When I was in graduate school, one of my very good friends had just gotten involved with someone and he was going off for a family wedding or Thanksgiving or something and she was not invited along. She was upset, angry, something. And I still remember her tone and she (I don't think literally) virtually stamped her foot and said in the whinest of voices "But it's not fair!" And I remember just staring at her, thinking something like "What are you, like eight years old?"

My father spent a lot of tme n AA - he was 15 years sober when he died. And I remember one of our conversations when we talked about the reasons/excuses people offer for drinking. At the time, the concept of the "dysfunctional family" was making the rounds and Dad, at one AA meeting, says he looked around and said something like "We're all from dystunctional families Can we acknowledge it and move on?" He talked to me then about having expectations of life that did not work out, how he was disappointed, and under pressure to succeed and how his frustration about how life wasn't "fair" was with him for a long time.

My primary care doctor a few years ago was talking about the idea that we assume that we are entitled to good health. How it's the baseline and that many of us do not come from a baseline of good health. Genetics, mutations, stuff you ingested, water and air quality, food, you name it. No one is guaranteed good health.

For over 30 years, I've known that life wasn't "fair" and for almost that long, I've known how foolish that sort of thinking is. If life were fair, all my friends would be strong, active, healthy people in professions that they love with no struggles over family, money, time, car problems, or serious illness. Those I love would not have fought cancer, be fighting cancer, or diabetes or heart problems, or depression.

If life were "fair", Stu would be alive and well. Yeah.

When I've talked with people about pain issues, about coping and dealing with chronic pain, which I've lived with since I was in my 20s, I often say "it's not fair and you get to say that every so often." I have acknowledged the value of an occasional tantrum or crying fit or screaming session. As long as that isn't where you stay.

It is why I celebrate my friends' successes. Why I am proud to know and love some authors who have made it so big, so ridiculously big. The best thing? They are still the people they were back when they weren't on every bookshelf or tv screen.

Fair. It's not fair. I am thinking that far, far, far too often. I know a little about grief and know that for the most part, you just have to feel what you feel, not try to explain it or reason with yourself about it. Angry that Stu was taken from me, from us? Damn right. Freaking out because the guy who used to help me deal with the pain will never be there to help again. Yes. Rub my back, my feet. Moo at me. Enjoy a cheeble together*. That certain monsters live and Stu died at age 61 after all his hard work recovering? I'm furious. It's not fair.

It's not. And I know there is nothing to do about that feeling, that complaint. It's not fair to anyone and everyone who loved Stu, liked Stu, enjoyed his art, his company, his humor, his understanding, his love. The grown-up, proper line is, I'm sure, something about how "this too shall pass." It will. Like I care.

I want to stop thinking this way. I know I will. Eventually. Right now, it's front and center with all the other nasty feelings. The guilt, the anger, the second-guessing, the grief, and yeah, the whining.

But it's not fair. And we all know it.

*Cheeble is the sound hamsters make (we blame Esther Friesner for this knowledge.)