A Hero I Met Along Life's Path

Gemma’s post about heroes got me thinking about a few that have crossed my path. Now, I have to warn you upfront. This is not my normal kind of blog. I’m not going to have you sobbing, nor will you be splitting a gut with laugher. But I think it‘s a heartwarming tale, so I decided to share something that happened to me years ago.



“Will you marry me?”

I sat there in that Omelet Shop looking over my plate of smothered hash browns at the man who’d just proposed.

I think I would have been less shocked if he’d pulled a violin out of his ear and started serenading me in Italian. I was . . . speechless. I was also having a hard time swallowing the bite of crispy potatoes covered with melted cheese--a scrumptious meal that the proposer himself had made especially for me and refused to let me pay for.

I met his eyes, certain I’d see laughter hidden in their green depths. No laughter. This man was serious. But he couldn’t be. Could he?

My shock at his proposal stemmed from good reasons—really good reasons. First, I was already married. Second, I was six months pregnant. Third--and I think this was where most of my shock stemmed from--why would he want me? Yeah, my self-esteem was about as large as an undetectable freckle on a lady bug’s nose. But of course, then I realized Robert really didn’t know me.

We had met a few weeks earlier. He was several inches over six feet, broad-chested, probably topped the scales at over 200 pounds, mid-twenties, kind eyes, and a thick head of strawberry blond hair. Not what you’d call a typical hunk, but he had loads of charm and a devilish smile that I’d seen women respond to. He worked at the omelet shop with my mother.

My mother, whom I had been staying with for the last three weeks since my husband of almost two years decided he deserved better than me. Yeah, the husband was a big part of my self-esteem issues. I was young and dumb—a few weeks shy of my eighteenth birthday. Yup, that means I was married at sixteen. But hey, by my family’s standards that was practically an old maid. My mom was married at thirteen.

“I’m serious,” Robert said. “I work two jobs. I don’t make a lot of money, but I pay the bills. I’d be good to you.”

I literally had to pick up my chin off the table. “You can’t be serious.” I dropped a hand on my swollen belly, thinking maybe the man was half blind and hadn’t noticed I had a watermelon-size lump under my shirt and a wedding ring on that hand. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.” He shot a quick glance at my mom working behind the counter.

Just like that, I knew my mom had told Robert about my situation. I felt my face flush. Mortified. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to know how I’d failed. I was going to kill her. Seriously kill her.

“She shouldn’t have said anything.” I picked up my fork and started to play with my food.

“She didn’t tell me much,” he said. “She didn’t have to. The first time I saw you, I felt as if I was looking at an angel with a broken wing. I knew someone was hurting you. And damn it, you are so beautiful and you don’t know it. You’re funny. You’re sweet. And some guy out there is treating you like shit. You don’t deserve that.”

Okay, right then I knew the guy was half blind and functioning on half a brain, too. I wasn’t any of those things. I knew because my husband had told me.

I thanked Robert for his offer, but turned him down. It would take several years before I realized what a gift Robert offered me that day, but even then, I knew he’d made a difference. Yes, I went back to my husband—back into an abusive marriage. I didn’t find the courage or the self-esteem to walk away from him for good for four more years. But the day I jumped on an airplane with a four-year-old daughter, determined that we deserved better, I thought about Robert.

I knew that the courage it took to walk away from an abusive marriage had grown from a seed of confidence planted by a fry cook in the Omelet Shop four years earlier. Robert called me an angel that day, but looking back I think he was the angel, one of those heroic people who speed walk through our lives and yet make a big difference.

Have you had one those angels cross your path? I hope that if there’s anyone out there in the place I was over twenty years ago, I hope you find your own Robert, I hope you’ll realize that you deserve better. And let me tell you, almost a year after I boarded that plane, I met another hero who proposed. The only difference is, I married that one. He’s not perfect, but he’s close, and he’s perfect for me. So for you women out there wondering, there are a few good men amongst us.


Crime Scene Christie—who promises to be funnier next week.