My sister just lost a dear friend.
Her friend was young, really in the prime of her life. Or she should have been. Instead, she’d been battling cancer. This week, she lost the fight.
My sister called me in tears. As I tried to comfort her, she asked me, “Why is it so unfair? Why do the good ones die and the assholes get to live?”
It’s a question I’ve asked myself often in the year and a half since we lost Misty. Why must the good ones lose the fight? Why must the great hearts be snuffed out early, while the bad seeds continue on to cause so much heartbreak and pain? Why can’t life be more fair?
The truth is, I don’t have a good answer.
I don’t know why Misty didn’t get another forty years to share her smile and her love with the world. I don’t know why my sister’s friend had to lose her fight before she was able to marry and have babies. I don’t know why the good ones don’t get to live the longest lives.
All I could say to my sister, and all I can tell myself is this:
Maybe we lose the good ones so that we can be enraged by the injustice. Maybe we’re supposed to use that rage to become inspired. Maybe we’re supposed to use these losses to look at our own lives and evaluate where we are and where we want to be. Maybe we’re supposed to become inspired to live better lives, to become the good ones.
Maybe, just maybe, we have to lose someone great in order to understand just how precious and valuable our own lives are.