I love roller roasters. I used to be the parent that would take other people’s kids on rides TO SAVE THEIR PARENTS. The slow rise to the peak followed by the instinctive panicked gasp at the drop and then the fall. The wild careening twists that leave your stomach twenty heartbeats behind you to catch up.
Man, I loved those roller coasters.
I got to go with each child on at least one before I had the strokes that took coasters away. I got to witness their fear, apprehension, excitement, exhilaration and complete joy at the experience.
I cherish those memories.
There are many things I won’t do with my kids because of my handicap but the roller coasters REALLY hurt for some reason.
It is one tiny thing in the plethora of adjustments my kids have to make post-strokes.
However, there is this feeling that with everything else they’ve had no choice but to accept, this feels like salt in a very open gaping wound.
They haven’t complained.
They never do.
I’m blessed and beyond lucky that these children roll with every punch thrown their way. Because life throws jabs, and left hooks.
Life can be a real bastard.
We have gone through the panic together, now we are just twisting and careening.
I may not love the roller coaster of life all the time but my companions on this ride can’t be beat.
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