On Monday, April 2, the call came—the kind of call that freezes the world around you. My family told me my father’s health had taken a sharp turn. He had only days left, maybe less. I needed to come home immediately if I wanted the chance to say goodbye.

That night I spoke with my leadership, and by the next morning, I was on emergency leave, scrambling to get flights lined up. The schedule was brutal: four flights that would carry me across states, finally landing me at my home airport just before midnight. I told myself it didn’t matter how long or exhausting the journey would be. All that mattered was getting there in time.

But life doesn’t always cooperate.

My first flight was delayed, making me miss the crucial connection to the next. I could feel panic rising in my chest as I thought of my father, of the time slipping away. I was on the edge of breaking down when a flight attendant, calm and steady, reassured me there was still one more flight heading to where I needed to be. For a moment, hope returned.

Before boarding that second flight, a man noticed my service dog, Shiva. He stopped, smiled, and showed me pictures of his own Malinois. We talked briefly, and in that short exchange I learned he had served in the National Guard and grew up near where I did. It felt like a small, grounding connection in the chaos of the day. I had no idea then just how much this man’s presence would matter.

But then came the crushing news: my last flight home was canceled.

It was already 9:30 p.m. I stepped off the plane exhausted, trying to text and talk to my family at once, frantically trying to figure out how I would make it home that night. My family offered to drive five hours through the night to come get me. My heart sank at the thought of them enduring that long, desperate drive.

And then, kindness stepped in.

Two flight attendants approached me, explaining they had been able to secure a late-night flight at 11:30 p.m. Just as they were telling me this, the man I’d met earlier reappeared. Phone pressed to his ear, he walked straight toward me with determination. He told me he was arranging for a professional driver to take me all the way home from the airport—nearly five hours away—and that he would cover the entire cost.

I was stunned. I protested at first, hesitant to accept such generosity from someone I barely knew. But he showed me the receipts, confirmed everything with the attendants, even sent photos of the car, license plate, and driver when they arrived. He had thought of everything, down to the smallest detail, to make sure I would be safe. Before I left, he asked only one thing in return: “Let me know you made it home.”

At 11:30 p.m., I climbed into that car with Shiva beside me, still in disbelief at the kindness of a stranger. For almost five hours, the driver carried me across the dark roads until, at last, around 3 a.m. on Wednesday, April 4, I was standing at my own front door.

Because of that man’s selflessness, I made it home in time. I was able to hold my father’s hand, speak to him, and say goodbye before he passed the following morning, April 5.

The weight of what this stranger gave me is something I can never repay. He didn’t just buy me a ride—he gave me the most precious gift of all: time with my father in his final hours.

There truly are good people in this world. People whose generosity can change the course of a life, or in my case, the course of a goodbye. I will never forget what he did. And one day, I hope I can pay it forward, just as he did for me.