Monday, May 3, 2010


I have always hated when people say, "That's not fair!" Because in all reality, life is most certainly NOT fair. Not ever.

Do we sometimes get what we want, need, think we deserve? Of course. If we didn't, life would really suck. In fact, most of us get more of what we'd deem "fair" than many others.

But we also get our "fair share" of shitty things, too. Cancer. Dead dogs, babies, cellphone batteries. Bad hair, bad skin, ugly clothes. Past due notices and broken-down cars and bills up to our eyeballs. Traffic and teams losing and favorite mugs smashed on the floor. Rain on a beach day.

I've been thinking about fairness a lot lately. I could drive myself crazy thinking about how this whole situation is so much less than fair. I know, I know, life isn't fair. I never expected it to be. But this still isn't fair. It's not fair that my son doesn't have his sister, C and I don't have our daughter. It's not fair that I have to walk through my life and smile at all the other babies, be happy for everyone else, pretend like I am a normal person. It's not fair that I look like crap, feel like crap.

And then we get to the ultimate slippery slope: when shitty parents get in my line of sight. I try really, REALLY hard to be non-judgemental and, well, FAIR. And I do not want to be the person who resents other adults for their abundance of familial wealth. But for real, do NOT treat your kids like shit in front of me, because my nasty side will come out. It won't be pretty.

Anyway. It's not fair. You don't need to remind me that life isn't fair. It sure as shit isn't fair that I have one living kid this Mothers' Day and one dead. It isn't fair that I went through labor only to have a dead baby. It isn't fair that my body looks terrible and doesn't fit into anything I want to wear. It's not fair that I have to go through my life with this horrible weight around my neck that threatens to drown me whenever I'm not the most vigilant.

But so be it. Life can really suck. But it can be really good, too.


1 comment:

  1. I was thinking about you in yoga today, not because of your decidedly un-yogic experience, but because my mind was drifting in a not so mindful kind of way and you crossed into it. I was pushing my way through a pose, sweat pouring into my eyes, lungs burning, hamstrings so tight, and we were about halfway through the class. I was thinking about running the upcoming half marathon, a race for which I am very much not in shape. So much not in shape I wonder if I'm going to injure myself doing it. My knees have been screaming lately-and then I think..."not do it? not get the glory? not get to stuff my face with pancakes and feel that post race glow?". and it felt like the bottom would fall out if I didn't get to finish it and see it to the end-and I sort of keyed into the marathon analogy you made-all that damn hard work, and for what? To be punished? To be forced to make sense of trauma? C'mon?!?!?!?This is so cosmically wrong. I want to wake up and have a different ending for you-want to bring baby gifts and be jealous of your expanding family. I am really pissed off because it really isn't fair. It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair. Because you are such a great family. It's sort of plain mean Karma. I don't get it. I wish I did. I wish you didn't have to explain it and could dump the pain somewhere and just roll back a few months and have a different ending. MB, I really am so sad for you and all the damn emptiness that goes with it. I don't know-I have never experienced grief like that. But, it's that whole thing, like from the Bear Hunt story book, "We can't go over it, we can't go under it, oh no, we've got to go through it". I wish you didn't have to go through this. I just wish that on spring mornings, the sun or the rain like this morning, wasn't that a blessed shower, so sweet smelling, that for just an instant you have reprieve, solitude, a clear mind, before it all comes racing back. I wish this for you so much. And that little boy of yours sure is darling. Your own personal superhero. Sending you hugs and love and any available strength I have-peace, and my dear, you really are gorgeous.