To the Dark Tower

For those of you who have any interest in reading the Dark Tower series by Stephen King, stop reading here because I'm about to ruin it.

I've just finished reading the last book in the series that has impacted me more than any other I've read. A co-worker had told me that her husband read the series and was disappointed with the end. I don't know if it's just because I'm partial to King, or if it's the dark storyteller in me, but I thought the end traumatizingly perfect. I reached the end and though no tears fell from my eyes, my heart wept.
I wept for Eddie Dean of New York.
I wept for John "Jake" Chambers of New York, who called Roland father.
I wept for Susannah/Odetta/Detta Walker Dean of New York.
I wept for Oy of Mid-World.
But mostly, I wept for Roland, son of Steven Deschain of Gilead.
I went every step with Roland to his Tower. I felt his grief as he did. I felt the joy that he found at the end of his journey. And I felt his anguish as the story of his life was laid before him.
At the risk of sounding totally and ridiculously silly:
I wish you luck, Roland. My heart longs to follow you yet again, but the retelling of your life is a story that is not for me to know. May you find your Tower. And may it be different this time.