Even though it feeds and clothes my child and has been the common thread tying together every job I’ve ever known, sports is my escape.

If you haven’t already used this section of the newspaper for kindling or to clean up after your pets, chances are it’s yours, too.

Just makes me wonder why so many times recreation must cross over into reality and break our hearts.

And no, I’m not talking about multi-millionaires slamming down six-packs while working every fifth day or millionaires bickering with billionaires and crossing an entire sport off the calendar. That’s heartburn.

Heartbreak is reserved for that ultimate note of finality when we hear the soul-crushing, mind-numbing words that one of our heroes, mentors, classmates or neighbors is never coming back.

One of our region’s proudest and friendliest communities took that unexpected, undeserved kick to the stomach this past week. Dirigo High School athlete Dani Ranger, 16, lost her life in a single-car accident.

Parents, teachers, students and peripheral friends dressed as sportswriters are left to offer explanations when they elude us; to make sense when none exists.

The news of Dani’s death, followed within minutes by the fatal crash of Indianapolis 500 champion Dan Wheldon at a race in Las Vegas, delivered a one-two punch of brutal reminders.

It reminded us that sports are no safe haven.

It reminded us that life is dangerous, whether you’re a world-class racer like Dan or an aspiring firefighter like Dani.

Being a parent is dangerous. Every time your progeny leaves home, you’re saying see-you-later to an adult straining mightily to get out of a child’s body.

God bless them as they enjoy their freedom. God bless those who give that space and chew their fingernails until none are left.

Your first instinct is to wrap your arms around them and never let go, if only because locking them in the basement for seven years is considered cruel. Hey, there’s a 14-year-old in my house. I’d consider it.

Being a significant other is dangerous. It’s easy to take every mundane drive to work and every heartbeat of good health for granted, never expecting the next one to be the last.

Loving and living are dangerous. Life is often good. But life is absolutely, certainly, not fair.

It’s harder than ever to escape the specter of such intense loss in a world that continues to shrink.

Social networks have reduced the degrees of separation between people to almost nil. Here in Oxford, Franklin or Androscoggin County, Maine, RFD, the implication that everybody knows everybody has never been truer.

Those of us who never met Dani in the classroom or on the playing field surely knew somebody who did.

What’s felt at Dirigo is felt at Mountain Valley, where the schools exist as rivals but share school administration and many youth athletic programs.

In this case, Dirigo’s tragedy even touched Spruce Mountain, where Dani’s cousin shares her passion for field hockey.

Many 16-year-olds aren’t even old enough to have experienced the loss of a grandparent, never mind a parent, a sibling or a peer.

Hearts break. Tears are shed. And the world refuses to stop.

Perhaps that is the lone logical lesson and the only outcome resembling an answer from this disaster. It is the defining principle any sport teaches.

We play on. We must. Our departed teammates and friends, already enjoying the perfect peace and liberty of their eternal home, would send someone to kick us in the fanny if we didn’t.

Dirigo did that this week, playing a championship soccer contest and preparing for a de facto playoff football game with someone’s smiling face still etched in their hearts and minds.

Spruce Mountain followed suit, rounding out their uniforms for two field hockey tournament games with blue ribbons affixed to their sneakers.

Simply showing up to play was their tribute, and it was a healthy part of the grieving process.

Maybe that’s the creed we’re all supposed to memorize.

Play every game, say every word, shake every hand and give every hug as if it’s your last.

Get the most out of your abilities and your relationships. Give more than you receive. Listen more than you speak.

Be a good worker, a great teammate and a better friend.

Sports is neither life, nor is it ever bigger than life. But sometimes it teaches us how to live.

Even in her absurdly premature death, Dani is teaching us all.

— Kalle Oakes is a staff columnist. His email is [email protected].