Tag: life

The thrill of the ride: “Toto, I have a feeling I’m not 10 anymore”

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sixflags

Maybe I’m getting old.

I know, I’m being ridiculous, I’m only 23 years old. The best years are yet to come, right? That’s what people keep saying so I’m gonna hold on to that.

Last weekend I visited Six Flags Great Adventure and after about five years, I got back on a roller coaster. Maybe it was that the first roller coaster I chose was a little weird since you had to stand throughout the ride or maybe it was that I’m getting old… but it was NOT pleasant. I kept feeling pain in my back, I was anxious and I thought I was going to die. I kept making up scenarios on my head of my safety bar being released and me jetting out to the sky and landing flat on my face.

What is wrong with me?

Not that I was this fearless little girl before, by no means. You are talking to the girl that used to be scared of electrical stairs, believe me there’s a story behind it, I had my reasons. But at least before I would think less of the consequences and focus more on the thrill of the ride.

Now, if you are worrying about me thinking that this poor young lady threw away her money at Six Flags, don’t you worry child, I had a blast. I made a little mantra telling myself that it was going to be alright, that if everyone else was doing it, why couldn’t I? I also released all of my worries and enjoyed the ride for what it was… a thrill.

I think riding roller coasters should be a form of therapy. You can scream without being judged (well, at least that’s what I want to believe), you can let go and enjoy the thrill without worrying about anything else because for that short period of time, you are suspended into the air, part of a wave and you don’t need to control anything… you can be free.

Sounds amazing and liberating right? It is, until you get out and see your picture on the screen and notice you looked more like a frightful chicken than a human being.

“¡Papi, lo logramos!” / “Dad, we made it!”

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These words were the first words my dad heard when he woke up from surgery on a day like today, eight years ago.

It is impossible to reduce to one post all of the events leading up to that day and everything else that followed, but one thing I can say is that I couldn’t feel more grateful today. It’s easy to take things for granted; life is one of those things. We think we are indestructible and that no one can knock us down, then life happens and our body starts to fail.

Organ donation had never been something that I really thought about. When I got my driver’s license I was afraid of registering as an organ donor because I thought that if I had an accident it would affect my treatment (MYTH). Then my dad was told that in order to save his life he would need a new liver and everything changed. I think about this every single time people say they need a new liver because they drank so much over the weekend.

Truth is, my dad owes his life to a stranger in Florida who passed away and donated his liver. Whether it was that person’s choice or his family’s, we don’t know. Still, life is life and I’m grateful.

Life is weird and it changes its course as it pleases, without making announcements or informing threats. I’ve been grateful to have my dad with me for eight “extra” years and I can only hope that the number keeps increasing.

Needless to say, I’m now a registered organ donor.

Think about it.

To learn more about organ donation, click here.

Currently, more than 120,000 men, women and children are awaiting organ transplants in the United States. 

What are nineteen years?

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You don’t remember a lot when you are little, but for some reason your mind captures random bits of pieces to preserve almost intact. It’s not usually remarkable images, but simple daily smiles.

Nineteen years ago, I remember being taken to my “Titi Gladys” house for some unexpected play time. I don’t remember the worried look in my parents’ eyes or the tears hidden in everyone’s faces, because when you are four years old you don’t notice the bad things that much.

My mother’s brother, my dearest uncle, passed away 19 years ago in a car accident. Hard to say how much a four-year-old girl can remember, it makes me even a little angry that memories rely so much on age. I wish I had more memories with him, but I’m left with bits and pieces of an unfinished puzzle, a little girl too young to mourn.

Then just like that, I see myself quietly opening his bedroom door and jumping playfully to wake him up.

Rest in peace tío, I love you.

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