Chatting with a friend the other day who asked: "Why do bad things happen to good people? You should blog about that"
I told her Harold S. Kushner beat me to it but here's my spin.
When I have my weekly pity parties in the middle of the night I often contemplate the obvious; why me? I'm kinda done with having the other shoe that keeps dropping because after all; I only have two feet.
DH and I have been happily married for 17 years. We are decent and good people (even though he is a Yankee Fan living in Red Sox nation and brainwashed my child at an old age to follow suit) (and I don't go to temple) but you know; decent and good.
Yet, the other shoe? It comes down in buckets. (If shoes could come down in buckets)
I don't walk around feeling sorry for myself (I did reserve the right to do that however, through all of 2017) but I'm kind of done.
And what I don't understand is when I watch the news about women killing their children in ovens and people driving drunk and killing innocent people I just don't understand how they are not being given the other shoe.
And maybe it sounds like I am wishing ill on the enemy- which I'm not; so relax.
I'm just saying,
please stop ringing my doorbell.
Just as I recover from something I get hit in the face and it's getting really hard to stay strong and laugh and all that other stuff I'm supposed to be doing.
Battling and fighting and being a warrior and staying tough.
So done.
I battled infertility.
I breathed.
I lost a newborn baby.
Then Oldest had a tracheostomy. I laughed when a family friend asked "who suctions him every 4 hours?" Yea, that would be us.
14 years: 7 surgeries, multiple pneumonias, numerous procedures and over a dozen endoscopies thanks to the hot new trend of a diagnoses called Eosinophillic Esophagitis (EOE)
Oh he also loves long named diagnoses that need to be shortened to initials.
BPD, LTR, PDA. I didnt make those up.
Where was I?
Oh. I breathed.
I got breast cancer and had a mastectomy.
I lived on a medication for 5 years that gave me ovarian cysts.
I had surgeries to take care of that stuff.
I kind of breathed.
I got cancer again. Breast cancer with no breast.
You see where I'm going with this?
I feel like I've done my share of having the bad thing happen to the good person.
But we get up.
We keep on breathing.
We somehow try to find new normals.
Because this is what life is. Twists and turns and we have to try to figure out how to get to the next day.
Believe me, I am hardly this strong person who is doing any kind of "fighting" without many breakdowns along the way.
I beat myself up quite a bit and yell at DH and my children sometimes undeserving (note the "sometimes").
I cry and eat too much sugar even though I know I'm supposed to be ingesting more protein and almonds and green smoothies.
But what I do try to do is find someway to make myself feel good again.
Sometimes that's a new purse.
And sometimes it's a call to one of my best girlfriends so I can laugh about the Kardashians.
A lot of the time though it's paying it forward.
It makes me feel good to make others feel good.
And god that sounded very saintly of me but this is what I learned from Harold:
“I don’t know why one person gets sick, and another does not, but I can only assume that some natural laws which we don’t understand are at work. I cannot believe that God “sends” illness to a specific person for a specific reason. I don’t believe in a God who has a weekly quota of malignant tumors to distribute, and consults His computer to find out who deserves one most or who could handle it best. “What did I do to deserve this?” is an understandable outcry from a sick and suffering person, but it is really the wrong question. Being sick or being healthy is not a matter of what God decides that we deserve. The better question is “If this has happened to me, what do I do now, and who is there to help me do it?”
I told her Harold S. Kushner beat me to it but here's my spin.
When I have my weekly pity parties in the middle of the night I often contemplate the obvious; why me? I'm kinda done with having the other shoe that keeps dropping because after all; I only have two feet.
DH and I have been happily married for 17 years. We are decent and good people (even though he is a Yankee Fan living in Red Sox nation and brainwashed my child at an old age to follow suit) (and I don't go to temple) but you know; decent and good.
Yet, the other shoe? It comes down in buckets. (If shoes could come down in buckets)
I don't walk around feeling sorry for myself (I did reserve the right to do that however, through all of 2017) but I'm kind of done.
And what I don't understand is when I watch the news about women killing their children in ovens and people driving drunk and killing innocent people I just don't understand how they are not being given the other shoe.
And maybe it sounds like I am wishing ill on the enemy- which I'm not; so relax.
I'm just saying,
please stop ringing my doorbell.
Just as I recover from something I get hit in the face and it's getting really hard to stay strong and laugh and all that other stuff I'm supposed to be doing.
Battling and fighting and being a warrior and staying tough.
So done.
I battled infertility.
I breathed.
I lost a newborn baby.
Then Oldest had a tracheostomy. I laughed when a family friend asked "who suctions him every 4 hours?" Yea, that would be us.
14 years: 7 surgeries, multiple pneumonias, numerous procedures and over a dozen endoscopies thanks to the hot new trend of a diagnoses called Eosinophillic Esophagitis (EOE)
Oh he also loves long named diagnoses that need to be shortened to initials.
BPD, LTR, PDA. I didnt make those up.
Where was I?
Oh. I breathed.
I got breast cancer and had a mastectomy.
I lived on a medication for 5 years that gave me ovarian cysts.
I had surgeries to take care of that stuff.
I kind of breathed.
I got cancer again. Breast cancer with no breast.
You see where I'm going with this?
I feel like I've done my share of having the bad thing happen to the good person.
But we get up.
We keep on breathing.
We somehow try to find new normals.
Because this is what life is. Twists and turns and we have to try to figure out how to get to the next day.
Believe me, I am hardly this strong person who is doing any kind of "fighting" without many breakdowns along the way.
I beat myself up quite a bit and yell at DH and my children sometimes undeserving (note the "sometimes").
I cry and eat too much sugar even though I know I'm supposed to be ingesting more protein and almonds and green smoothies.
But what I do try to do is find someway to make myself feel good again.
Sometimes that's a new purse.
And sometimes it's a call to one of my best girlfriends so I can laugh about the Kardashians.
A lot of the time though it's paying it forward.
It makes me feel good to make others feel good.
And god that sounded very saintly of me but this is what I learned from Harold:
“I don’t know why one person gets sick, and another does not, but I can only assume that some natural laws which we don’t understand are at work. I cannot believe that God “sends” illness to a specific person for a specific reason. I don’t believe in a God who has a weekly quota of malignant tumors to distribute, and consults His computer to find out who deserves one most or who could handle it best. “What did I do to deserve this?” is an understandable outcry from a sick and suffering person, but it is really the wrong question. Being sick or being healthy is not a matter of what God decides that we deserve. The better question is “If this has happened to me, what do I do now, and who is there to help me do it?”
Comments
Post a Comment