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.
“To the nurse that pushed sedation and paralytics into the veins of your favorite physician. To the provider sleeping in a tent, hotel, camper, basement, or garage in an effort to minimize your family’s exposure. My prayer is you never wake up in the night sweating or gasping for breath. May you stay the course as one of the ‘mild’ cases.”
“We packed up the essentials and moved 600 miles away from our home into a 100-square-foot camper. It’s safe to say we know a little something about small space confinement. This could be your most connected year, if you allow it to be.”
“I tried to hide it from my parents but their child had changed and they knew something had happened. I walked onto the bridge with tears in my eyes. This is how I would do it. She watched me, and through the grace of God, decided she should call the police. This woman, I truly believe, was an angel.”
“I quickly paid and pushed my cart to my car, my face feeling flush with shame. This precious man, for reasons our society is too selfish to address, must continue to go to work. If you find yourself wondering if the errand is worth the risk, look at this picture.”
“But then, people I love dearly got laid off. But then, I found myself on the phone with older family members I naively thought would live forever, suddenly wondering ‘what if.’ But then, people started to die. In what felt like a matter of minutes, it became more clearly into focus what was really at stake.”
“’She’s due in 3 weeks and has nowhere to go. Would you guys please take her?’ We can’t do this. On the other hand, how could I say no? This young girl was just desperate for a mom, her mom, and she was getting me instead.”
“The first thing my daughter, Leah, said upon entering the hospital room was ‘pacifier,’ referring to the CPAP keeping my beautiful grandmother’s lungs expanding in that crisp, white hospital bed. Her red hair was squished in the back, eyes revealing fatigue, but thankfully not discomfort. She drove a white Thunderbird when I was a kid.”
“He just needed to learn how to de-stress properly after work. He just needed to sleep better. He just needed to make more of an effort. Fine. Whatever. ‘Honey, I need you to take me to the ER.’ I looked at my husband, who absolutely hates stepping foot inside of a hospital. Something was wrong.”
“We were too young, too inexperienced, too still in college, too poor… I was 18 and he was 20. Nobody wanted us to get married. His family got quiet, tiptoed, and avoided.”
“He reached in to hand me what I assumed was my license back. It wasn’t until my hand had closed around it that its unexpected bulkiness drew my eyes to it. I burst into tears. This complete stranger, who owed me nothing and is more on the front lines than I am, shared his precious masks with me, without my even asking.”