have to do this,” I told him.
Tyler shook his head.
“We know. But we want to.”
Then he smiled.
“We carry our own.”
For three Saturdays, the soldiers worked outside while I prepared enormous pots of chili and cornbread. SupportVeterans
During the second weekend, Tyler brought his mother, Angela.
She hugged me tightly and cried.
“For sixteen years, I’ve wanted to thank whoever helped my family,” she whispered.
I held her hands.
“You raised two wonderful sons. That’s thanks enough.”
Angela told me she’d become a respiratory therapist because
