It's Not Fair

                                                    That's Not Fair

     It started out as a day that I would describe as entirely and contently fair.  Fair weather, a perfect sixty-two degrees with no clouds in the sky and a gentle breeze blowing.  I checked my bank account as I was walking towards my car with a list of errands to run and I was pleased to see that those numbers were fair as well.  Things were feeling and looking pretty good so far. 

     I went to the grocery store, the pharmacy, and the local hardware store and then took a break for a cup of my favorite coffee.  Things were still smooth sailing, even my favorite songs were playing on the radio.  This day truly was the fairest of them all.  I finished about half of my coffee and decided to take it to go and do something crazy.  I have been wanting to take a theater and drama class at the local community college for years but kept putting it off.  With the way this day felt, I thought, this must be the day to do it.  So I did.  I remember leaving the college registration office so happy I was just about floating back to my car.  As I pulled out of the parking lot and got on the main road towards home I started to cry tears of joy and gratefulness.  I spoke to God.  I thanked him for the Blessings in my life and the wonderful day that I was given.  I remember thinking all of my hopes and dreams were actually coming true.  I continued to weep happy tears and pray until I arrived home.

     My kids weren’t home from school yet, so I took my bags into the house, put my things away, and finished a couple of chores around the house.  I opened all of the windows, let the cool breeze blow through the house, lit some sweet-smelling gardenia candles that I had just bought, and sat down to enjoy a cup of my favorite tea  Aah… What a day.

     Well, I dozed off for ten minutes or so.  I was awoken by my daughters running into the house from school.  I jumped up from my favorite flowered chair that sat back in its own little spot in the corner of our living room.  It was time to get the girls snacks and make sure any homework gets done.  This was a task that took some effort.  We would usually be working through dinner cooking and after dinner but tonight Dave, my husband had called to say that we were going out to eat.  Wow, this day! So we finished homework and we were ready to go.  I sat at the dining room window which faced the front street waiting for Dave as I often did.  I was wearing a new outfit that he had just bought me.  Red slacks with a paisley patterned blouse that matched perfectly and was wearing his favorite perfume. The girls kept running downstairs and asking if their dad was home yet.  Then I started to realize that he was running late.  This was odd because he was never late.  I tried to call him and there was no answer just then my phone rang I breathed a sigh of relief and told the girls to come on that he must be on his way, just running late.  I answered my phone, “Hello”

     The female voice on the other end said," Cindy have you seen the news? Dave’s store has been robbed and he's been injured, he’s been shot!”

     I dropped the phone and yelled to my girls to stay put and I ran and jumped in my car heading to the store where my husband was! I remember my heart pounding, fluttering, my stomach turning, tears flowing from my eyes and I just drove.  It was a drive that I did several times a week but I felt so afraid, so desperate to get to my husband, but scared to arrive there.  What was waiting for me there?

     I finally made it.  I honestly don’t know how.  I sped into the parking lot.  It was full of police, news vans, cameras, and people everywhere.  I just wanted my husband.  I parked and jumped out and ran to the store.  As I grabbed the front door handle I was stopped.  A person came up behind me and said, “ you cannot go in there., It’s a crime scene.”

     I almost passed out! I yelled, “ where is my husband?” 

     The person was a detective and he explained that my husband had been taken to the trauma center downtown. I started running to my car through the cameras and reporters and the detective was behind me insisting that he drive me to the hospital.  I refused.  All I can remember is driving in circles getting on and off the highway then I finally made it to the trauma center hospital.  As I walked toward the emergency room doors I saw my best friend standing there waiting for me.  She looked very sad, afraid, and solemn.  I had that feeling again of wanting to get there but not wanting to arrive.   I kept wondering what was waiting for me.

I walked towards the automatic doors and they abruptly swooshed open startling me into the reality of where I was.  I could smell that hospital smell.  Alcohol, disinfectant, stale coffee, whatever the cafeteria special was, and the lingering scent of sadness, worry, and grief.  I slowly walked up to my best friend and took her hand and started to cry as she silently walked me over to the reception desk my heart was pounding so hard I couldn’t breathe or dare speak.  As we approached the desk, Marie, my friend spoke for me, still holding on tightly to my hand she said something about Dave and wife.  Next thing I know I’m standing in a room with a man in a bed on a ventilator. I didn’t recognize him at first but then I looked at his dark wavy hair and knew this was my husband.  I felt light-headed and so scared as I walked closer to him.  I reached out and touched his hand.  It was so swollen and cold.  I ran out of the room crying thinking this is not fair!

     Marie was waiting with open arms as the doctor walked towards me to give me the prognoses on my husband.  I was shaking as he approached me and announced himself.  I tried to pull some sort of composure out of myself so that I could listen to this man.  He began to speak explaining that my husband had sustained a gunshot wound.  I was having so much difficulty following him but I knew that I had no choice but to hear him out as best as I could.  It was up to me to be Daves's protector and advocate, so I did my best to continue to listen.  He explained that the injury affected Dave’s collarbone.  At that point, I stopped him.  I looked at his name tag and under his name were the words neurosurgery.  I cleared my throat, wiped my eyes, took a deep breath and looked the doctor in the eyes, and asked him why if my husband had a collarbone injury were we talking to a neurosurgeon instead of an orthopedic doctor?  He looked at me very seriously, then looked down, cleared his throat, and spoke, saying, “ ma'am, with your husband’s injury he will never walk again.”

   With this sentence, I felt my legs go completely numb.  I began to fall down to the floor and strangely like a cartoon in my mind I could see calendar pages. Month after month of plans just flipping over one after another. All of our hopes and dreams were shattered.  This was so unfair.  As I almost hit the floor my dear friend was there behind me with a wheelchair to catch me.  I looked up at her sobbing, saying it’s not fair.  It's just not fair.  How could this day begin as such a beautifully perfect day?  Only to end with tragedy, trauma, devastation, and utter unfairness?    I could do nothing but hang my head and sob and just keep repeating, “It's just not fair!”

     As time went on my husband survived but would never fully recover and would never walk again. He and I and our children struggled with the unfairness of it all daily.  I wondered how one single day could begin so perfect, so right, so fair in every way, and by the end be so tragic, full of loss and so very unfair.  I didn’t trust in happiness or fairness for a long time after this.  But then I searched deep within myself, gained much inspiration from my husband, took an inventory of my life and gifts around me, and realized that I or we are never promised “fair” and that maybe my perfect day was a gift preparing me, making me realize all that I do have and that I am Blessed with love and my loved ones around me. I can be strong through the perfect, the imperfect, the just, the unjust, the fair, and the unfair.  It's all part of the pieces of the puzzle that make up this life that we are given and live through together.