Letters to the Editor
To the editor:
Have you ever had the terrifying feeling that you can’t breathe?
Not because you ran too far or stayed in the sun too long, but because something deeper, something far more dangerous, has taken hold. On the evening of July 21, 2025, I experienced that very fear. What began as a routine evening while traveling became a fight for my life.
I was staying at the Holiday Inn Express in Clinton, when I began to feel the familiar warning signs of an allergic reaction. My throat tightened. My breath became shallow. The world around me started to blur. I knew I had to act fast. I’d been here before, and my EpiPen had always been my lifeline. But that night, my first EpiPen failed.
With one remaining dose in hand, I staggered to the hotel lobby, desperately seeking help. I could no longer speak. My vision faded. My body weakened. I remember motioning toward the front desk, then darkness.
That could have been the end of my story.
But God sent a neighbor.
His name is Patrick, and he is the hotel front desk attendant who took decisive action with no medical training and only a vague memory of using an EpiPen from a television drama. He didn’t hesitate, and he didn’t panic. He took the pen from my hand, administered the life-saving injection, and called 911.
Patrick didn’t know me. He didn’t owe me anything. But in that moment, he became the very definition of a Good Samaritan. His willingness to step in, to stand in the gap between life and death, made all the difference.
I survived because a stranger decided to be a neighbor.
Too often, we walk past one another in this life —heads down, hearts closed. But sometimes, a crisis reminds us of what truly matters. Being a neighbor isn’t about shared fences or friendly waves. It’s about shared humanity. It’s about recognizing the divine opportunity to show up when someone is gasping for help.
Patrick, you are a hero, not because you wore a cape, but because you wore compassion. You didn’t just see a person in distress; you saw a life worth saving. You acted. And because of that, I am alive to write these words.
Let this story remind us all: Heroes don’t just exist in comic books or on the big screen. They walk among us. They work at front desks. They remember small things. They rise when it matters most.
To Clinton, Tennessee — take note. You have a hero among you.
And to all reading this: May we each be ready, in some moment not yet known, to be a neighbor like Patrick.
The Rev. Marisa D. White
