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.
“Going to work feels a little like going to war. Knowing the hardship restaurants are experiencing, I got an idea. That night, I shared my ‘economic stimulus donuts’ with my coworkers.”
“Why do I strangely feel like I am a character in a Stephen King novel? One minute, I think it will be over. I make jokes. The next minute, I’m having full-blown anxiety. It’s okay to not be okay right now.”
“I was standing in line with my cart. I only had $40 left to my name for 2 weeks and was about to spend $37 of it on this little bit of food. I tell my son, unfortunately, today I can’t afford it. He was upset. I went to pay for our things and the cashier handed me a card. I start bawling my eyes.”
“When he picked up the phone, I was surprised to learn he had been laid off a month before the Coronavirus took off. If this had happened a year ago or even 6 months ago, I would have a very different narrative on how this is going. I’ve literally heard it all. But I decided to give him a chance to help.”
“The hoarding of supplies has been so bad there is nothing left. My mom is a nurse. So is my sister, my sister in law, my friends and cousins. She didn’t ever need anything from me…until today.”
“Rob sent out an email to his fire department 2 days ago. He felt guilty even asking. A leave of absence would leave us without health insurance, and a child going through chemo. I can never accurately explain how thankful I am.”
“I got home from the hospital this morning with my basement couch/bed made and towels laid out and ready for my post COVID hot shower. It made my heart happy as I thought about the little things my wife is doing during her own isolation at home to make my life easier after a long night.”
“They had literally run out. They offered payment and we said no. Finley ran up into the garden and was admiring the lights again, and the wife said, ‘I know just the thing’ and disappeared for a few minutes.”
“This is a war that none of us asked for. I’ve seen pictures of packed bars in Chicago and beaches in Florida. Our hospitals are at capacity, not enough staff and too many patients. I beg of you, listen and stay inside. I’m scared I will be watching people die and be unable to help.”
“They are desperately waiting to hear the words, ‘It’s time for work. Hop in the car! Let’s go to the hospital,’ so they can go back to doing what they love most, visiting patients. For many patients, their rooms are flooded with flowers and family. For others, a therapy dog is their first visitor in months.”
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