Why is life unfair rather than fair

Sadness: "Death is unfair"

Luna

is 19 years old. Her father Tillmann Prüfer writes here on a weekly basis about her and his other three daughters aged 14, 12 and 5 years

Somebody has died, a relative, Luna is one of the dearest people in the family. They had a special relationship. Luna knew her from an early age. And now the grief is here. "Death is unfair," says Luna. The deceased was an athlete, a proud woman in her eighties, a swimmer. And then she got very sick, and now she is no longer there. You could say that a person who is over 80 has had a beautiful life and death has to come through some door at some point. But still he's unfair. Because he rigorously tears people from their lives. From your own life and also from the life of others. It's easy to say that youth is a carefree time. But it is only partially. When you are young, you encounter many things for the first time in your life. The good ones, but also the bad ones. For example, when someone is taken away from you. Before that, death is something you know from stories or from the media. But that has nothing to do with how it feels when it actually steps into your own life. That feels very different.

I know how it felt when my own grandfather died. Suddenly there was this nothing. This nothing that nobody prepares you for. An empty depression. At that time I couldn't believe that everything would just go on. That something so drastic happens, and yet most people pretend it's normal. But for me the world was no longer normal, it had become different. And it stays different until the other becomes the new normal. Today I am at an age where people I know are dying all the time. And it has become a bit depressingly normal for me.

Have I been able to prepare my child? No I have not. It hits a young person out of the blue. As a parent, one is used to comforting and calming down. One is used to spreading confidence and saying that everything will be fine. But everything won't be okay, how should it? And no empty phrases help against death either. Such experiences are perhaps the first in which parents become aware of their own powerlessness. But they are not the last.

"The bad thing is that there won't be any new memories," says Luna. "The bad thing is that you can no longer visit anyone, that you can no longer create anything beautiful." I say this is the time when the old memories become important, where you have to dig them out to discover how vivid they are. We had visited the relative in the hospital together. She really didn't like having any visitors because she was so unhappy how her body had changed due to the illness. But then we were there, and it was good. The patient gave us the bouquet with thanks. Otherwise it feels like a long hospital stay, she said, she doesn't like it. Luna says the only good thing is that death shows you how precious life is. How much you have to appreciate it, because it cannot be taken for granted, because it is rare and limited. If you didn't experience something like that, you wouldn't be able to feel life. The next time Luna met her relative, she was already too tired to speak. It was only enough for a friendly wave. That was the farewell. The rest is memory.