The stories of HeroicStories.
by Linda Gavitt
Connecticut, USA
In January 1999 planning for my daughter’s wedding began with a phone call telling me she and John would marry in March — leaving little time to plan! Fortunately Lauren wanted a small wedding with 20-30 close friends and relatives. She was in Orlando, Florida, John was stationed in Kentucky, and I was in Connecticut. Her finance’s family generously offered their help to plan everything, and their Tampa area home for the reception.
by The Patient
USA
Over 25 years ago a friend recommended a doctor to me. The doctor had a private practice and his office was nearby. Best of all, he favored “preventive and natural medicine”, important to me as I seem to be allergic to half the substances known to mankind. Foods, chemicals, dyes, you name it, I’m allergic.
by Tom Murrell
Ohio, USA
Recently I went to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C., known as The Wall. Some fellow Vietnam veterans and I had just finished a healing weekend called the Bamboo Bridge. Those of us who could take the extra time stayed another day. We went to the memorial to pay our respects to fallen comrades, to complete our work at this sacred place.
by The Caroler
California, USA
In 1990, as was our family tradition, my husband and I invited children from the local high school aCappella choir, including our son, to sing Christmas Carols to people we felt could use some special Christmas cheer. My husband dressed up as Santa Claus and drove a rented flat bed truck.
by Lisa Swindler
South Carolina, USA
In 1998, a week before Thanksgiving, I took our 10-month-old baby daughter to the doctor for a check-up. The nurse commented how well she looked. Fifteen minutes later we were headed to the hospital emergency room. Ruth’s oxygen level was below 90 and she was having difficulty breathing. It was her fourth hospitalization that year.
By Patty Mooney
California, USA
It’s been many years since I have had to stand on the end of Pusheck Road in Bellwood, a suburb of Chicago, waiting for the school bus, and yet I remember one special day as though it were yesterday.
by Jeff Simms
Barnegat, New Jersey, USA
It was a nippy Fall day — our favorite kind of weather. It was Saturday and we were going to have a great time. My divorced mother, two younger brothers and I were on our way to the park at the other end of the small Jersey town we lived in. We had our football and makeshift goal posts in the back of the station wagon and our teams already chosen: us against our mother. (Don’t worry, it was only touch football.)
By L. Harding
California, USA
It was 1972. “The Summer of Love” was gone, hippies were a rare sight, but there were still large pockets of narrow minds, filled with distrust, in rural America. More than once we met with proof of that in our travels across “the heartland of America.” Our only home was our tent, our only “real furniture” the baby’s crib, all piled atop the TravelAll. My husband and I were down on our luck, moving from one temporary job to another.
By Glen Burnie
Maryland, USA
Friday, October 5th, 2001, was not shaping up to be a good day. My wife and I were already running late leaving for a trip to Pennsylvania, and she still had to stop at work for an errand. To compound our lateness, security at her office had drastically increased since September 11th, 2001. The guards wanted to search our vehicle and unpack our luggage. That would take quite some time and I objected wholeheartedly. We avoided the search by letting her walk through the gate while I sat in the car outside the facility.
by Cindy Robison
Taos, New Mexico, USA
When I first saw him, I was horrified. Nothing prepared me for the sight of his badly damaged eye. Martha had first told me about Rusty awhile back. He was a neighborhood dog that was allowed to roam free and he often came to her home for treats. When she saw that his eye had been damaged, she mentioned it to his owners. Their response was that they did not believe in veterinarians and they were going to just “let his eye dry up and fall out on its own.” Rusty was a beautiful dog. He stood with his tail wagging, eager for attention, while frantically pawing at his mutilated eye. I knew that if he didn’t receive some kind of medical attention he would probably die.