The Man Who Saved Himself The Day All Odds Were Against Him

October 7, 2025September 7, 2025Benjamin6 Comments

1–2 minutes

Excerpt: The Man Who Saved Himself

I often go back through the archives and reread old stories I reported on. Some are small, dusty pieces that barely made a ripple. Others grab you by the collar and refuse to let go. This is one of those stories.

On a summer day in 1993, construction worker Donald Wyman, 37, found himself trapped. He was in the woods of Jefferson County, Pennsylvania. A fallen tree had crushed his leg so severely that he couldn’t free himself. After an hour of pain and helpless screaming, Wyman realized time was running out.

With no other choice, he made a tourniquet out of a shoelace and a wrench from his power saw. Then, with a courage most of us can barely imagine, he amputated his own leg. Using a seven-inch pocketknife—cutting through muscle, skin, and nerves to seize his survival.

Badly wounded, he dragged himself to his bulldozer, and drove—bleeding—to his pickup. Once in his truck he managed to reach a neighbor’s farm half a mile away. The neighbor, John Huber, called rescuers, who later found Wyman’s leg still pinned under the tree, boot and all. Thanks to his grit and quick medical response, Wyman survived and was upgraded from critical to stable within days.

Had he hesitated, his story would have been reduced to a one-paragraph obituary in his hometown paper. But Wyman wasn’t a victim—he was a survivor. He did what had to be done.

And that’s the lesson. You may never face a tree crushing your leg. Yet, you may face toxic relationships. You might meet negative influences or habits that hold you back. Sometimes survival means cutting away the very thing that’s dragging you down. You may face a country that has appeared to have turned against you. It won’t be easy. It may hurt. But in the long run, it can save your life—so you can live fully with those you love.

Be your own Wyman. Write your own survival story.

How to Protect Your Future: Build Resilience Now

October 6, 2025September 5, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

1–2 minutes

Not long ago, I was reminded of a question I was asked when I was younger. What is the single most important thing an individual can do today to protect themselves for the future?

The answer can vary depending on whether you’re considering finances, health, or personal growth. But if I had to distill it into one single most important thing, it would be –

Invest in Your Own Resilience

1. Health

Take care of your body—exercise, eat well, and emphasize sleep. Without health, everything else becomes harder. Your body is the foundation for your future self.

2. Mind

Keep learning. Read widely, ask questions, and develop skills that won’t become obsolete as the world changes. A flexible, curious mind is your best insurance policy against uncertainty.

3. Finances

Save consistently, even in small amounts. Building a safety net gives you the freedom to make choices later on and protects you when life throws surprises.

4. Relationships

Nurture authentic connections. Family, friends, mentors, and communities are often the strongest form of protection in a crisis.

5. Purpose

Know what matters to you. A sense of meaning provides direction and clarity to decisions when the future feels uncertain.

📌 If I had to choose one phrase to sum it up:

“Build resilience today—through health, knowledge, savings, and relationships—so tomorrow you’re strong enough to face whatever comes. If you keep your body, mind, and soul, they will sustain you.

Avoid The Big Three– Lust, Greed, and Complacency are the three factors that contribute to the destruction of any individual.

Finding Hope in Forgotten Places

October 5, 2025September 5, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

2–3 minutes

I Just Came In to See if Someone Still Cares

The neon beer sign buzzed faintly against the cracked window of Earl’s Place, a bar that had seen better years. The wooden floor creaked under the weight of boots that hadn’t walked through in a long time. Jack pushed the door open and paused. He wasn’t sure why he’d come. Maybe it was habit. Maybe it was the song playing faintly from the jukebox in the corner—one he hadn’t heard in years.

“I just came in to see if someone still cares…”

He let out a dry chuckle.

“Well, ain’t that the truth.”

At a corner table, an older man nursed a black coffee, his hat tipped low. Folks just called him “Red,” though his hair had long gone silver. He raised his head, eyes sharp despite the years.

“Jack,”

he said, as if the name had been waiting on his tongue.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Jack shrugged and slid into the booth.

“Figured I’d find out if anybody remembered me.”

Red studied him for a moment.

“You mean if anybody still cares.”

Jack didn’t answer. His face told enough. Years of disappointments, false starts, and self-inflicted wounds weighed heavy on him. Work had dried up, his family had drifted off, and the last of his friends had stopped calling. He wasn’t looking for pity. Just… something.

“You know,”

Red said slowly,

“folks got it wrong. They think it’s a man’s mistakes that define him. But I’ll tell you something—it’s his fight against those mistakes that shows who he really is.”

Jack stared down at his calloused hands.

“What if you get tired of fighting?”

Red leaned in, voice low but steady.

“Then you rest. But you don’t quit. If you quit – that is when you hand yourself over to those demons for good. As long as you’ve got breath, you’ve still got a say in how the story ends.”

The jukebox crackled, replaying the song’s chorus, as if to punctuate the thought. Jack felt a sting behind his eyes he hadn’t let out in years. He cleared his throat.

“Guess I just needed to hear it from someone who wasn’t me.”

Red gave a slow nod.

“That’s why you came. Not for the beer. Not for the music. To find out if someone still cared. And I do. Hell, maybe more folks do than you think. You just stopped listening.”

Jack sat back, the weight in his chest easing, just a little. The bar was still dim. The world outside remained hard. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel invisible.

That night, as he stepped out into the cool air, Jack realized something. It wasn’t forgiveness from the world he was after—it was the fight inside himself he had to forgive. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start over.

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025

Uncommon Phobias That Sound Made Up

September 9, 2025August 22, 2025Benjamin8 Comments

2–3 minutes

The Strangest Phobias You’ve Never Heard Of

When most people think of phobias, the usual suspects come to mind: spiders, heights, flying, or public speaking. But the human mind is infinitely complex, and so are the fears it produces. Beyond the common anxieties, there are phobias so rare and oddly specific. They almost sound made up, yet they’re very real for those who experience them.

1. Arachibutyrophobia – Fear of Peanut Butter Sticking to the Roof of the Mouth

It sounds funny at first, but this phobia can cause genuine distress. For those who suffer from it, even the thought of peanut butter clinging to their mouth can spark panic. It often extends to sticky foods in general.

2. Nomophobia – Fear of Being Without a Cell Phone

A very modern fear, nomophobia describes the anxiety people feel when separated from their phones. This can occur when the battery dies, the signal drops, or when the device is misplaced. In an age where smartphones are lifelines, this phobia has become increasingly common.

3. Xanthophobia – Fear of the Color Yellow

While most associate yellow with warmth and cheer, some people experience overwhelming anxiety when exposed to the color. It can be triggered by objects, clothing, or even sunshine itself.

4. Papaphobia – Fear of the Pope

Unusual, yes, but historically documented. For those with papaphobia, even images or references to the Pope can cause panic. It’s believed to stem from a mix of religious trauma and authority-based fears.

5. Pogonophobia – Fear of Beards

In some cases, beards are more than just a fashion statement—they’re a trigger. This phobia can cause sufferers to avoid contact with people who have facial hair. This avoidance is rooted in past negative experiences or simply an overwhelming sense of discomfort.

6. Hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia – Fear of Long Words

Ironically named, this phobia is real and involves anxiety around long, complex words. Sufferers feel uneasy in academic or professional settings where such terms are common.

7. Eisoptrophobia – Fear of Mirrors

This phobia goes beyond superstition. For some, looking into mirrors triggers deep anxiety. This anxiety is linked to fears of self-perception. It is also connected to superstition. There is also the uncanny feeling of seeing one’s reflection.

Why These Fears Matter

While some of these phobias sound absurd to outsiders, they are real, debilitating conditions for those who experience them. They highlight the diverse ways our minds process fear. These remind us that what seems laughable to one person feel life-altering to another.

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025

The Anatomy of a Shooter – Part Five: What We Can Actually Do About It

August 14, 2025August 6, 2025Benjamin2 Comments

“Monsters aren’t born overnight. They’re made—in silence, in shadows, in places we refuse to look.”

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

3–5 minutes

Part Five: What We Can Actually Do About It

Let’s get one thing straight:
Mass shootings aren’t random.
They’re predictable.
Not in the “we know when and where” way. It is predictable in the “we’ve seen this play before” way. And we’ve seen it enough to know how it ends.

So the question becomes:
What do we do now—actually do?

If all we’ve got are thoughts, prayers, and hashtags, then outrage will burn out in a news cycle. We’re just spectators in someone else’s tragedy.

Enough With the Helplessness

It’s easy to feel like there’s nothing we can do.
But that’s a lie we’ve been sold to stay comfortable.
The truth is, we can’t stop every shooting—but we can reduce them.
We can spot the signs earlier.
We can intervene before someone crosses that line.
And yes, we can have uncomfortable conversations about guns, mental health, and social breakdown without turning it into political theater.

But first, we have to stop pretending we’re powerless.

^{_{Photo by MART PRODUCTION on Pexels.com}}

Real Things That Actually Help

Here’s a short, imperfect list. Not theory—practice.

🔹 1. Speak up—even when it’s awkward.

That kid, coworker, or neighbor who’s spiraling? Say something. Not on Facebook. Not behind their back. To someone who can act. Don’t wait until it’s too late.

🔹 2. Take threats seriously.

If someone is joking about violence, don’t assume they’re kidding. Shooters often telegraph their intentions—sometimes with neon signs.

🔹 3. Support red flag laws that work.

Yes, they’re controversial. But when implemented carefully, they’ve saved lives by allowing courts to temporarily remove firearms from people in crisis.

🔹 4. Don’t give platforms to the shooters.

No names. No manifestos. No fame. Let them fade into anonymity—don’t let them become anti-heroes.

🔹 5. Build better reporting systems.

We need clear, safe ways to report dangerous behavior—at schools, jobs, online—and a system that doesn’t bury it in bureaucracy.

🔹 6. Reinvest in human connection.

Isolation is gasoline for this fire. People with strong relationships, support systems, and a sense of belonging are less to fall into these dark holes. Community isn’t a luxury—it’s a safeguard.

Not Just a Policy Problem—A Culture Problem

Legislation matters. But culture matters, too.

We live in a society that celebrates violence, glorifies vengeance, and teaches boys that emotions are weakness.
We scroll past pain and reward provocation.
We share stories of destruction more than recovery.
We confuse attention with validation.

We can change laws. But until we change us, the cycle will continue.

Final Thought: The Story Isn’t Over—Unless We Let It Be

_{^{Photo by Mikhail Nilov}}
_{^{on Pexels.com}}

This five-part series wasn’t meant to explain every angle of mass shootings.
It was meant to start a conversation. To take you out of the numbness and into the uncomfortable places where change begins.

We don’t need heroes.
We need people who are willing to pay attention, speak up, and give a damn.

Because we’re not just analyzing shooters here.

We’re deciding what kind of society we want to live in.

Closing Note to My Readers

Thank you for walking with me through this five-part series.
I know it hasn’t been easy to read—hell, it wasn’t easy to write. But maybe that’s the point.

This isn’t just about shooters.
It’s about all of us.
What we tolerate. What we ignore. What we pretend not to see until it’s too late.

My hope is that these words spark more than discomfort.
Maybe they spark reflection. Maybe action. Maybe one conversation that changes something.

We want a world where mass shootings stop becoming headlines. To achieve this, we can’t just sit back and consume the story.

We have to be part of rewriting it.

—Benjamin Groff

About the Author:

Benjamin Groff is a former police officer and radio news anchor. He has hosted programs for CNN and ABC News affiliates in Colorado and Wyoming. His career in law enforcement began in 1980 and lasted more than two decades. This gave him firsthand insight into the criminal mind and public safety. Moreover, it provided him with an understanding of the human stories that often go untold. His writing draws on these experiences, blending street-level truth with a journalist’s eye for the bigger picture.

The Anatomy of a Shooter – Part Four: Red Flags and Shrugged Shoulders

August 13, 2025August 6, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

2–4 minutes

Part Four: Red Flags and Shrugged Shoulders

After every mass shooting, the same story unfolds.
News reports reveal the shooter made threats.
He posted disturbing content.
He stockpiled weapons.
He scared people.

And then the world asks,

“Why didn’t anyone say something?”

Except someone usually did.

They said it quietly to a friend.
They reported it to HR.
They sent up a flare—but it fizzled in a system built to tolerate discomfort until it explodes.

“It Just Felt Off”

Human instinct is powerful.
We know when something doesn’t feel right—when someone is spiraling, simmering, or clinging to rage a little too tightly.
But we’ve been trained to doubt our gut.

Why?
Because:

We don’t want to overreact.
We don’t want to get someone in trouble.
We don’t want to look paranoid or mean or judgmental.

So we say things like:

“He’s just blowing off steam.”
“He’s always been like that.”
“It’s probably nothing.”

Until it’s not.

The Signs Were There. The Action Wasn’t.

Let’s break it down. Red flags can look like:

Obsessive talk about violence or past shooters
Extreme ideological rants
Sudden personality changes or withdrawal
Threats—direct or veiled
Obsession with weapons or martyrdom
Social media posts that scream “notice me”

But here’s the kicker:
Even when these signs are clear, most people don’t act.
And when they do? They’re often ignored, dismissed, or redirected through layers of bureaucracy.

“It’s not our jurisdiction.”
“We can’t do anything unless he acts.”
“He hasn’t broken any laws.”

We treat early warning signs like legal puzzles, not human lives.

Fear of the Awkward Conversation

Red flags aren’t just missed.
They’re avoided—because confronting someone is uncomfortable.

*_{^{There are times when you have to take the bull by the horns.}}*

What if I’m wrong?
What if they get mad?
What if it ruins my relationship with them?
What if it’s not serious?

So instead of leaning in, we back away.

And we let someone else deal with it.
Except, too often, there isn’t someone else.

The Burden of Hindsight

Afterward, the red flags look obvious.
Crystal clear.
Undeniable.

But by then it’s too late.
And we’re left with vigils, flowers, and questions we didn’t ask soon enough.

A Shift in Mindset

We need to stop treating red flags like rumors.
They’re signals. Warnings.
Opportunities to intervene.

That doesn’t mean we accuse people on a hunch.
It means we build systems and cultures that listen.
That act before a weapon is drawn, not after.

Because by the time the police tape goes up, the story’s already been written.

Coming Up in the Series:

Part Five: What We Can Actually Do About It
We’ve identified the patterns. We’ve seen the signs. Now it’s time to talk about real solutions—what works, what doesn’t, and why “thoughts and prayers” aren’t enough.

About the Author:

The Anatomy of a Shooter – Part Three: The Myth of the Lone Wolf

August 12, 2025August 6, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

“Monsters aren’t born overnight. They’re made—in silence, in shadows, in places we refuse to look.”

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

2–4 minutes

Part Three: The Myth of the Lone Wolf

Every time the news breaks, we hear it:
“He acted alone.”
And just like that, the story is framed.
One man. One moment. One monster. Case closed.

But here’s the problem:
It’s not true.
Or at least, it’s not the whole truth.

The Comfortable Lie

Calling someone a “lone wolf” is tidy. It makes the rest of us feel better.
It tells the public:

This was a fluke.
It couldn’t have been predicted.
There’s nothing we could’ve done.

And maybe, if we say it enough, we’ll believe it.

But in reality? Shooters rarely emerge from a vacuum.
They come from families. Communities. Schools. Workplaces. Chatrooms.
They leave trails of clues—behavioral, verbal, digital, emotional.

And more often than not, somebody saw something.

He Was Always Quiet… Until He Wasn’t

We’ve all heard it:

“He kept to himself.”
“He was a little odd, but polite.”
“He never really fit in.”

The thing is, these aren’t descriptions of a mystery. They’re descriptions of a pattern.

Withdrawn doesn’t mean harmless.
Quiet doesn’t mean invisible.

But we’ve trained ourselves to look away.
To shrug off disturbing comments.
To ignore that one guy at work who’s always simmering just below the surface.
Because to speak up feels awkward. And what if we’re wrong?

Well—what if we’re right?

Behind the Shooter Is a System That Failed

Lone wolf? No.
It’s more like a failure of the pack.

The system failed.

The family that didn’t ask questions.
The school that let him fall through the cracks.
The workplace that ignored his meltdown.
The internet forums that radicalized him.
The society that let him buy a weapon without blinking.

A shooter might pull the trigger alone, yes.
But the road there was crowded.

When “Alone” Is a Strategy

_{^{Photo by Danik Prihodko on Pexels.com}}

Let’s not forget—some shooters want to be seen as lone wolves.
It fits the fantasy: the avenger, the martyr, the misunderstood genius.
They want us to think no one could’ve stopped them.

Because if we believe that, then we stop looking for answers.
And they get to become a headline instead of a warning.

So What Should We Say Instead?

We should say:
“He was one part of a larger failure.”
“This wasn’t random—it was ignored.”
“This wasn’t a mystery—it was a message we didn’t read in time.”

Coming Up in the Series:

Part Four: Red Flags and Shrugged Shoulders
He gave off signs. He said things. He posted warnings. But no one did anything. Why? Because we’re experts at convincing ourselves it’s not our problem—until it is. That is next!

About the Author:

Benjamin Groff is a former police officer and radio news anchor. He has hosted programs for CNN and ABC News affiliates in Colorado and Wyoming. He writes for organizations from his home in Arizona. His career in law enforcement began in 1980 and lasted more than two decades. This gave him firsthand insight into the criminal mind and public safety. Moreover, it provided him with an understanding of the human stories that often go untold. His writing draws on these experiences, blending street-level truth with a journalist’s eye for the bigger picture.

The Anatomy of a Shooter – Part Two: The Internet Never Forgets (or Forgives)

August 11, 2025August 6, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

2–4 minutes

Part Two: The Internet Never Forgets (or Forgives)

The shooter didn’t get here alone.
Not really.

Sure, maybe they sat alone in a bedroom. A basement. A breakroom.
But they weren’t isolated from influence—just the opposite.
They were plugged into a digital bloodstream that fed them exactly what they wanted, and everything they didn’t need.

Welcome to the echo chamber. Population: too many.

Where the Internet Becomes an Incubator

A lonely, angry person finds a tribe. This occurs somewhere between YouTube rabbit holes, toxic forums, and Reddit threads that should’ve been shut down years ago.

Not a real one. Not the kind that helps you move or calls when you’re sick.
But one that says,

“You’re right to be angry.”
“They are the problem.”
“You don’t need help—you need revenge.”

That validation is addictive.

And the internet is the perfect dealer:

Algorithms push increasingly extreme content.
“Communities” form around hate, resentment, and fear.
Every post, every comment, every manifesto builds a narrative: You are justified.

From Scrolling to Staging

It starts with watching. Then posting. Then commenting.
Then, maybe, fantasizing.
And eventually, planning.

A shooter doesn’t always invent the blueprint.
They download it—literally. From forums that dissect earlier mass shootings like game film. From chat groups where people joke about body counts and praise past killers like fallen heroes.

Some shooters even leave behind digital footprints—manifestos, livestreams, final posts—as if they’re signing off from a sick performance art.

And let’s not pretend it’s rare.
We’ve seen it again and again.
And again.

The Illusion of Community, the Reality of Collapse

Here’s the twisted irony:
Most of these online “connections” are built on mutual isolation.
It’s a virtual group hug from people who hate everything.

They don’t help each other grow—they help each other decay.

Not everyone in these spaces will act violently. Nevertheless, they create an environment where the leap from “I hate them” to “I’ll show them” feels smaller.
More rational.
More inevitable.

We Let the Fire Burn and Call It Free Speech

Let’s be honest:

We’ve been slow—very slow—to acknowledge how much harm can be done behind a keyboard.
We slap “content warning” stickers on hate, shrug off threats as trolling, and hide behind terms like “edgy humor.”

Meanwhile, more lives are lost.

_{^{Photo by Bulat Khamitov on Pexels.com}}

This isn’t about censoring opinions. It’s about recognizing when opinions become weapons.

A shooter adopts a belief before they pick up a gun. They believe that their anger matters more than your life.

And someone, somewhere, probably upvoted that.

Up Next in the Series:

Part Three: The Myth of the Lone Wolf
They always say, “He acted alone.” But did he? Or was he just the only one who pulled the trigger?

About the Author:
Benjamin Groff is a former police officer and radio news anchor. He has hosted programs for CNN and ABC News affiliates in Colorado and Wyoming. His career in law enforcement began in 1980 and lasted more than two decades. This gave him firsthand insight into the criminal mind and public safety. Moreover, it provided him with an understanding of the human stories that often go untold. His writing draws on these experiences, blending street-level truth with a journalist’s eye for the bigger picture.

The Anatomy of a Shooter – Part One: In the Beginning, There Was Silence

August 10, 2025August 6, 2025Benjamin3 Comments

“Monsters aren’t born overnight. They’re made—in silence, in shadows, in places we refuse to look.”

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

3–4 minutes

Part One: In the Beginning, There Was Silence

Let’s start with a hard truth:
Shooters don’t come out of nowhere. They come out of silence.

Silence from the people around them.
Silence in rooms where pain festered.
And eventually, silence before the gunfire broke it all.

In this series, I’m not asking for sympathy for those who’ve caused unspeakable pain. But I am asking this:

How does a person get to the point where picking up a gun feels like a solution?

If we keep pretending it’s as simple as “they snapped,” we’re not solving a damn thing. If we keep saying “they were crazy,” we’re not solving a damn thing.

The Seed of Isolation

No one wakes up one day and says, “You know what? Today’s the day I destroy lives.”
It begins slowly. Quietly. Almost invisibly.

Maybe they were left out.
Maybe they were bullied.
Maybe they were weird, withdrawn, angry, or awkward.
Maybe they simply felt invisible.

That kind of loneliness doesn’t whisper—it screams. But not everyone knows how to listen to the silence. Some don’t even try.

And so, that person—young or old—starts pulling away from others. Or worse, starts resenting them.

Grievance: The Gateway Drug

Here’s where things shift.

What started as pain turns into blame.
Not just “I’m hurting,” but “They did this to me.”

And they might be:

The cool kids at school
The coworkers who laughed
The family who ignored
The ex who left
The entire world

Suddenly, it’s not just a personal wound—it’s a mission. A vendetta. A delusion of justice.

And online, there are entire dark corners ready to cheer them on.

When the Weapon Becomes a Microphone

The shooter mindset often merges with a desire to be seen—finally, undeniably.
And that’s what makes these tragedies feel like performances.
Not just an act of violence, but a message broadcast with blood:

“Look at me now.”

That’s not an excuse.
That’s an alarm bell.

What We Rarely Say Out Loud

Yes, mental illness plays a role in some cases. But not always.
Plenty of people struggle with mental health and don’t turn into killers.

What we’re talking about is a toxic cocktail:

Isolation
Grievance
Identity crisis
Obsession
Ego
Easy access to destruction

It’s not one red flag.
It’s a collection of ignored ones.

So, Why Write This?

Because the only thing more dangerous than a shooter is a society that refuses to understand one.

And understanding doesn’t mean excusing.

It means preventing.

Coming Up in the Series:

Part Two: The Online Echo Chamber
How algorithms and angry forums radicalize the already isolated.
Part Three: The Myth of the Lone Wolf
Why shooters aren’t anomalies—they’re symptoms of something bigger.
Part Four: Red Flags and Shrugged Shoulders
What we miss—and why we keep missing it.
Part Five: What We Can Actually Do About It
Solutions that go beyond slogans and shallow politics.

If this post makes you uncomfortable, it should.
Not because it’s dark, but because we’ve gotten used to the dark.
And that, right there, might be the most dangerous silence of all.

About the Author:
Benjamin Groff is a former police officer. He is also a radio news anchor. He has hosted programs for CNN and ABC News affiliates in Oklahoma, Colorado and Wyoming. His career in law enforcement began in 1980 and spanned more than two decades. This gave him firsthand insight into the criminal mind and public safety. He also learned about the human stories that often go untold. His writing draws on these experiences, blending street-level truth with a journalist’s eye for the bigger picture.

Embracing the Constant of Change

July 22, 2025July 18, 2025Benjamin1 Comment

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

2–3 minutes

“The Constant of Change”

There are stories worth telling—stories shaped by the countless experiences we collect in life. In mine, there have been unforgettable moments. I visited with friends, shared laughter, and exchanged hugs. Then I returned home—only to learn the next day that they were gone. No warning. No signs. One moment, they were part of my world; the next, they had vanished from it.

Those moments taught me a truth that often goes unspoken: nothing in life is definite.

Even when it feels like we’re stuck—repeating the same routines, going through the same motions—life is still moving. The world shifts beneath our feet, often without our awareness, certainly without our consent. Change is not something we invite; it’s something that happens. It shows itself in every breath we take. It appears with every face that enters or leaves our lives. It influences every decision made far beyond our control—from government chambers to hospital rooms.

Change is the only constant.

Sometimes, a change is so small it goes unnoticed—until its effects stretch across history. On February 2, 1959, Waylon Jennings gave up his seat on a chartered airplane to the Big Bopper, J.P. Richardson, who was feeling ill. The plane also carried Buddy Holly and Ritchie Valens. It crashed in an Iowa field just minutes after takeoff. Everyone aboard died.

That one seat swap—an act of kindness, -–– saved Jennings’s life. No one was at fault. But that simple moment, that ordinary change in plan, altered the course of music history and Jennings’s own future. He carried the weight of that change for the rest of his life. And yet, that change gave him more years, more music, more life.

That is how change works. Quiet. Sudden. Unfair. Unpredictable. But real.

When everything feels bleak, we must remember: change is still at work. When loss feels unbearable or the path ahead seems hidden, we must remember: change is still at work. What feels like the end today reveals itself as the beginning of something new tomorrow.

Time moves. People change. Life adapts. Always.

And in that, we find our only real choice: acceptance.

Accepting change—no matter how painful—does not mean surrendering to it. It means choosing to live with eyes open, hearts ready, and spirits willing to grow from what has been lost. We don’t have to like every change. But by accepting it, we start to transform with it—and even rise because of it.

Postscript:

After a tragic 1991 plane crash claimed the lives of several members of Reba McEntire’s band, it was Waylon Jennings—haunted by his own near-miss decades earlier—who offered her a few words she never forgot:

“Reba, you’ll never get over it, but you’ll get through it.”

And that’s the final truth about change. We don’t get over it—we live through it. And somehow, life keeps going.

The Last Chair: A Story of Loss and Recovery

July 7, 2025Benjamin2 Comments

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

1–2 minutes

“The Last Chair at the Table”

There used to be four chairs at the table.
Every Sunday, without fail, they were filled.

Anna always brought the rolls.
George never remembered the salad.
And Michael, the youngest, made them laugh so hard someone usually spilled something.
Then there was Claire. The one who set the table. Who kept the tradition.

But life doesn’t ask for permission when it starts rearranging things.

Anna moved three states away for a job that offered better pay and less time.
George passed unexpectedly—just one late afternoon in September, gone with no goodbyes.
Michael, grief-stricken and incapable of facing the silence, stopped coming.

And Claire… she kept setting the table. All four chairs. Every Sunday.

It felt foolish at first—preparing a meal for no one. But over time, the quiet stopped being so loud. She began to remember George’s voice not as an echo of absence, but as a smile in her thoughts. She started writing letters to Anna and cooking Michael’s favorite dish, just in case he came.

And one Sunday, he did.

He didn’t say much—just sat in his chair like it had never been empty.
They ate. They laughed. No one mentioned the salad.

Recovery isn’t about replacing what’s lost.
It’s about honoring it enough to keep living.

Even if all you do is keep setting the table.

Why It’s Okay for Men to Cry: A Lesson in Grief

April 18, 2025Benjamin2 Comments

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

3–5 minutes

When I Learned It Was Okay For Grown Men To Cry

Grief is one of the most powerful and complex emotions we can experience. Yet, it’s often the least talked about, especially in front of children. But we must do it. Parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, caregivers—everyone has a role in helping younger generations understand and process loss in healthy, open ways.

Why This Matters Now Is More Important Than Ever

I recently came across a meaningful article on the Modern Parenting Hub. The article offered guidance on how to talk to children. It also included advice on discussing grief with other family members. This instantly struck a chord with me. These conversations are difficult, yes, but incredibly important. This topic has come up often in my family. My father’s death nearly forty years ago has brought it up many times over the decades.

Despite the passage of time, some of my relatives are still coping with the ripple effects of that loss. It’s a reminder that unspoken grief doesn’t simply go away—it lingers, often silently, until we confront it.

The First Time I Saw My Father Cry

I’ll never forget the first time I saw my father cry. It wasn’t during a national tragedy or a close friend’s funeral. It was when we got the call that my grandmother, his mother, had passed away.

He and I were the first to arrive at my grandparents’ home. My grandfather sat slumped in his favorite chair, overcome with sorrow. My father leaned down and embraced him. Through his sobs, my grandfather whispered:

“We lost Ma Ma.”

My father’s tears came swiftly—tears of deep, unfiltered grief. Until then, I had only seen him cry from laughing too hard at his jokes. This was something entirely different. Something raw. And it changed the way I viewed him.

Grief in Unexpected Places

Years later, when my uncle died in a tragic car and train accident, I saw my parents overwhelmed again. It wasn’t until my father’s funeral that I fully grasped the impact grief can have. Children must witness honest expressions of grief.

My father was a deeply loved man. He had a large circle of close friends. We chose fourteen pallbearers. This number was still too small to honor everyone who had loved him.

The group included cowboys, law enforcement officers, linemen, ranchers, farmers, and local business owners. These men were known for being tough, stoic, and strong. Only family and pallbearers remained in the church during a private moment after the public service. I watched those same hardened men. They broke down in tears.

They weren’t quietly dabbing their eyes. They were crying. Fully, openly, and without shame.

The Lesson I’ll Never Forget

That moment stayed with me. It showed me that strength and vulnerability are not opposites. The ability to express emotion—especially grief—is one of the most courageous things we can do.

I often say that my father’s funeral was the day I learned it was okay for grown men to cry. And I believe that’s a lesson we need to pass down. Our children need to see that real strength includes compassion and empathy. It also consists of the willingness to mourn openly when we’ve lost someone we love.

Bringing Grief Into the Conversation

Grief is universal and should be discussed across all generations. When we make space for these emotions, we also make space for healing. Children gain from understanding that sadness is a natural response to loss. It doesn’t need to be hidden or avoided.

Resources like the Modern Parenting Hub are essential in guiding families through these complex moments. I’ll share their piece with my readers and loved ones, and I encourage you to do the same.

Final Thoughts

Grief doesn’t follow a timeline. It doesn’t play by the rules. We can talk about it. We can face it together. We can help each other navigate the path it carries through our lives. Let’s teach our children that tears are not signs of weakness—they are signs of love, humanity, and deep connection.

Recommended Resource:
Modern Parenting Hub – Talking to Children About Grief

Have You Talked to Your Family About Grief?
Share your experience or thoughts in the comments below. What helped you or your family cope with loss?

The Last Ride: A Father’s Legacy of Protection

April 16, 2025Benjamin1 Comment

3–4 minutes

Dad’s Last Ride

_{^{Dad (JD Groff) on his horse, My Mollies Reed}}

My Dad was a man of fierce independence and deep protective instincts. He and my mom practiced defensive maneuvers as the days of aging grew—he had a plan. She would drop to the ground, and he would shoot over her, neutralizing any imagined threat. This was his way of ensuring our safety, a comforting thought for all of us. Of course, during practice, the gun was always unloaded. But as they grew older, my sisters became worried. Dad was on medication. It sometimes clouded his thinking. They feared he might one day forget to remove the bullets.

Years before, he had suffered a devastating injury. While inspecting a swimming pool facility, a large chlorine container malfunctioned, releasing a gas blast into a control room. He inhaled the toxic cloud, severely damaging his lungs. From that day onward, his breathing was labored, his movements slow and painful. The injury gradually robbed him of his strength until, eventually, he became bedridden.

As his physical strength faded, his concern for my mother’s safety grew stronger. He was terrified that they were vulnerable to burglars or intruders. And so, he devised a plan—an extension of the old drills. My mom would guide them to a specific location if someone ever forced their way into the house. He saw this spot clearly. She would drop to the floor just like in the old days, and he would be ready to fire.

That’s when my sisters turned to me. I’m a law enforcement officer, and they hoped I could safely remove the firearm from his possession. But that was easier said than done. When I spoke to him, he saw what I was thinking. Even in his weakened state, he firmly grasped his beliefs and authority. His determination was palpable. He made it clear that this was his home and responsibility. It was his plan to protect his wife.

But he also took the time to explain how seriously he took the safety of it all. His explanation wasn’t reckless or confused; it was thoughtful. He was rational and transparent in his thinking. In the end, I agreed. He was doing what he believed was best for them.

Still, I wanted to do something more—something that would help ease everyone’s minds. That day, I installed a motion detection system in the house. It covered the living and dining rooms, alerting them if anyone approached. Every door was now an alarm. It gave them peace of mind and ended the dramatic drop-and-shoot rehearsals.

Eventually, Dad was unable to get out of bed. He was confined to a hospital-style bed in a small office near their bedroom. His gun was out of reach, and it tore at him. One day, he felt sorrow and frustration. He asked for it not to defend the home. He wanted it to end his pain.

Two weeks later, my mother called an ambulance to rush my Dad to the hospital. They sedated Dad as fluid built up in his lungs, and he passed away there. Quietly, heavily, and—if I’m honest—less on his terms than he would have wanted.

I often think of the day he asked for the gun and couldn’t reach it. Part of me believes it would’ve been a more dignified end. He had spent his life in control. He always defended his family and lived by principle. But the law is clear, and so is the burden of those left behind. As much as it hurt, I nor anyone could hand it to him.

Gallows Humor: Essential for First Responders’ Survival

April 13, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

3–5 minutes

We had to invest a lot of time making each other laugh. Honestly, the truth behind what we dealt with every day was so damn depressing. I’m talking about my days in law enforcement. There were long shifts, chaos, and tragedies. We pulled practical jokes to stay sane.

We had an incredibly well-liked lieutenant. I admired him immensely. He was competent, dedicated, and a strong leader. Yet somehow, he always found himself in absurd situations. He was often under fire from the chief. I’ll admit, on more than one occasion, I have played a small role in those misadventures.

One day, we were in the breakroom. It never failed. Just as you were halfway through a cup of coffee, a call would come down. You’d have to bolt. Out of habit, everyone would set their half-filled cups on the vending machine on the way out. When we returned from a call, the lieutenant came in, frustrated. He began to reprimand everyone for making the breakroom look like a pigsty. This was ironic, given the usual state of his desk.

The Coffee Cup Incident — The Coffee Cup Case

He stomped to the vending machine and picked up the abandoned cups. The first few were empty, which he confirmed by holding them up to the light, right over his face. Then he grabbed one that still had coffee and did the same. It spilled directly onto his uniform. He stood there stunned, dripping. The rest of us just sat, silently watching like it was a movie scene.

I walked over, grabbed his tie, and wrung it out. A drip of coffee came out and landed on his boot. The whole shift erupted in laughter. The lieutenant stormed out, fired up his patrol car, and squealed the tires, leaving the station.

Unluckily for him, the chief had parked just down the street to watch the night shift in action. He saw the whole thing and chewed the lieutenant for over an hour.

Despite the pranks, the lieutenant and I had a solid bond. One time, he made a big announcement at shift change in front of everyone. He said he’d be riding with me to assess my patrolling skills. I just looked at him and said, “That’s fine, but you’re gonna have to sit over there and be quiet.” The room burst into laughter. He chuckled and said,

“Only you could get away with saying something like that.”

That was our partnership. He knew I’d undoubtedly have his back, no matter what. Off-duty, we were good friends. We went fishing together. We also vacationed with each other’s families. I had his back more than once when things got real in the field.

There were other moments, too. One traffic officer had a bad habit of leaving his patrol unit running and unlocked outside the station. It was just begging for a prank. One night, another officer and I gave in to temptation. My buddy hopped in the driver’s seat; I took the passenger side. He threw it into drive, and off we went—sirens blaring.

Inside, the officer was digging through his briefcase, organizing reports. When we took off, he jumped so high that he spilled the contents everywhere. Another officer watching couldn’t stop laughing long enough to explain that it was just us. The guy never left his car running again.

Someone had a bright idea once. They sprinkled paper punch-outs and glitter on the ceiling fan blades above the chief’s desk. The switch was right next to where he sat. We all gathered casually in the hallway outside his office the next day as he walked in and sat down. He flipped the fan on, and poof—a cloud of glitter and confetti rained down. He was not amused, but the image of him sitting there covered in sparkles was priceless.

It sounds like a waste of time to outsiders, but these pranks were how we coped. We had seen some of the worst humanity had to offer—child abuse cases, fatal car crashes, suicides. These moments of humor were survival mechanisms. It’s not unique to us; veterans, ER nurses, and paramedics do it. It’s often called gallows humor, and studies have shown it serves a psychological role. A 2022 article in Police1 explains the benefits of using dark humor in traumatic fields. It helps create emotional distance and encourages bonding. It also prevents burnout.

To the public, the jokes sound crude or inappropriate. But behind closed doors, it was how we held onto our sanity. This was true among those who carried the weight of human suffering daily. It was how we kept the darkness from winning.

Breaking Habits: Harold Wexley’s Journey

April 1, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

2–3 minutes

Harold Wexley meets Clara. — _{^{Harold Wexley Meets Clara And Breaks A Lifetime Habit.}}

Harold Wexley had long been known as a man of chance, a stochastic gentleman in the truest sense. Every decision he made was determined by a roll of the dice. It is also a flip of a coin, or even the pull of a card from his always on-hand deck. From his morning coffee to his afternoon walk, these decisions were all governed by chance. He couldn’t help himself; he believed the universe spoke best through randomness.

Harold’s peculiar habits started in childhood, much to the frustration of his parents. When asked whether he wanted vanilla or chocolate ice cream, he had a peculiar method. He would spin a top to let its direction decide his fate. By adulthood, his stochastic tendencies had taken total hold of his life. He never planned meetings but let a shuffled calendar decide his day. His wardrobe choices were dictated by pulling slips of paper from a hat. Even Harold’s relationships were governed by chance. If a coin landed on heads, he’d go on a second date. If it landed on tails, he’d never call again.

One day, Harold found himself at an unfamiliar café. That morning, he drew a card from his well-worn deck. It led him three blocks further than his usual haunt. He sat down with his coffee—black, no sugar. The choice was dictated by the number he rolled. He noticed a woman sitting across from him, watching with curiosity. She had auburn hair, a sharp gaze, and a half-smile that suggested amusement.

“You look like a man who just lost a bet,”

She said, sipping her latte.

“Not lost,”

Harold corrected, pulling a die from his pocket and rolling it across the table.

“Just after fate.”

She watched as the die landed on a four. Harold nodded. He reached for a muffin from the café’s showcase. It was as if he had just received permission from the universe.

“And if it had been a five?”

She asked, tilting her head.

“No muffin,”

He replied, taking a bite.

She chuckled.

“So, does chance decide everything for you?”

Harold hesitated. For the first time in years, he found himself unsure. The habit had become so ingrained that Harold had never considered questioning it. But as he met her gaze, something unfamiliar stirred—a wish to choose, not just to follow.

“Not everything,” he admitted, slipping the die back into his pocket.

“At least… not today.”

And for the first time in as long as he remembered, Harold decided without rolling, flipping, or shuffling. He asked for her name.

She smiled.

“Clara.”

He extended a hand.

“Harold.”

The universe held its breath, waiting. But for once, Harold ignored it.

The Man Who Walked in Circles: A Journey of Acceptance

March 26, 2025Benjamin2 Comments

2–3 minutes

The Man Who Walked in Circles

Everett Langston was trapped in a perpetual orbit. He had been walking in circles for as long as he remembered. It wasn’t a choice, but a fate that had befallen him. Seeing a circular object, even if insignificant, would betray his feet. This sight led him into an endless loop.

Doctors had puzzled over his condition. Some called it a compulsion, others a neurological disorder. But Everett knew the truth: it was a curse.

It started when he was a boy. One autumn afternoon, he saw a pumpkin on his grandmother’s porch. Without realizing it, he walked around it once. Then again. And again. His grandmother, amused at first, soon grew concerned when he wouldn’t stop. His father physically picked him up and carried him inside to break the spell.

As he grew older, the compulsion became more disruptive. A simple trip to the grocery store became an ordeal. Aisles stocked with oranges would catch his eye. The wheels on carts made him spin them in his mind. The bakery’s showcase of bagels would pull him into endless rotations. He learned to avoid certain places. He refused to go near playgrounds. Merry-go-rounds were his nemesis. He avoided tire shops. He walked with his head down in parking lots to keep from spotting hubcaps.

But the world was an entire circle.

One day, Everett found himself in the city’s heart, caught in a storm of misfortune. A coin flipped onto the pavement—a round-the-clock hanging above a storefront. A drain cover was embedded in the sidewalk. He circled each one, his breath coming faster, his steps quick and mechanical. Passersby stared. Some chuckled. Others whispered.

Then he saw it.

In the middle of the city square stood an enormous fountain, its base a perfect, unbroken circle. Panic gripped him. His legs moved before he resisted, pulling him into a slow, deliberate orbit—once, twice, ten times. A police officer approached, asking if he was lost. But Everett only mutter, “I just have to finish.”

The sun dipped below the skyline. His legs ached. His vision blurred. But still, he walked.

And then—just as exhaustion took hold, something remarkable happened.

For the first time in his life, he stopped.

In the fountain’s reflection, he saw the stars above, scattered across the sky in celestial loops, infinite and unending. A smile of understanding crept onto his face. The world had been walking in circles all along, and he was just a part of it.

And so, he kept walking—not because he had to.

He continued to walk. It was not out of compulsion but from a newfound understanding. He accepted his place in the world.

A Fellow Post To Share With You!

February 12, 2025Benjamin7 Comments

Groff Media is sharing this piece unedited from Foxes Den. The next is the introduction to the piece. The link to the writers’ pages is posted near the end so you can go to the original site’s writing.

FROM THE FOXES DEN – (unedited)

If you could un-invent something, what would it be?

I’ve browsed around some of the replies to this prompt and I must say I’m quite surprised. Surprised to see so many people wishing that social media could be un-invented. Now I am with these people 100%, I agree it’s a breeding ground for hatred and vitriol, however as so many are already mentioning social media I feel I should suggest something else because to not do so would make this post quite repetitive and boring.

Well it will probably still be boring but here goes.

Addiction. If only there wasn’t such a thing. Again it’s one of those things that is good to have in certain scenarios but an absolute nightmare to have in others. Let’s talk about the nightmare scenarios.

Click here to read the entire piece.

Maintaining Integrity Amidst Conflict

February 12, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

2–3 minutes

Keeping Your Side of the Street Clean

The smell of fresh rain lingered as Mark walked down Elm Street toward his favorite café. It was his usual morning routine, a quiet moment before the day unraveled. He reached the entrance. Then he saw him—Greg Turner. Greg was leaning against a lamppost, arms crossed. He was watching him with a smirk that dripped with disdain.

Greg had never made it a secret that he disliked Mark. Their history goes back to a business deal gone wrong. Mark handled it ethically, but Greg saw it as a betrayal. Since then, Greg had made it his mission to smear Mark’s name. He spread rumors and whispered doubts into the ears of anyone who would listen.

Mark adjusted his posture, exhaled slowly, and kept walking. He knew better than to engage.

“Hey, Mark,”

Greg called out loud enough for people at the café’s outdoor tables to turn their heads.

“Still fooling people into thinking you’re the good guy?”

A few customers looked up from their coffee, eyes shifting between them, waiting for a response. Mark felt the moment’s weight pressing against his back, the temptation to defend himself bubbling under the surface.

But he had learned something long ago—some battles weren’t worth fighting. Not in the mud. Not at the expense of his peace.

He turned slightly, just enough to meet Greg’s gaze, and nodded.

“Good morning, Greg.”

His voice was even, void of malice, but firm. Then, without another word, he stepped inside the café.

The barista, Sarah, greeted him with a warm smile.

“The usual?”

Mark nodded as he took out his wallet.

“Yep. And maybe an extra shot of patience today.”

Sarah chuckled as she prepared his coffee.

“Don’t let him get to you.”

He shook his head.

“I won’t.”

Moments later, as he stirred his coffee, he glanced outside. Greg was still there, now talking to someone else, his hands animated, spinning another version of his tired tale. Mark took a sip, savoring the rich warmth of his drink, and let the moment pass.

There was no need to wade into the mess or wrestle with the bitterness that wasn’t his to carry. His conscience was clear. His integrity was intact.

He walked out of the café with his head high. His side of the street was clean. Mark was guilt-free and ready to face his day. He had not gotten down to Greg’s level; even better, he showed respect for doing so.

Finding Hope in Difficult Times

January 22, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

2–3 minutes

Every morning, the sun rose over Willow Creek. Clara Jackson would pour herself a cup of coffee. She would then sit by the window and scroll through the news on her phone. Headlines blared with despair. Civil rights were being denied. People were being removed from their families because of their citizenship status. There were natural disasters, economic struggles, and political turmoil. It seemed as if the world was unraveling thread by thread. Each day felt heavier than the last, and Clara found it harder to believe in a brighter tomorrow.

One cold morning, as the weight of the world’s problems sat on her chest, she noticed her elderly neighbor, Mr. Thompson, hobbling down the sidewalk with a broom in hand. His frail figure moved with purpose. He swept the fallen leaves away from everyone’s doorstep. As he worked, he whistled a tune that carried a sense of ease Clara hadn’t felt in a long time.

Curious, she stepped outside and called out,

“Mr. Thompson, what are you doing out here so early?”

The old man looked up and smiled warmly.

“Clearing the way, my dear. It’s a little thing, but it makes the morning brighter for everyone.”

Clara laughed softly.

“With all that’s happening in the world, does this really make a difference?”

Mr. Thompson leaned on his broom and nodded.

“Oh, it does, Clara. You see, the world’s got its troubles, but right here, right now, we can still bring goodness. You can’t control the storms outside, but you can light a candle inside.”

His words settled into Clara’s heart like a gentle breeze pushing away the clouds. That afternoon, instead of drowning in the news, she baked cookies and shared them with neighbors. She took her old paintbrushes out of the closet and added splashes of color to the worn fence outside. And as she handed out treats to passing children, she felt something stir inside her—hope.

Days turned into weeks, and Clara found that small acts of kindness helped her navigate the darkness in the world. She volunteered at the local shelter. She also planted flowers along the sidewalks. Clara spent more time listening to the laughter of children at the park. The news was still grim, but Clara had found something stronger—hope born from action, not fear.

One evening, she closed her book and looked out at the quiet street. She realized the world hadn’t changed overnight. But she had. And that was enough to believe in a brighter tomorrow.

Finding Peace in a Day of Upset

January 20, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

2–3 minutes

Maggie sat on her porch swing. The soft creak of the old chains was the only sound in the still afternoon air. The sun hung low, casting golden hues across her small Arizona town, but inside her chest, a storm raged. The day had been a whirlwind of mishaps. She missed deadlines at work. She had an argument with her sister. She also nagged worry about her aging father’s health. Each problem was stacked like bricks on her shoulders, weighing her with unresolved concern. She was in the midst of a battle for her Peace.

She sipped her tea. She hoped the warmth would soothe the ache. Yet, peace felt distant, like a mirage on the desert horizon. Her mind churned with “what-ifs” and “should-haves,” a relentless cycle that robbed her of the quiet she desperately craved.

Maggie took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She listened to the distant rustling of mesquite trees. Occasionally, she heard the bark of a neighbor’s dog. The natural sounds around her conveyed a message of resilience and adaptability. Slowly, she exhaled, reminding herself of her grandmother’s words: “You can’t stop the wind, but you can learn to bend.”

She stood and walked to the edge of her yard. Her fingers brushed over the delicate petals of the wildflowers. They had sprung up after last month’s rare rain. Their resilience struck her—fragile yet persistent, thriving even in the harsh desert soil.

Realizing she couldn’t control everything, Maggie focused on the now. She let the day’s stress settle, acknowledging it but not giving it power. She watched the sky darken into twilight. The first stars peeked through. She felt a little lighter with each breath. It was the power of being here, of living in the moment, that brought her Peace.

She realized Peace wasn’t about escaping the chaos but finding a quiet place. And tonight, as the desert cooled and the cicadas began their evening song, she finally let herself rest. The relief was palpable, like a weight lifted from her shoulders, as she surrendered to the tranquility of the night.