“The two individuals who rescued your life are here to welcome you just outside.”

Weak and drained from dehydration and the flu, I found it difficult to comprehend the doctor’s words—until she added, “Your babies are safe.” A profound knot in my chest finally began to ease.

My collapse occurred after weeks of enduring illness and fatigue. However, the narrative begins long before that Monday.

From the age of two, my twins Jesse and Lila were captivated by the loud roar and routine of the garbage truck. Every Monday, they would press their faces against the window, eagerly anticipating the arrival of Theo and Rashad—two sanitation workers who had become akin to superheroes.

Theo was kind; Rashad was lively. They honked, waved, and became the weekly highlights for my children. Toy garbage trucks, drawings, and stickers followed. They were not merely workers—they were the only adults who consistently supported us.

When I collapsed, it was Theo and Rashad who recognized that something was amiss and took the necessary steps to assist.

Once I had recovered, we started leaving them coffee and muffins. Our relationship deepened significantly. Theo even requested that I share our story, which subsequently went viral. This led to awards, and the twins were honored as honorary helpers.

However, what resonates with me the most is a serene moment—Theo providing comfort to Jesse during a meltdown, offering him the front seat and a safety vest. That simple gesture served as a reminder: it was never solely about the truck.

These men consistently showed up—week after week—providing their presence, kindness, and stability at a time when we needed it the most.

And now? Mondays have become sacred. We sit on the porch with coffee and a sense of gratitude—for Theo, Rashad, and the goodness that still prevails.