A Hero

http://mybrothersvoice.wordpress.com/

"Every family needs a hero." Stephen says, his voice cracking with emotion.


We sit in my parent's family room, hanging on his every word.


This is the motto he lives by.


He asks us to look into his eyes, for in his eyes you can see into his very soul. And this is where we will see the many faces that he carries with him. The faces that drive him to share his painful story with anyone that will listen.


He lives to give them a voice.


He smiles, through his tears, because they would want him to.


During our conversation, he frequently looks up to the heavens to talk to his beloved older brother. He seems to check in with him, as if he's making sure that he is telling their story correctly.


He doesn't miss a detail as he begins with the first day they arrived at the Nazi concentration camp, Auschwitz, as a 13 year old boy. The stench of burned flesh repelled him back into his train car, and ashes fell like black snowflakes from the giant ovens that destroyed millions of prisoners deemed "worthless" to the Nazis.

He recalls the shock of witnessing a Nazi shoot and kill his uncle, right in front of his eyes. And, before he could recover from that loss, how he watched while his infant cousin was ripped from his aunt's hands and brutally murdered. Only to see that same aunt killed, while trying to protect her baby.


He tells us how this gruesome murder had them so traumatized that they didn't notice as their Mother was taken from them and forced to another area of the camp. They never got to say goodbye.


They would never see her again.


Still, Stephen would fight the evil that held them prisoner. He calls himself a "part-time prisoner", explaining that he would tell himself that his days at Auschwitz were only a nightmare. And at night, when he could finally close his eyes, he would escape to his dreams. In his dreams, his family was safe and happy. In his dreams, he was free.


He willed himself to survive, if only for the sake of his brother. He would die if he needed to, to keep him safe. He would fight off a solider who raised a large piece of iron that was meant to crush his brother's skull. He fought, and he won.



He would risk beatings to smuggle extra food in for his brother. He took those beatings, and his brother had food.



He would risk death to find his brother when he went missing from their barracks. Only to find a blue-eyed, skeleton where his beautiful brother once was. Stephen prayed to God that his brother might live.


"I ask nothing for myself. But please, God! Save my brother!"


He died in Stephen's arms that day.


All of this he wrote on a makeshift diary, that he again, risked his life to keep. It was his only defense against his captors. He would not let them take his words. He would live, if only to tell his brother's story.



Every family needs a hero.



A hero who thinks nothing of the pain or anguish they may be feeling, but who instead serves tirelessly and loves unconditionally. A hero who fights with every last breath to protect his loved ones. A hero who walks through the valley of the shadow of death, and thanks God that he has legs to walk through it.


Stephen Nasser is that hero.


"I beg you," he pleads, "Go home and hug your family today. You don't know what I would give to run into my Mother's, my Uncle's, my brother's arms. Be the hero that your family needs."


He gets quiet for a minute, and I watch as the tears begin to well up in his eyes.



"Better yet, give them two hugs. Tell them the second one is from me, because my family isn't here to hug."

Stephen Nasser

My hero, my friend.

Panic Button

There was a time when I was grateful for the "Night Owl" that flapped it's little wings inside my head and kept me awake through those endless term papers and closing shifts. Getting by on little to no sleep was a badge of honor for me and many of my similarly sleep deprived friends. Our lives were dedicated to school, work and of course, play. Most of the time my brain was on automatic pilot and there wasn't much time to second guess the decisions I was making. I knew that something (or someone) wonderful would soon be coming my way and it (or he) would be the missing piece of the puzzle that I had been waiting for.


He did come.


He is wonderful.


After a time, two more beautiful puzzle pieces came our way. And with those long awaited pieces came a brand new sensation:


P.A.N.I.C.


This was not a, "First day of school and I notice that the white, jean shorts I was wearing now have fluorescent, green ink all over the backside, courtesy of a leaky highlighter, just in time for me to be called up in front of the whole Freshman science class and introduce myself" brand of panic. (And yes, I do have some form of, "Have a nice summer, 'Green Butt' ", written in my yearbook.........all four years.)


This panic was unlike any panic that I had previously experienced. This was deep down to the depths of my very soul, "You have two of the most precious, most fragile, most important gifts that could ever be given, one wrong move and you could ruin their lives" panic.


I was scared.


I am scared.


With this feeling, came changes to my past nocturnal relationships. The encouraging fluttering that would keep me on task through those long, dark hours, changed to a taunting of sorts. My feathery friend began to turn on me.

"You're doing it wrong." (flap flap)

"No one else is this overwhelmed." (flap flap)

"Everyone else does it better." (flap)


As I lay in bed, willing myself to fall asleep, I was often visited by these destructive phrases. My thoughts would turn to the countless mistakes I'd made that day and the many reasons why I would most certainly fail. When I had tucked the last little one into bed and kissed my husband goodnight, anxiety would begin to take hold and I knew the thoughts that would soon follow.


One night, I was unable to control the stream of hot tears that ran down my face, or the negative reflections from the previous day. It seemed as though I was sentenced to one more night of self loathing. Though my husband was sound asleep next to me, the loneliness I felt was palpable. Panic was poised to take over for the night and I was desperate to avoid it's damaging clutches.


"Oh please!" I prayed, silently. "I just need a hug!"


Not a second had past before I felt Adam's strong grasp around my shoulders. He pulled me toward him, still sound asleep, and protectively clasped his arms together. And that is where he kept me for the remainder of the night.


I gasped at the immediate response to my silent prayer. But more than that, I was filled with gratitude for a loving partner who spends his life trying to shield me from pain and suffering- the dead of night being no exception.


He was everything I ever hoped for when he came to me, more than eight years ago. He arrived all shiny and new, with instructions to "Push in case of emergency". Though many years of his bride slamming on that button have passed, wearing it so thin that there is a groove that perfectly matches my finger, he has never been out of order. He is always there, encouraging me, comforting me, and sometimes, without even knowing it, answering my prayers.

Boy, could I have used him in science class......

"Green Butt" and her "Capt. Awesome"