Same Hallway. Different Doors.

It’s been a busy few weeks for the family and I. Both of my kids are stepping into new chapters of life at the same time. My daughter graduated last week on my birthday. Honestly, I cannot think of a greater gift than watching your child cross a stage into her future while you sit there wondering where the hell time went.  I cry all the time just thinking about it.  

Now my favorite son prepares for prom, post prom party, graduation and college this fall.

The two walk the same hallway, just different color doors.

My daughter walks into adulthood with structure already waiting for her. A degree in science. A job lined up in the field of radiology. A path beginning to form and glow beneath her feet.

Then there’s my son.

Getting ready for a fresh start, in an unknown campus.
New faces.
New pressure.
New freedom.
The kind of freedom that can either build you or distract you.

Watching both of my kids has made me think about my own journey with Multiple Sclerosis.

Life keeps moving whether you feel prepared or not. One day you are opening doors with excitement.
Another day you are opening them with fear.  Sometimes you open one and find purpose.
Sometimes pain.
Sometimes reinvention.

None of us truly know what waits behind the next door.  We simply keep our hands on the steering wheel and continue forward. Some are using adaptive cruise control, and others are racing to the stop sign on every corner.

Not because we control destiny.

Because stopping in the middle of the road guarantees nothing will get discovered

The older I get, the more I realize legacy has nothing to do with money, job titles, or how many people pretend to like your blog post online.

Nobody is standing over a grave saying,

“Damn. He answered emails fast as hell.”

What matters is who you raised.

Who felt safe around you.

Who carries pieces of your spirit after you are gone.  That last sentence there is something I will love to leave behind.  I want the people who love me to see me in the tribe. And remember how dope I was.  I want you to laugh, cry, and feel that I am always with you all when this meat suite expires.  You remember that guy right there…… yeah, he was a fighter!

And somehow, while fighting a disease inside my own nervous system, my wife and I managed to raise two extraordinary human beings.  This means everything to us. 

There were days I was tired beyond explanation.

Days my body felt like it was buffering like bad WiFi in a hospital.

Days I smiled in front of my kids while privately wondering what MS was going to steal from me next.

Mobility.

Energy.

Pride.

Dignity.

The ability to walk normal without looking like I just got off the stair climber after an hour. 

But even through all my symptoms , life kept moving.  Homework still needed help.  I’m lying, I have never helped my kids ever with homework.  It isn’t because I wasn’t around. It’s because I  am not smarter than a 5th grader. 

And still bills still showed up like obsessed exes. Dinner still needed to get made.  Kids still needed advice.  And somehow between doctor appointments, stress, fear, and pretending I was not falling apart mentally, we kept building a family.

Today I watch my kids becoming adults and it’s beautiful…but if I’m being honest, it also hurts a little.

Parents do not talk about that enough.

Every graduation.

Every first apartment.

Every relationship.

Every big decision.

It’s another reminder that time is undefeated.

One minute you are teaching your daughter how to cross the street safely.

Now she has a degree and a career starting.

One minute your son is asking you for snacks every twelve minutes like a tiny unemployed landlord. And now he is chopping up breakfast, lunch or dinner for all if us.. Now he’s preparing for college and figuring out life on his own. Meanwhile I’m sitting here trying to remember why I walked into the kitchen. Life is hilarious sometimes. But beneath the jokes is grief too.

Not dark grief.

Not bad grief.

The kind that comes from loving something so deeply that watching it grow feels both rewarding and heartbreaking at the same time.

I think MS intensified that feeling for me.

When your body changes against your will, you become more aware of time.

More aware of moments.

More aware that nothing stays still forever.

So now I pay attention differently.

I sit longer with conversations.

I appreciate simple things more.

I memorize laughs.

I study memories while they are happening.

Because somewhere along this journey I realized my greatest accomplishment was never going to be perfection.

It was presence.

I was here.

Even while hurting.

Even while scared.

Even while my nervous system was acting like a drunk electrician behind the walls.

I was still here loving my family the best way I knew how.

I LOVE YOU, and I HOPE YOU LOVE ME TOO.