LJ Herman is a former editor at Love What Matters and lives in Colorado. LJ is a concert, ticket and technology enthusiast. He has seen the Dave Mathews Band over one hundred times and counting.

LJ Herman is a former editor at Love What Matters and lives in Colorado. LJ is a concert, ticket and technology enthusiast. He has seen the Dave Mathews Band over one hundred times and counting.
“He wouldn’t look at me, he would hand me money and say he wanted a six pack of Natty. He handed me a debit card and a grocery list and told us we could spend $20 on ourselves. I jumped for joy as soon as I shut the window. A couple hair cuts later, he hands me a check.”
“Tears were toppling from my unmoving gaze, the sound of them dripping onto the pillow beneath me was deafening. ‘Please just let me see his face. I can still feel the panic washing over me as my husband left my side. I can still hear the final scream hanging in the sterile air.”
“Not the shy ones or the quiet ones. The ones who were too scared to speak up.”
“His breathing declined fast. We got a call saying, ‘Come right over, it’s not good.’ It was my daughter’s birthday. I kept all the cards he used to write me.”
“How was I supposed to tell him he married a sick woman instead of a healthy one? I looked at him and he knew. He just knew. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t have to.”
“We made a bear with her voice saying, ‘I love you, Charlotte.’ She was scared Charlotte would forget the sound of her voice. I will never forget the look on her face when my friend dropped her off.”
“Shove a corn dog in the microwave, let my child play for hours on the iPad. At this point, I don’t care…as long as they give me five minutes of silence. I think a lot of us are in the same boat.”
“‘Great idea, hon. Let him eat on the filthy restaurant floor!’ A woman at the table behind us turned around in her seat. She was definitely preparing to make some commentary, and my stomach dropped a little. But then she smiled.”
“We’ve seen countless rooms at children’s hospitals over the last few years, because the ‘little cough’ you sent your kid to school with landed mine in the hospital, unable to breathe on her own. I have a forgotten child.”
“I said to my husband tonight, ‘I have to tell you something.’ I stood right in front of these trees and started crying when I heard the acoustic version of ‘O’ Holy Night’ playing over the speakers.”
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