I had already written my column for this week when my phone started ringing on Saturday, and it just kept on going.

I picked up my phone, read what it was telling me, then put it down and watched the scorching heat of Saturday.

He said: “Triton football player killed in accident on Saturday.”

I picked it up and read that not only was it a Triton player who died in that crash in Wells County this weekend, but it was a Triton player who had been a Warsaw football two years ago.

Cameron Fairchild.

My heart sank into my belly.

It would be misleading to say that I knew this young man well, so I won’t try to pretend I did.

But on Thursdays for 31 seasons, I’ve been going to football practice and I’m out on the pitch with the guys. We have spoken several times, always in connection with football. I quietly asked him “what is your work on this piece?” Or “why is this room called” ice cream? ” “? I am learning so much about football during this time and I am starting to build relationships with young players.

He always responded firmly. He never flinched.

I doubt he invited me to his graduation party, but if he had, I would have gone.

Unfortunately, Triton is in mourning again. They know how too good it feels. It’s only been four years since Cameron Scarberry died in a car crash here in Kosciusko County.

He will be missed, in Bourbon and in Warsaw.

His former Warsaw teammates and friends took to social media on Sunday as news spread to express their hearts over his loss. They posted pictures they took with him after the games.

He had changed schools and jersey colors, but he always was and always will be just “Cam” to them.

May God have mercy and pour out his love on Cam’s family and those who knew him best in both communities.

This tragedy is a deep reminder that nothing is guaranteed to us in this life except for the moment in which we live. The next one is fleeting and could disappear like a vapor in a swirling breeze.

We have to take every practice, every game, every team meal, every family dinner, every road trip, every family reunion, every time we see ourselves as a tremendous opportunity to love each other.

We waste time fighting for things that get us nowhere. Stuff that is important, but stuff that should be said with truth and grace and these encounters should make relationships better, not worse.

How many people wish they had another chance to talk to Cameron, to laugh with him, to put their arm around him or their hands on his shoulder, his helmet, or that thick hair he had underneath?

We can’t change that now… not for Cam, anyway.

But we can become determined to make a difference in our own corners of the world by just being kind to each other. We can tell people how much we appreciate them and what they do with us and for us, and how much we love to do things for them.

Whether they are seven or seventy, it makes no difference.

It doesn’t matter that they think like you.

Whether you are a cuddly person like me, or not so much, it makes no difference.

Love the people… while you can.

The game clock of this life is ticking on us. With each passing second, that ticking gets louder and louder. And the craziest thing is, we can’t see this clock. We don’t know how much time he has left.

Equally crazy: Too many of us have chosen to ignore the ticking of this clock because it looks more like a basic beating drum.

Someday that sound will stop for all of us.

No two-minute warning. No white flag to signal your last lap. It’ll just be over… ready or not.