My son, who was nearing the end of his battle, asked the intimidating biker in the hospital waiting area to hold him instead of me. I’m his mom.

I asked why he was at the hospital.
“My daughter’s having a baby,” he said, with a soft smile. “It’s a good day.” Then, with a pause, “I’m sorry it’s not that way for you.”

“In its own way, it is,” I said. “We’re taking him home. He wants his dog. His bed. His favorite dinner.”

Mike nodded. “Home is the best place, especially near the end.”

Three days later, we heard the rumble of a motorcycle in our driveway. Liam lit up.
“Mama! He came! Mr. Mike came!” Continue reading…