if you didn't know the details of his life well. I knew him because I have always been attracted to kindness. Goodness and kindness and morality are magnets that attract. He quietly walked the walk--even then.

When graduation time came around he and one other classmate had been accepted to prestigious military schools. West Point for Kirk. And that achievement showed his classmates that he had given 100% of his energy to making a success of his scholarship and he had not wasted his time in high school. That alone is remarkable for a teenager. That sort of focus and commitment is hard to come by in far more mature men. His achievement was a feather in our collective cap--he was someone we could feel proud of. And we did.

Later we all went our separate ways. We knew of each other through friends, we occasionally heard something about someone, but before social networking we were never truly connected to our class as a whole. But about the time we all made it to our thirty-year reunion for the class of 1977 we had figured out social networking and the reunions and gatherings brought us together. We formed a virtual high school of alumni who shared each others joys and triumphs on a daily basis. The sense of community for our school exists and is tangible because of Facebook. And in the last years of his life, this is how I knew Kirk.

Facebook gives us snapshots of a person. Unless we are close friends, we don't know all about them but we see their humor, the things that scare them, and bring them joy. The political and religious affiliations that they share with others and feel strongly about. We see bits and pieces of their daily life. That Kirk enjoyed sweets--a lot. That he made lighthearted and low key jokes that let you know he noticed what you were saying and that he was virtually waving at you. This is the truly valuable gift of Facebook. But more than the daily hellos we all share, Facebook allows us to have a clear and immediate access into each other's pain and heartache. More so than any other time in history we know when our friends and acquaintances are suffering, in pain, in fear, in need--and yes, dying. We see it posted on their statuses. Kirk posted that he had a "tooma" less than three weeks ago. A jest in the face of grave danger. That was how he lived.

I can imagine in his military career and from the posts others have made to his page that he was a kind and fair leader, asking those who followed him to reflect on their choices. It was clear to me that his light shined through, that his goodness shined through in everything he did. Every day. He walked the walk.

And even though it is quite clear to me that we had different feelings toward politics and perhaps even religion, we shared a commonality. We both believed in and tried to live with goodness, awareness, kindness and with a spirit of reaching out to others. I see his life as a short life utterly well played. He did life right in my opinion. I wish that he had longer to grace us with his presence, but knowing that I would never want him to endure the pain that he clearly was battling in the last few days, I can see his release as important for him and a good ending to a good life. No matter how tragic it seems to me today.

As I look at the surrounding community around Kirk I can see that most of his friends are very secure in their faith. I am sure that this amazing knowingness for them brings them great comfort. I, on the other hand, find this sort of thing to shake my faith. I have ahead the process of trying to put this in perspective. I have to grieve his loss. I have to realize the sadness and regret I am feeling is part of being human. It's part of the human experience. And while I am spirit, I am in human form and must deal with the pain. And today is an incredibly painful day to all those who simply wish he was here.

I keep hearing the words "only the good die young" in my mind.  Although we aren't "young" I would say as a group we are certainly not at the end of our lives by any means. So, young to us is someone like Kirk. Someone who gave the world his absolute best and who we wanted to hang out with us--spreading his goodness as long as possible.

So, now what? His loved ones who can are there to mourn and celebrate him today as they supported him through life and through this last ultimate challenge. And his friends from the past and his Facebook friends mourn him here--in a digital format. On Facebook, in email, in blogs and on the Caring Bridge.

On Valentine's Day I sent him a letter while he was still lucid about needing to know why he wasn't fighting, why he was not choosing any sort of treatment, and expressing my wish for his happiness. He responded almost immediately thanking me for my loving and passionate letter and promising a response to all of us who were confounded by recent events and were hoping for clarity. His subsequent post made his dire situation completely clear. We could stop struggling and start moving toward peaceful closure together. And so we have all tried. We have all prayed, we have all thought about him. I am happy that his birthday just past was a day when he knew he was so totally loved and appreciated for what he brought to this big party called life.

 Kirk's last words to me were to thank me for my "loving and thought-provoking letter" and "for my friendship and asking the hard questions."

My response to you Kirk as you make your amazing transition to a place beyond our time and space is--Thank you. Thank you for being a role model and a good man--and thank you for being my friend.

Love--

Grace