Our youngest son had a lacrosse tournament in Williamsburg, Virginia over Father's Day weekend...so with my parents coming to watch...we made the best of it by going to Busch Gardens on Father's Day once the tournament was over.
   Little did I know I'd see my life flash before my eyes.  
​   It was all in good fairness to be quite honest.  The day began innocently enough with my husband, Adam and I trying to convince our four kids to ride a roller coaster called the "Loch Ness Monster".  It's an Awesome ride, not to mention a total classic.     "You'll LOVE it, trust us", became our mantra to the kids while we waited in line.  My Dad stood with us, leaving an odd number of adults to children, suddenly enabling our daughter to run back to my Mom to get out of dodge.
​     The six of us waited.  
​    Little by little the roar of the coaster seemed to grow increasingly louder as the boys watched groups of people lock themselves in, only to be whisked away - screaming off in droves.  The three boys have all ridden roller coasters before, but to them, this was a big one. 

    "You'll LOVE it, trust us." Again we tried to convince them as they quietly took every element of the ride in before taking our place at "the gate".  
​     Slowly - it opened and with no going back, each of the boys climbed into their seats - while my husband, dad and I followed to sit beside them.  
​     I grabbed the hand of our middle son, Ethan through a Houdini act between the labyrinth of roller coaster safety, giving him one last squeeze of assurance that again, "He would love it".      I hoped they would.  
​     Pushing out of the gate, the coaster pulled up a hill, gave a little "fake out" drop, then went on to plummet the six of us into screams of laughter and loops of fun.
​     Howling as they jumped out of their seats, they begged to go on it again and couldn't wait to convince their little sister of how much fun it was.  
​      They tried, she rode it with us the next time, but what's fun for a group of brothers isn't always necessarily the best time for their nine year old little sister.  
​      Needless to say, she clung to Adam's neck when they climbed into the coaster - and she grabbed onto him when they were climbing out, too.
       All in all, it truly was a thrill and we considered the experience to be a success.
       Walking away, excitingly comparing notes...that's when...we saw it.
      The Granddaddy of them all.  The biggest, craziest ride I'd ever seen and I think under my breath, I muttered..."Oh no" at the exact same moment my husband smiled in awe with his, "Oooooh yes!"
      "Nope.  No way.  Don't even think about it.  I'm not riding that.  You're not riding that.  WE'RE not riding that."
      This monster ride takes you about twenty thousand miles in the air, holds you at the top and then PAUSES.  I mean, like, literally dangles you over the side of your death and makes you sit there beside God and everybody else, while you wait for about an eternity's worth of terror.  Then, just as the story of your life flashes before your eyes, it drops you.  Drops you straight down to a never ending abyss so you may never be heard of again.  

      Forget the remaining twist, turns and loops following the initial drop...I couldn't imagine being conscious for any of that, regardless.
       "We're not riding that", my heart pounded.  I knew that look in his eye and I suddenly realized the paralyzing fear our kids must've felt when we both assuredly convinced them thirty minutes prior.
      "It'll be Awesome!" he beamed.  "You'll Love it!"
      Stupid Poetic Justice.
      Dad shrugged his shoulders and was like, "I'm game!" and that was it.
      The three of us stood in line.
      Little by little the roar of the coaster grew increasingly louder as we watched groups of people lock themselves in, only to be whisked away - screaming off in droves. 
      I couldn't breathe.  I couldn't swallow.  I felt my heart pulse through my ears, but couldn't hear it over the howls of torture coming from all around as we became first in line.
      "I'm not doing this."
      "We're next.  It'll be Great!"  He winked.
      "If we live through this, I'm going to kill you."
      Have you ever felt that panic when you think your seat isn't going to lock or it isn't tight enough and you're going to fall out and assuredly die?  When your hands are shaking and you're convinced the ride will begin without you being secured?  Times that by about a hundred, knowing at any second the floor will drop out and you'll be hanging, feet dangling without a seatbelt.
       But just like that, "the guy" came around making sure we were all locked in safely, giving me one last pause to try and keep my breakfast where it belonged.
      Sitting between Adam and Dad, I didn't understand how they both seemed to look forward to this. Sticking my neck out left and right, they were both actually excited, as I literally forced myself not to cry.  
     "I hate you both", was I think the last thing I said as all too quickly, the floor fell out and the deathtrap jerked into motion.
     Grabbing Adam's hand, then dad's hand, I tried to shut my eyes, go to a happy place, remember my Lamaze breathing, but nothing mattered.  Nothing could take me from this emanate drop that would quite possibly be the end of me.  
     We clinked up the hill too quickly and somehow much too slowly at the same time.
      Please let us live.  Please let us live.    
      Around the time you start pleading to God, is when you know you're in trouble.
     The screaming was deafening.  I would've joined in, but couldn't find my breath.  We were at the top of the world with only one way to go.
     Hanging us over the edge, we locked.  Dangling and looking down, it was so steep, you couldn't see the track below us.
​     No greater love hath a wife or a daughter than to ride this atrocity of death.
    The click that signified the release and drop seemed to stop all time.  Falling, it was everything you'd imagine it to be.  Weightlessness mixed with intense pressure with the uncertainty of whether to keep your eyes open or squeeze them shut.
      It.
      Never.
      Ended.
      It felt like we would drop forever and I didn't know how much more I could take.
      I could vaguely hear both Adam and my dad laughing as we fell, but it wasn't until we caught ourselves finally at the bottom that I could find the slightest hint of my own voice to yell.
      We did it.  We survived the worst part and I didn't know if the scream I exploded out was from pure joy or just the residual of sheer and utter terror.
      No matter, the rest of the ride was actually a blast from the little I remember of it.
      In the end, it was most definitely a Father's Day to remember, sharing both the experiences with our kids and Adam and Dad as well.  
     I never need to go on that ride again, but even though I'd never believe it, I'm actually glad I did.
     Happy Father's Day to all the Amazing Dad's who push you to take that leap - and are always there to catch you when you fall.  XO
   - Video links of the "Griffon"...https://www.youtube.com/watch?annotation_id=annotation_941164205&feature=iv&src_vid=kVyxMGSdvZw&v=Urz66JI-oLohttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVyxMGSdvZw
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​https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tdl8wnQOkjM
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    It was the last day of school.  I wasn't prepared to be so emotional to watch the busses drive off carrying seas of waving arms through pushed down windows in the North Carolina heat. 

    It's my second year working in the school system.  As a speech therapist, my previous years have been spent with patients following strokes, families working through Alzheimer's, people who have lost the ability to communicate or at times eat and drink.
​    The thought of working in the schools however...terrified me.  How would I know what to do?  How could I work with a whole group of kids at one time when all they wanted to do is talk about making slime, doing "the floss" or how they couldn't wait to get home to play, "Fortnite". 
​     Don't even get me started on Fortnite.    
​     But something happened.  Student reports and IEPs became more than just names or written documents.  Meeting the students last year with apprehension and uncertainty, grew into knowing them through their ups and downs.  Soccer championships and loss of loved ones.  Family pets and birthday parties.  The stories and love of life each child shared grew to the point where it became impossible not to revel in their successes and hurt in their pain.
​     What I've discovered however, is when you're used to dealing more often with people at the end stages of their lives, your hope is to give them as much love and comfort as possible.  You hold the hands of a 98 year old who smiles and whispers they're ready to "go home".  You hug the family members of a great grandfather who had the fastest horse in the county back in the day.  
​      It's completely different on this other side.  It's the beginning.  The beginning of life and you hope you're giving them the most you possibly can to prepare them for the future.  To give the right tools to a fifth grader who confides in you how embarrassed he gets when he stutters in front of his class as you pray to God he thrives and takes on the unknown of middle school like a rock star.
​      To hug a third grader and give high fives because they're this close to getting that 's' sound, making it easier for people to understand them when they speak.
​      It's a whole different world and it's one where you wonder and dream of what each child might become.  Deep down knowing for most however, you'll never know...so you watch as busses take them away for the last time.
​      The administration, teachers and staff at our school are amazing and we hugged and danced to "Kool and the Gang", before going back to our rooms to prepare them for hibernation.
​     Fall will come soon enough bringing back a new year of ups and downs, soccer championships, family pets and birthday parties all while hoping for the brightest futures for those students who didn't return, their lives taking different paths.
​     There's an incredibly new found respect for people in the education system who've done this their entire lives...an admiration on a level you'll never know.  Thank You for making a difference in this world one child at a time, while encouraging them to spread their wings.  I don't know how you've done it year after year, but pray sometimes you've known the joy of those who've returned...allowing you to see just how far they've flown.