I mean, we weren't serious about wanting you to "catch a grenade" for us, Bruno...
It's a scary thought, that somebody would or could actually die for you. But believe it or not, some people in this world have had it happen.
u/TulipOfJustice asked Reddit:
Here were some of their stories. TW: DEATH, VIOLENCE.
He Saved Her Life
My brother jumped in front of his wife when a maniac was trying to run them over.
My brother was killed on 11/15/2015 in Eugene Oregon while on a weekend getaway. He and his wife had just finished breakfast and were walking back to their car to go back to the place they were staying.
As they were crossing the road a man in a Toyota Highlander who had just beat his parents with a baseball bat (killing the father and permanently injuring his mother) decided to drive into my brother and his wife at full speed. According to the police reconstruction and witnesses, my brother put his body in front of his wife's and took the brunt of the impact. He was killed instantly and my brother's body slammed into his wife breaking nearly all her bones on the left side of her body. She lived.
RIP Marc Jay Sanford. A truly amazing man, brother, friend, son, step father and husband.
History Has Its Eyes On You
Rwandan Genocide survivor here. I lost my dad during the Rwandan Genocide when I was four years old. He died protecting my sister, my mother, and me. The genocide was basically between two tribes, Hutus and Tutsis, my parents were each from different tribes. To make a long story short, both tribes were willing to take all of us in, but the non-verbal agreement was that the parent that wasn't from the appropriate tribe would be dealt with. Not wanting my mom to die, my dad chose to bring us to her tribe's side of the conflict, thus sealing his own death in the process. He was taken to some woods somewhere. What always gets to me is my mom telling me how he silently cried as he was taken away.
He Saved Both Of Us
My grandfather at the time was 94 years old, my 4 year old daughter got the flu, which she then gave to me. I was home sick with my daughter and I couldn't even take care of myself let alone my daughter. My grandfather took care of the both of us. I remember waking up to him covering me with a blanket like when I was a child. He ended up getting the flu from us and his respiratory system couldn't take it. He passed because he took care of me and my daughter and it makes me cry every time I remember that.
I was in Afghanistan in 2011, working in Humanitarian Assistance/Human Terrain Analysis. I was working in the southern part of a city in the southeast of the country, working in various villages/communities over the course of a few weeks. I have middle eastern/southwest asian features, so the Afghans took a liking to me. I got to know one village community particularly well, to the point that one of the younger boys (about 13) would always walk with me holding my hand (a sign of friendship in their culture). We'd talk about life in America, what his life was like in his Afghanistan, what he wanted to be when he grew up...basic sh*t, nothing serious.
I left that community to work in other parts of the region for a little while with the intention of coming back for one more visit before I went back to HQ to write reports and sh*t. So I go back for that one visit to find the community cold to me, which is very unusual in Pashtunwali (Pashtuns is the ethnicity of the people in the area, Pashtunwali is like their ethnic "code of conduct"). As we're leaving the area, we found the body of the kid that was hanging out with me. He was executed by gunshot and left to rot in a ditch. He didn't die for me in the sense that he sacrificed himself for my sake. Rather, he died for being my friend. The people of that community refused to speak to any NATO forces after that.
October 13, 2011, my aunt and uncle invited me to come down with them for a wedding party they were having at their house in Logan for one of their friends. I accepted, packed my stuff to stay for a weekend, and got into their car.
We were just chatting while driving through Logan canyon from my house to theirs, it was nice because I hadn't really talked to then since I moved up there. Well all of a sudden I hear my aunt say, "Steve, Steve!" I look up and see a red truck right in front of us, it hits and I black out. I wake up in a lot of pain and everything smelt weird and I couldn't talk, my aunt gets out of the car and is panicking and asking if my uncle and I are okay, which I'm still surprised that she could to this day because she had a broken disk in her back.
My uncle had died on impact, I learned later that he turned the car just in time to take the full brunt of everything. Something that still makes me very uncomfortable is recalling this event. I can still clearly remember him breathing, but it was gurgling and like he was trying to breathe. Apparently his brain had split in two or something? I don know if that's a thing that can happen, I just remember being told that. I get upset thinking about it, I feel like I heard him dying.
Everyone thought I walked out of there okay until a few days later my intestines burst because a portion of them had been killed, though I walked out of the car with broken glasses and a bruised arm, somehow no broken bones.
Out With The Tide
My brother died for me 13 years ago yesterday. We were alone at a beach in Mexico (no lifeguards) while our dad was taking care of some business. The water had been rough the day before, but my brother wanted to take a swim so we went in anyway. Messing around in the water with one of those disposable underwater cameras, we got distracted and didn't realize how far we'd been pulled out. Suddenly we realized we were in a rip current and how big the waves around us where. Tried to swim back but couldn't and at this point I'm panicking, yelling for help, and telling my brother I don't want to die. He says I won't, stays with me, and yells for help. Someone at one of the beach side restaurants finally notices us and jumps into the water with a boogie board. They swim up to us and tell us to hang onto the board, my brother and I are holding hands and the board, together. One wave later and we're ripped apart. That was the last time I saw him. I live for him everyday. He was and is my best friend.
My mom died giving birth to me.
I didn't find out about the circumstances of her death until I was 7 and my aunt said something about it to me. It messed me up for awhile.
I often wonder what my life would have been like if she was around. I had very little female influence in my life. I was raised by my dad and 5 brothers. Dad just treated me like one of the boys so I grew up working on cars and motorcycles.
My dad has never dated anyone since. That sometimes makes me sad too. I look at all the joy my husband brings into my life and want that for him, but I think he is just done with that part of his life.
My brothers will sometimes tell stories about her. It's really the only way I know anything about her. There are some pictures around too. People tell me I look just like her, and have the same attitude. I just have to take their word for it.
I'm older now than she ever was. I look at all the things going on in my life and I feel incredibly guilty for taking that away from her. It makes me want to live my life in a way that I think would make her proud.
He was a stranger. His death saved me and 3 others. The circumstance souronding his death will never be completely know as mistakes were made during his medical care.
At the time of his death, I had already been on a artificial heart for 11 months and was probably about 2 weeks from death myself. It had been a 3 year journey for me and my family. Getting listed for transplant and then sitting on that list was grueling. I was simply done.
I received his heart on 11/1/14. Although the recovery still goes on, I'm alive and enjoying my life. His name was for Tim, and I now know his family.
My grandfather was a pilot in Vietnam. He mostly flew cargo and troops from place to place. Relatively safe job, all things considered.
One day, he's suppose to fly in to drop off and pick up supplies. His copilot, James, is the same rank as him. So, they flip a coin to see who the pilot is on the way there, and pilot on the way back. My understanding is that the pilot sits on one side, co pilot grabs the other. Well my grandfather flips and gets co pilot on the way there, dropping off some supplies. The flight to base was easy enough and they make it without a hitch.
They flew in on a C-7A Caribou. The plane is a moderately sized 2 prop engine that can carry no more than 3 dozen or so people. My grandfather and James load up 15 troops and some additional cargo and take off from base. Again, my grandfather flipped the coin and got pilot on the way back.
About 150 feet in the air, an engine goes out and the plane crashes. My grandfather does what he can to get the bird down safely, safer than just letting gravity have it's way, I imagine. Luckily the landing strip they were on was surrounded by rice patty fields, so the ground was extremely soft and soggy.
My grandfather busts both of his knees and needed surgery to walk again, the troops in the back break a couple wrists and get bruised up a little, and James died on impact. There was nothing they could do to stop this from happening.
My grandfather has all of the "classified" photos of the wreck, of the engine, and the part that failed. The official verdict was debris got lodged in the engine and forced a stall. "Unavoidable". The pictures show the field they landed in not even a half mile from where the wheels left the ground, the trail where the plane touched down, about a dozen pictures of mangled wreck, the cockpit, and the engine that failed.
I know James didn't give his life for me, but he did for my grandfather, who wouldn't be here otherwise. He did for my grandmother, who would be a single mom with one child. My uncle's, born after the war. Lastly, my 5 cousins. My whole family wouldn't be here if that coin landed on it's different face.