The Rollercoaster of Life

Erwin and Rob on Dragster - DSCN9394

What a rollercoaster life is, eh?  From the bumps, highs, lows, scary parts, exciting parts, times where you are waiting and waiting just to get in the car, disappointments, aggravations, thrill, dread and anticipation, that feeling — once you’ve committed yourself and are strapped in, climbing the big hill, listening to the loud clanking of the chain pulling you away from the safe and familiar — wondering, “What was I thinking?  Will I survive this?”  And the joy and sense of being alive, spurring you on to the next experience.

It’s nowhere near as much fun going on the ride alone — you need to experience it with your friends.  The problem is, when you are on the ride, everything is a blur.  It’s not until you get off that you have time to compare notes about what you just experienced.

Life is kind of like that, too.  I am so grateful for my friends who are accompanying me on this ride.  At the same time, we are busy, busy, busy and there’s never enough time to spare with any of them.  We just catch glances, as it were.

Heaven, then, will be the time where — after the ride — we can spend time together, talking about the experience and how grateful we are that our friends were on the ride with us.

Disease Progression

The infamous abs

It’s funny what upsets us.  Lately, I’ve noticed an increase in pain and weakness in new muscle groups.  Insertion points in my knees and shoulder…  Facial muscles (which is why I’ve been rubbing my cheeks lately)…

But the one that’s making me really sad is my abs.  Yep.  You wouldn’t have thought, would you?  I’ve always counted on my abs.  I could do crunches and sit-ups like crazy in the Navy.

And now…. they too are succumbing to the disease.  And I am not happy about that.  🙂

You’d think I’d be more concerned about my lungs, nausea, or my heart.  But this isn’t about those parts of me being attacked which are more life-threatening, but those which I will miss the most.

For you, my dear abdominal muscles:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. ~Dylan Thomas