About a year and a half ago, I faced the day where I had to say goodbye to my freshman year of college. I didn't know that day that I would have to say goodbye to some other things in my life too.

The day I moved out of my freshman dorm, I called my boyfriend to help me move the already packed boxes into my car. When he arrived, his eyes were the size of cantalopes and his hands were shaking. I knew then that he had come over not to help me move my boxes, but to move me- out of his life. Looking back now, it was all a bit symbolic. Moving out, moving on.

So, with my heart in pieces on the ground, and my girlfriends surrounding me, I tried to muster the courage to drive back home to Omaha from Lincoln. As I stood outside my door, my friend Kyle Thomas stopped me from lifting what I was lifting. He took all my heavy load, and brought everything to my car. Then it was time for me to go to the car, he lifted me up and brought me there too.

I don't know if he knows how much this meant to me. Or how dear I will always hold that memory. I think some people have it in them to know just what to do, right when it is needed. At that moment, Kyle Thomas was a hero.

And then I think of Max Funkey, scraping the ice off my car at 3 am, because he knew I had to drive in the morning. It was just before Christmas, and again, I was headed home. And without even expecting a thank-you, Max saw me in the parking lot, came out, and grabbed the ice scraper from my hand and started hacking away at the inches of Nebraska ice covered my windshield. Max, he was a hero.

The most recent in my life was sn Italian guy named Andrea, and a Spanish guy named David. Both friends of mine from Denmark. They lived right next to the trainstation, so I stayed at their apartment the night before I left. I was so sad to be leaving. That night, David and Andrea stayed up with me, all night long, battling off the sleep and boughts of sadness. Those last few hours in Aalborg were so surreal. I was able to ward off the sadness, up until the moment I zipped up my bags. Right as the wave of despair hit me, those guys were there. They carried my bags and never stopped smiling. We waited there at the bus stop until the bus came, tears pouring down my face, and they never blinked once. They never made me feel stupid for being so sad. They just hugged me. And waved goodbye. And those are the last faces I saw in Aalborg. The last faces from there I have seen to this day.

And this is the point of the hero- they are with you there, right at the end. While they may not have been the leading men the whole story, at the end, they know how to step in.

I heard a story recently that made all this rush back.

A good friend of mine went through a horrible, horrible situation. Not to invade her privacy, but she was stuck in a situation where she had but one person take care of her. And that one person let her down, gravely.

But then there was a hero. Someone she and I have known since high school. My friend called this guy after maybe years of not speaking. He was located in the same state as her, and was her only hope to get out of this sticky situation. Without question, he came and picked her up. No questions. Just delivery.

What makes a friend a hero? They recognize a call to action. They can recognize hurt. They protect vulnerability. They understand sadness, and treasure privacy. At moments where life has such a propensity to pain, you can consider yourself blessed indeed to find yourself in the company of a hero.

Their sensitivity to the needs of their friends in inspiring, and I hope that, in my years, I can find a way to return all the generosity that has been lavished on me.