Hero

This post has been churning inside of me for a while, but just this morning I was sorting through the clothes-to-donate pile and found Dan's old vest. When I say vest, I'm speaking of the bullet-proof type, not of the J.Crew type. Can you imagine Dan in a sweater vest? Ok I've got the giggles now...

Just looking at that thing made my heart do a little thump and then I caught the pungent odor and the memories came flooding back. I know, you're already wanting to close this and URP, but I beg just a few more minutes of your time.

Meet Dan.

Last year Dan was working his off-duty job at a local grocery store, where the most exciting event of the night is the usual beer run attempt or someone mouthing off to the little greeter woman at the front door when she yells at the mom towing 14 kids that she can't take the car-cart into the parking lot. Yeah, I know---Yawn. He makes the most of this job and was working this extra shift two nights a week as we were going through some difficulties financially due to the fact that we were about to lose our business. Suddenly he heard a thud and someone do a little shriek and looked over at the self-service line and an older gentleman was laying on the ground. Dan ran over, calling for the fire department on his way, and found the man not breathing. The whole store was frozen as he began chest compressions while they were waiting for the paramedics. Minutes went by and if you've ever done chest compressions (which I hope you haven't had to do) it is exhausting, so you know he was hot and sweaty and working to save the man. When the firemen arrived, they carted him off and a bunch of Dan's superiors arrived to check out the scene. The man unfortunately didn't make it and as he relayed the story to me, I assured him that he did everything possible and his stormy facial expression told of feelings he wasn't conveying to me. I gave him a hug and let it go hoping he wasn't feeling guilty.

A couple days later I came home from work and was greeted with a strange smell. The pungent odor of a permanent marker. Not a Sharpie. The ones that are made of metal that can make your nose hairs singe? Yeah those ones. I walked upstairs to find Dan using the marker all over his outer carrier on his vest, literally coloring on it. I was shocked and was holding my nose saying that he's probably killing all of our brain cells and asked him what on earth he was doing! He said sheepishly that he had tried to dye his vest earlier in the day and it didn't work so he was trying this and he grinned at his ingenuity and held it up and said that it was working. I asked him why he was doing that and he got a guilty look on his face.

He told me the rest of the story of that night at the store.

As they were loading up the old man into the ambulance, a Lieutenant came into the store to see what had happened. He looked at Dan, sweaty and exhausted from trying to save the man for about 10 minutes, and the Lieutenant walked over to Dan's Sergent and told him to let Dan know that his outer vest was beginning to fade from the sun and it looked shabby and he needed to get a new one. And then he left. My mouth dropped open. Dan said he knew we didn't have the money until his uniform allowance came in as the vests are almost a thousand dollars (we were barely making it as it was) and that was a few months away, so he would just have to do something to make the one he had look better. I was stunned. Stunned at the audacity of the Lieutenant. Stunned that my husband was going to WEAR that vest as it smelled to high heaven. And humbled by his devotion. Every two weeks I came home to that smell for about 5 months until we could afford his new vest.
Even typing this out it brings tears to my eyes thinking about it. As I'm typing this, he's upstairs snuggling a crying Kale as he stepped on a toy and squished his toe. I can hear the loud smack of a smooch he's delivering to said toe.

My hero.