Why do bad things happen to good people?

My day of compassion has a bit of history and without it you would not understand why this day was such an incredibly difficult day for me. To begin the story, my sister died on June 2, 2013. We are 11 months apart and have always been very close. Twenty six years ago she met and married and extremely abusive man. He loved to use her as a punching bag. Breaking bones, blackening eyes, hitting her hard enough to knock out teeth and reminding her how worthless she was as a human being just became her life. She refused to prosecute him, regardless of how many times I called the police. When they finally did separate, a wonderful judge imposed a restraining order that he personally renewed every year because she wouldn’t and he believed her husband would eventually kill her. During these troubled years she also had three children.  These sweet little angels had grown into teenagers and then adults and learned from their dad how to abuse her also. They lived across the street from me for a few years so it was easy to see when I needed to get between her and “them” until the police arrived. One month it was 17 times.

A few years ago she started drinking so she “didn’t have to feel”.  When she realized she had become an alcoholic she checked herself into a treatment center. She graduated from the program and did so well they hired her to help other clients. She acknowledged she was a recovering alcoholic, but made sure it didn’t define her as a person. She was the most amazing, loving individual God has ever put on the planet and the world was a much better place with her in it.

Because they had not been divorced, her husband and children were in charge of planning her funeral. She was Catholic, they wanted a pot luck in the park. She wanted to be cremated, they wanted an open casket. They waited so long (they had a concert they wanted to go to, and then Father’s Day weekend that shouldn’t be messed up) they finally had to have her cremated. On the way back from their trip they were supposed to stop and pick up her ashes in Seattle. They forgot so we had to have them shipped. My grief over losing my sister and best friend, as well as the fact that people who didn’t love her were taking care of her final wishes, seemed overwhelming to me. I have never hit anybody in my entire life; however, I did want them to hurt like they had hurt her. I couldn’t have compassion for any of these people because I was too angry. When we got the assignment for our day of compassion I really thought this was one way I could get through her funeral and let go of some of the hurt I just couldn’t seem to get passed in order to honor her memory.

 I walked into her funeral and it was the strangest feeling.  Regardless of how horrible her children were to her, they had lost their mother. It didn’t matter when her husband got up and said how much he loved her and what a wonderful wife she was (his girlfriend was in the second row) I just simply let it go. They will never get to hear her laugh, taste her fantastic cooking or call her on the phone when something really important happens in their lives ever again. Those reasons alone make me feel very compassionate for them and their future children that will never get to know how wonderful she was. Without this day where I had to consciously focus on being compassionate all day, letting go of my anger (you really can’t feel compassion if you want to rip somebodies head off) and understanding that they were hurting just as I was, it would have turned out much differently. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth the effort. One day we all have to answer for the things we know we have done in our lives. I have a great deal of faith that God can handle that job without me.