So.....Not........Fair.

“She's such a smart girl. I can't believe she would walk in front of a train.” A tragic epitaph to a young lady who was beautiful, intelligent and driven.
There have been two occasions in my life that I truly believed I was going to die. Yes, I admittedly am a bit dramatic, but these were not one of my lame pleas for attention. I did indeed 100% think death was here for me. Both of these times were during illness.
The first, I was 19years old. I was living in Houston. I had some really terrible virus that left me with a fever, nasty stomach bug, bronchitis, a double ear infection, strep throat and an acute sinus infection. One of the older ladies I worked with had taken me to a clinic. I remember the doctor had his cold fingers on the side of my neck, looking down my throat and said, “Boy, you sure do feel bad, don't you?”. He then shot me up with penicillin and gave me a fifteen day regimen of Augmenten. Later, I was alone, laying on an itchy sofa, with hot tears stinging the outer corners of my eyes streaming into my hair. I had the words to an old song playing in my head, “Going Home, I am Going Home. There is nothing to hold me here. I caught a glimpse of that Heavenly Land. Praise God, I am going home.” Like I said, dramatic, but at the time very real. I vividly remember telling myself that once I fell asleep, I probably would not wake up. I was at peace with it, so I drifted off. Imagine my slight confusion as my next vision was of a friend throwing my stuff on top of a laundry basket on her hip. She guided me down the stairs and into her car out to her parents home so her mom could take care of me. I was drifting in and out of sleep all the way there. As we merged onto the 288 freeway, I realized I was going to live. I am still grateful (but in my sick way, was peeved about gaining back the 19 pounds I had lost.)
When I was 23, I was less at peace with the idea of dying. My husband and I lived in Riverside with our beautiful 14 month old daughter. She was (and is) the joy and beauty of my life. I had been sick off and on, and must have done something to my neck, because I got to where I couldn't turn my head at all. I came home from work crying in pain, with the worst headache you could imagine, and a fever of 104. I became violently sick and started to break out in hives. My husband called his mother to come get our baby so he could take me to the ER. I was in SO much pain. Our darling girl came over to me to ask if I was okay. I must have frightened her. I was so angry and scared, I couldn't even look at her. I thought, “God, why NOW? When I have a husband who loves me and this beautiful child? Why would you take me now?”. Yes, again dramatic, but, again-at the time- real. My mother in law was in a fender bender on the way to our apartment. We didn't have cell phones in those days, so we didn't know what was taking forever. As soon as she got there, my beloved carried me out to he car and to the hospital, where I was immediately cared for. I must have been having such a fit, they didn't want me in the waiting room. I was quickly administered an IV, and then given Morphine. I could taste it, and my throat started to burn. I felt it closing up and I began gasping for air. In a dimly lit emergency room cubicle, unable to breathe with a sea of activity around me, everything got dimmer. I was rolled onto my side and felt a sharp, electric pain from the middle of my back down into my legs, as fluid was taken from my spine. I reflected back to the time on that itchy sofa, but no peaceful resignation or hymn of comfort came now. This was death, and I was pissed about it.
But, it wasn't death, just a “simple” case of meningitis coupled with an anxiety attack and a bad reaction to Morphine. Some time quarantined in the hospital and two years of fatigue and raging headaches, and I would be good as new.
There have been other times- when passing a gall stone and suffering, was was termed “slow burn appendicitis”- that I WANTED to die, but the grim reaper didn't even hint at showing up to relieve me of the pain then. At least with the pain of childbirth, it's over in twenty hours or so and you end up with a baby!
I think the problem is we have a hard time seeing anything but what is immediately in front of us. Ill and alone, I could see no earthly relief from the attack of the infection on my body. Overwhelmed by a wall of pain and fear, I thought the only thing other side of it could be death. But I was very conscious and afraid of what I didn’t know. There are other times when we think we absolutely KNOW what is in front if us and how to handle it, that we don't heed any precaution. We don't know what we don't know. So much so, we take for granted that there ISN'T anything we don't know. Sometimes, we may see what is, or may be, coming. We either accept it, peacefully or unpeacefully, or deny it. Other times, we are oblivious to even look for it, secure in our routine and ignorance.
Such was the plight of the daughter of a dear friend.
Alana was walking home from school, as she did every day. She had transferred to a high school that offered an International Baccalaureate Program, so every day, she had to take the city bus to and from school. And every day, Alana would cross a set of train tracks to get from her bus stop to her home. Some days, there would be no train and the barriers would be raised dormant. Other days, she would have heard the bells and scurried across before the the barriers would lower and the train would come. And other days she would wait for the 100plus freight cars to slowly make their way across the street, and when finally the last car of the train would pass, she would go around the still lowered barrier to get home and get on with all the things she had left to do that day. On Tuesday, she would follow the same routine she had every other day. This time, focused on the hundred-car-long freighter and the things that occupy the mind of a fifteen year-old girl, accustomed to the sounds of the train and the bells, what Alana didn't see was the commuter train speeding from the other direction.
Alana was a creative 15 year old girl with dreams and typical teen worries and a kind heart. She had been a cheerleader, was an Honers Student with strong convictions, a Humane Society Volunteer, a Compassionate Sister to her brother with Asberger's Syndrome, and a Devoted daughter. She did not come from a family with a lot of means, so she knew in order to achieve her goals, she had to be willing to work hard. With such drive and determination and talent and promise, why would God just snatch her from our hands?
All of us dodge the barriers and close our ears to what's around us. Not considering anything other than what we can see in front of us. All of us take for granted that we know all there is to know. And though Alana's consequences are plain to see, what consequences do the rest of us have that we refuse to acknowledge? Those of us with less drive, less determination, less promise, less compassion? Why isn't it fair?
My own teenage daughter will occasionally sleep over at a friend's house. When she does, we trust she is safe and having a good time, but, when we go to bed, we feel it in the air that she isn' t here. We feel she is missing, but she comes home the next day, and we ask if she had fun, and she tells us “yes”. It is a horrifying thought, that my friend will go to bed tonight, with the feeling her daughter is missing, but she's not coming home tomorrow.
A family friend was quoted in the newspaper article about Alana's death, “She was such a smart girl, I can't believe she would walk in front of a train.”. Perhaps more remarkable is the fact that the rest of THINK we are so smart, it's a wonder more of us DON'T walk in front of trains.