Yellow Number 7

Never to be confused with Yellow Number 9.

Lance did it....again...and again....and again. He won his 7th Tour de France. He didn't just win seven of them, he won seven in a row. The man is a machine. His body processes twice the amount of oxygen the rest of ours do. He climbs in a lower gear than anyone else because he can spin so quickly and maintain that pace mile after grueling mile. He pulls bicycles up mountains that I'm not sure I could hike over. The man just doesn't quit. His feats are amazing even without the history. Then you factor in that he is a testicular cancer survivor and it becomes the stuff of legends.

I can't help but wonder, selfishly, what makes someone like Lance able to survive, and not just survive but become an athletic legend, when so many others don't? What separates him from the rest of the crowd? What is the defining factor that enables any survivor to do just that, survive, when others succumb? Sure, there has to be the will to live, to fight. But what about those that go down fighting? How did they end up on one side of the coin while others fell to the opposite side? Was Lance (or any survivor) that much better a person than my dad or mom? Did he deserve to live more than they did? Is the world a better place for having him in it rather than them? And what about the "bad" people in the world? The murders, the rapists, the abusers...how is it they get to live while good people die? And not just die, die of a horrible disease that destroys the body. Where is the justice in that?

How does one continue to have faith in an all-loving, all-powerful God when things like this happen? I was raised Catholic. When dad died, I went on strike. I couldn't go to Mass anymore as it just seemed like a play. The priest and alter boys were actors up on stage. Yet I still found myself talking to God every day. I still do. Sure, I occasionally go to Mass and generally when I do it's a good thing. However, I don't have the same drive to go on a weekly basis. I guess I consider myself more spiritual than religious. I'd like to think I've made my peace with God in terms of my parents. However, I can't seem to do it. There are times when I'm fine. Then there are times where it seems like yesterday and all the rage and injustice and feelings of being robbed rear their ugly heads again.

In the grand scheme of things, I have been so lucky. I was blessed to have two fantastic parents for 17 and 23 years respectively. They are so much a part of who I am. They taught me so many things and I am lucky to have had that. Most of the time I can focus on that. But sometimes, when I'm tired or generally feeling low, it all comes rushing back. My parents weren't there to see my brother get married and won't be there to see me. Dad won't be there to walk me down the aisle. Mom won't be there to help me plan. Our children will never know their grandparents. There's no one to call when you're sick and just want your mommy. The torrent of emotion can be so surprising. Does one ever truly "get over it"? I don't think so. Does one every truly get past it? God, I hope so. Though considering it's been 10.5 years since dad passed away I think I'm starting to lose faith on that happening as well.

I think it's just the unknown aspect of it. I'm the kind of person where if you can give me an explanation, even if I don't agree with it, I can process it and move on. I can make use of it. But I guess there just isn't an explanation for everything. That's the part I really struggle with. There is no reason why some people fall on one side of the coin versus the other. At least no known reason. I can't seem to content myself with accepting that I'll just never know. I want to know, and I want to know now damnit! Will I ever know? Will I ever find out if there really is some higher being out there? Will I ever know why two great people had to be taken out of the world at such an early age?

I just dunno.