What is fair?

"Life isn't fair," I told my 14 year old cousin one day over text message.  Up until this point in her life, things have been pretty easy.  She was born into a loving, middle class family in a good neighborhood.  She's attended good schools, gotten good grades, and lives in a clean, nice house.  So, after not hearing from her for a month, I get a message saying she has her iPod Touch back.  I knew almost immediately that she'd done something to get it taken away.

"What'd you do?" I laughed to myself.  She had rolled her eyes at her mom after getting chastised for getting bad grades.  "I don't know why they're mad at me!" she protested.  "They should be mad at the people in my class who get Cs and Ds too!  It's not fair that they punish me!" 

I exchanged a few texts and ended with, "welcome to the real world and your first taste of how fair life is."

I knew I could get on a soap box and tell my story.  I wanted to make her listen to how I worked so hard in high school and college to become a pilot.  How I'd gotten so close and had it all taken away from me at the very end.  And to throw salt in the wounds, I was assigned to the single worst Air Force job and sent to one of its worst bases.  I wanted to, but didn't.  I could do the same to you, but won't.  Instead, I'll tell a different story, one that many of you have never heard.

This is the story of Richard.  Born and raised in Oregon, Richard had always wanted to be a pilot.  He worked hard during his teen years both in high school and in extracurriculars.  During his senior year in high school, he was appointed to the United States Air Force Academy and was set to join the Class of 2006 on June 26th, 2002, not long after graduating high school.  A local flight school in Medford offered free instruction to appointees of the Air Force Academy and he took full advantage of the program.  Things were looking up for the future Air Force pilot as the cards just seemed to fall into place.  Not long before leaving for basic training, he took and passed his private pilot check ride in the valley not far from the Pacific Ocean.  A huge step in a long line of steps to becoming an Air Force pilot.  Unfortunately for him, it would also be his last.

It was a summer unlike any other in Colorado.  Fires raged just beyond the ridge projecting an eerily red glow behind the majestic looking mountains.  Even as a Basic Cadet, it was hard to not feel overwhelmed by where we were.  After the smoke settled and fires extinguished, Basic Cadet Richard became Cadet Richard.  He had joined the 1100 that had gritted it out through the 6 weeks of hell, a task that 300 of our former classmates could not do.  It was now time to settle in for the long haul.  He had a long 4 years ahead of him if he was going to graduate with a future as a pilot.  So he did just that.

The day it happened was just another day.  Fall had started to creep in on the Rocky Mountain Front Range.  One day while running to class, the world to Richard started to tip on its side like a capsizing boat.  Within seconds, the disoriented freshman leaned, fell to one knee and then collapsed into the grass along side the dormitories.  When he awoke in the hospital, he'd been told that he'd suffered a stroke.  Of course, it doesn't take a doctor to understand the implications of a stroke.  He suddenly realized that in one instant as an 18 year old barely out of high school that his dream of becoming a pilot was over.  In fact, he'd be lucky to ever fly again. 

Fair or not, that fateful fall day in 2002 changed his life forever.  I didn't know Richard then but knew of him, most of us did.  His stroke had paralyzed one of his eyes.  For most of his freshman year, he was forced to wonder the grounds of the Academy with an eye patch on; the Dreaded Pirate Richard.  Many of us chuckled at him and wondered what he'd done to deserve that.  I met him for the first time in 2003 when I showed up to my new squadron and learned that he was my new roommate.  He ended up being one of my best friends and someone who was there for me during some of my most trying times.

Richard would go on to graduate from the Academy, a feat in itself all things being equal.  Unable to become a pilot, he choose a career in maintenance to stay close to the flying side of the Air Force.  If he couldn't fly them, he'd learn to work on them.  After graduation, we all went our separate ways as the Air Force shotgunned it's new shiny Lieutenants across the globe.  Richard ended up in Idaho working on F-16s and I in Montana.  Even though less than 7 hours separated us, I only made the trip to see him twice, something I truly regret.  In 2010, Richard and his wife would be moved to Korea.  In an instant, one of my best friends was on the other side of the globe.

Not long after his move, Richard complained of incredible pain in his groin.  After several trips to the doctor, I was unfortunate enough to have this conversation with him. "Chris, I've been diagnosed with testicular cancer.  They've caught it early enough, but I'm going to lose a testicle."  Shock.  It's the only word to describe how I felt.  He reassured me that everything would be fine. Testicular cancer has a very high survival rate, he said.    Why was he reassuring me?  Shouldn't I be reassuring him?  Only 8 years after having a stroke, he was diagnosed with cancer...and I was the one who needed consoling. 

It was only a few months after the surgery when I suffered a pretty devastating break-up.  When I told Richard, he called me immediately.  I was surprised he would call from Korea for something seemingly as inconsequential as that.  "Chris, I'm really sorry to hear that.  Are you spending Easter alone?"  I responded that I was as the break-up had happened so close to the holiday weekend.  I'd never be able to get a reasonable ticket out of Great Falls.  "OK, Katy and I are coming to spend Easter with you."  He would go on to explain that he was on his mid-tour leave when he heard the news.  They were in Oregon and would be making the trip across the Rockies to visit.  The outpouring of support I received during that time was incredible but none as great as a cross-country trip and for that I will always be grateful.

After his tour in Korea, Richard hop-scotched his way to Belgium where he's stationed now.  About 6 months ago, Richard sent me an enthusiastic email.  They were going to have a baby!  His excitement was palpable.  Due at the beginning of June, it would be their first and considering the circumstances an incredibly fortunate event. 

As many of you have witnessed, I have expressed displeasure or frustration with my current situation.  How could a stupid rule change get in the way of my dream.  In March, I was humbled yet again by Richard.  After a brief period of silence from his end, I noticed he was on his computer.  As I was walking out my door to go to work, I sent him the typical intro statement..."RIIICHARD!"  It's the closest I can come to emulating Chris Farley.

In one quick response, he said  "Hey man.  During a routine exam, they found a lump on a lymph node in my abdomen.  They are going to remove it at the end of April."  I had to pull my car over when I read the news and take a few breaths.  It couldn't be happening again.  At 28 and 2 months before bringing a newborn into the world nonetheless.  I've tried to be supportive but his anguish tears me up inside.  Life isn't fair.  For someone who has done so much good, how can it be so cruel? 

Tomorrow, Richard goes under the knife to have the growth removed.  Following a stroke, he graduated from the Academy.  After having a testicle removed, he came to my side to comfort me and even managed to make a baby.  This is just another bump in the road and I know he will go on to raise a great kid.  In 2056, I want to sit on my porch with him and laugh about the time in my life that I blogged.  He will go on and he will be more successful than ever.  This post is dedicated to you, Richard. I'll see you in a few weeks.

I have included two links below.  The first is a link that Richard put on his Facebook a few days ago.  It is a support website for young adults diagnosed with cancer.  The second is for the Testicular Cancer Society. If you have a few extra dollars laying around, please donate to a good cause. 

Stupid Cancer

Testicular Cancer Society