THEY WAITED FOR THE GARBAGE TRUCK EVERY MONDAY—AND THEN SOMETHING CHANGED…
“The two men who saved your life are waiting to greet you right outside.”
I looked at her, trying to figure out what was going on. Dehydration, a bad virus, and pure exhaustion had left me unable to think clearly. Something in my chest, however, relaxed when she said, “Your babies are safe,” as if a tight knot had finally given way.
My blood pressure dropped, the doctor explained, partly because I had the flu and partly because I had pushed myself too hard for too long. At last, my body had raised the white flag.
We must go back in time to comprehend how I got into that hospital bed, though, as what matters most is what transpired prior to that Monday.
Since they were two years old, Jesse and Lila had developed an obsession with the garbage truck. Naturally, it wasn’t the trash per se; rather, it was the engine’s roar, the route’s cadence, and the entire ritual. Like clockwork, they would put their noses to the window every Monday until I allowed them to run outside and observe.
It was Theo who first saw them. He was tall, kind-eyed, and soft-spoken. Once, just once, he would honk the horn to say “hello.” His animated partner, Rashad, would wave as if he had been looking forward to seeing them for the entire week.
That was all that was required.
High fives, jokes, and even dollar store-bought toy garbage trucks became commonplace. Jesse was like gold to him. Lila turned a shoebox into a bed and tucked it in each night.
These weren’t merely sanitation workers in the eyes of my children. They were trustworthy, friendly, and heroes. I used to joke that they were the only adults who never failed us.
Therefore, I wasn’t shocked—not really—that they took the initiative when things went awry on Monday.
When I was eventually released, I made sure to be outside with Jesse and Lila the following Monday. When I thanked them, my voice broke. Rashad gave me a hug and remarked, “We protect our people.”
And then something changed.
On Mondays, we began preparing coffee for them. Muffins occasionally. The children used magnets to adhere their drawings to the truck. According to Theo, he had one in his locker. Every week, Rashad began bringing stickers for the twins. It developed into an unanticipated friendship that was lovely, straightforward, and just what we needed.
Theo asked me one day if I had ever considered sharing the story.
I chuckled. “A garbage truck and two four-year-olds—who would care?”
He grinned. “It’s surprising how many people still need to hear about good people doing good things.”
I therefore wrote a brief post about the twins, the truck, and the morning they saved my life and shared it online.
It spread like wildfire.
Thousands of shares and comments. News organizations contacted them. To support the local sanitation workers, a fundraiser was launched. Rashad and Theo received an award from the mayor. The twins received honorary badges and small hard hats.
However, I don’t remember that part the most.
Months later, Jesse had a breakdown one morning. He only had one turn on the lever, while Lila had two. I felt like I might burst—cereal on the floor, toothpaste in someone’s hair.
Then Theo said, “Hey buddy, it’s okay,” while kneeling next to Jesse. Life can be unfair to your sister at times. But you know what? Today, you receive a shotgun.
Jesse’s tears were blinked through. “Really?”
Indeed. Including a safety vest
His expression brightened as if the moon had been handed to him.
I realized then that it had nothing to do with the truck. It had to do with being present. These two men continued to show up in the midst of the chaos, the everyday, and the times when you feel like you’re failing.
Hero talk is like they live in headlines or capes. However, they occasionally drive large, noisy trucks and don orange vests. Your children laugh at them. When you are too exhausted to maintain your world, they do it for you.
Now life is better. The back of my husband. In kindergarten, the twins are enrolled. I’m back to working part-time. Mondays, though? Mondays are considered holy days.
Jesse and Lila wait on the porch every week, their eyes sparkling and their sneakers on.
And me? With coffee in hand and gratitude, I sit on the steps. For Theo and Rashad. For goodwill. For reminders that, if we look, good is everywhere.
Tell someone you know who is like that—someone who shows up even when they don’t have to. Describe their experience. More of that is needed in the world.