Somewhere between closing the metaphorical door of any traumatic situation and getting sucked into the constant vortex of pain and victimhood, there’s a middle place of relative contentment. Of just understanding that it is what it is.
Facebook just shared some memories with me today. Not that I needed Facebook to tell me where I was two years ago and what my friends were tagging me in on their status updates that day.
We alone know that “grueling” reaches a whole new level when it is associated with a ten-hour surgery to extract a brain tumor, and that “waiting,” a word usually associated with boredom, is in fact the most painful word in the English language.
This tumor with all its power to put him into a world of darkness – a world of black and white – cannot kill the colors in his soul. It cannot touch what Coby can still share with the world.
That was the moment, the moment when the roller coaster in his world started going up again, the moment that my 10 year old understood the personal power he had inside. He wasn’t passive, he was strong. He was confident. He could ride any coaster, figurative or literal, and come out triumphant.
Actively take part in the greatest kickstarter ever that’s been running for years behind the scenes of every hashtag, meme, and status update but has somehow fallen behind the far easier “click and share” culture of publicly feeling good.