A Super Hero Story

 I have always enjoyed spending time with you reminiscing about days gone by and the love of all things history.  History happens as close as yesterday.  I marvel at the strength of the human race and how we all have a story to tell.  There are so many days that the thoughts of my past take a backseat to the amazing stories that random people bless me with.

Yesterday I spent the best part of the day at Vanderbilt University Hospital waiting on my husband to have surgery. I wasn’t alone. I was surrounded by others just like me spending time in a holding pattern for their loved ones as well.  In one of the waiting areas, I glanced across the room and noticed a man in his 70s, walking with a cane and sitting alone.

 I am not really one to keep to myself so I began my conversation asking him about who he was waiting on.  He has been bringing his 49 year old stepson here for surgeries from 175 miles away in Kentucky.  He would just light up talking about all his sons and their amazing potential in life, that is until this one had a series of strokes and the other had health issues that has kept them from living up to that potential. I had to keep asking questions since he was so willing to chat with me.  I talked about the fact that there is always a way to use our gifts, even when life seems to throw a curve ball.

That conversation led us to the most intriguing conversation of the day.  This sweet man, with a bad leg and the energy to drive his son back and forth from Kentucky to Nashville, was a marine in the Vietnam war. When we began speaking about overcoming obstacles, he was more than ready to share the obstacles he had overcome in his youth.

“In Vietnam, the heroin was 82% pure heroin. Not like the stuff they have today.  This stuff was almost pure heroin.  It was easy to get and even easier to get hooked.”  As the war was ending, he traveled through the Philippines before heading home.  There he experienced the hell of withdrawal. He had never been so sick for so long. The vomiting, shaking and complete torment overcame every ounce of his being.

I asked him what happened after he returned home, thinking that relapses are common and the difficulty re-adjusting from war.  He said “Well, I decided to go to college, get my degree and now I am an alcohol and drug counselor.” He didn't talk about the post Vietnam war stuff we read about or the struggles of reintegrating with society. All he knew was that he would never experience the effects of drug use again.  He talked about hope and his goal of saving people from his previous fate. Still. At 70 something.

As soon as that was said, the phone rings and the nurse calls me out. I turned and looked at the man and thanked him for telling me his story. I told him I hope his son’s surgery goes well.

That was it. I never saw him again over the next 5 hours I spent at the hospital. I looked everywhere because I really would have loved to hear more but I guess that wasn’t meant to be that day.

We are all superheroes.  We all have that mountain we have to move and then use that strength to help others move their mountains. We may have different superpowers, but we are all heroes.