Life Isn't Fair

I was fairly depressed this past Easter... I actually didn't go to Mass. I did not get out of bed until 3 or so and then did not feel like doing much of anything. It was dark by the time we got to the cemetery and it was also tough because the other kids were with us- which meant that we could not cry of express our pain. I hated going there; it makes me angry that we have to go to the cemetery to see her when we ought to have been giving her an Easter basket.
My faith has been tried over the past seven months but holidays tend to be especially difficult. I just don't get it.
At least once a week I hear a story about a child being either sickened or killed as a result of negligent parents; usually as a result of living in a meth lab or some other such thing. This past week, a woman finally spoke about how her child died years ago. The woman left her toddler unattended so that she could go to club; when she came back the child had been killed as a result of her climbing on a bookshelf that fell on top of her. A week later, the woman threw the child in the trash. She would have gotten away with it except for an X- boyfriend who reported what had happened to the police... Last week, a child died as a result of inhaling toxic fumes while living in the meth lab also inhabited by his mother, her boyfriend (not the baby's father) and a friend.
When I go to the cemetery and see the huge children's section, I have to ask "Why, Lord?" All of the parents of these babies are heart broken with a wound that will never truly heal and then there are parents out there who just don't care and God gives them children who will have to suffer because their parents aren't able to really be parents. It makes no sense!
While Barbara was in the NICU there were so many parents of healthier babies who rarely- if ever- visited. Many parents (mothers included) smoked like chimneys right outside the hospital doors... The parents of one baby who was going to be fine were allowed to sleep next to their child decided not to do so because the couch and chair they had been given were too uncomfortable.
I suppose I feel like I am being punished. I know that I have done some sinful things and did not always live how I ought to have been living; I know this. Sometimes I think I am being punished for my past. At other times I wonder why I am being punished and when it will be enough. They say that God does not give us more than we can handle but I am starting to wonder about that.
It follows, then, that if I feel as if I am being punished, I have to wonder why other people who seem like they could care less about their children get to keep them. This is why it all seems to unfair.
My mother used to say that life isn't fair. That was her reply to every problem I has as a child. I used to get so angry with her because, when I wanted sympathy, I got that. Now, I think that it has roughened me up enough so that I expect things to be unfair- not that it doesn't hurt, still... but I think it hurts much less.
There is a reason for this, people tell me, that only God knows. I pray every night that God will at least give me a sense of warmth when it comes to the death of my child- not that He will tell me His reason- but only that my heart may feel at peace enough to know that there is really a reason and that she is really with Him.
I am still very lonely. It is lonely to be the mother of a dead baby.