Like most kids, my daughters loved the kiddie rides at Funland in Rehoboth Beach DE. It’s extra special there because the kiddie rides have been the same for several generations. As a kid, I rode and loved the same rides as my daughters did.

One of my favorites was one we called The Cars. It’s the typical set-up; glittery painted sports cars and motorcycles that riders “drove” in circles around a rotating, clown traffic cop.

One summer night, when Bailey was about 8 years old, her and her sister Ally headed over to The Cars for another great ride and climbed onto adjacent motorcycles. We liked having the two of them ride together- if some type of misfortune would befall Ally, perhaps, as the big sister, Bailey could help out.

Bailey reached over and helped 5 year old Ally strap on her seatbelt. When she tried to fasten her own, she discovered that it was too short by several inches. Concerned but not sure what to do, she waited a few seconds for the ride attendant to come by. When he did , he gently informed Bailey that she had grown too big to ride and would have to get off.

The excitement and happiness in her face fell instantly to a brief but crushing sadness as she sat in despair for a few seconds. But it didn’t last long. After a deep breath and a sigh, Bailey perked up, smiled, double checked her sisters seatbelt and climbed rather happily off the ride. As we watched Ally enjoying her turn, my wife and I asked Bailey how she felt about one of her favorite rides being over for good, at least for her.

She said, “At first I was sad ‘cause I love this ride. But kids are supposed to grow, and that’s what happens with kiddie rides. I had a great time riding, but now it’s time move on to the next rides.”

She wasn’t sad. She didn’t pity herself. She had many great, memorable experiences to cherish, but despite her initial reaction, she was ready to move on.

Bailey is now 26 years old, but I think about this scene from time to time, especially when my mind wanders to my eventual death.

When my time comes, I want to be like Bailey. I want not to get stuck in a state of shock, despair or sadness, but I instead hope to be full of gratitude for the ride I had, and to be ready to move on. I hope to leave those around me in safety and comfort, in the same way that Bailey checked her sisters seatbelt before getting off the motorcycle.

If it’s a possibility, I’d like to watch and cheer on my loved ones from “the other side”, like the rest of us who watched Ally ride on.

I hope to be at peace and content, even though the next experience (of death and beyond) is unknown.

My family has enjoyed many trips together to Rehoboth Beach since the time of this Funland kiddie ride situation. And each time we pass The Cars ride I flash back to the night when my 8 year old inadvertently taught me about death.

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