The Little Girl Who Asked Me to Be Her Daddy The Reason I Said Yes and the One Reason I Almost Didn’t

A Thursday afternoon was the day that I entered room 432 with a leather vest on my back and a children’s book in my hand. It was on that day that I had my first encounter with Amara.

My tattoos reach up my arms, and my beard reaches my chest; I am the kind of man that most children instinctively shy away from. I am 58 years old and a biker.

However, she did not. Seven years old, bald as a result of chemotherapy, and as little as a bird while being covered in hospital blankets, she looked at me with her enormous brown eyes and begged me to read to her in a manner that was almost timid.

Already, the nurse had informed me that her mother had dropped her off at the hospital for treatment and never returned, that Child Protective Services was unable to locate family members, and that the cancer was progressing more quickly than anybody was willing to accept.

Before, I had read to children who were terminally ill, but the solitude in her room struck a chord that was more profound.

I felt a crack open that I had believed time had sealed shut when she asked me if I missed being a parent. This was after I had lost my own daughter twenty years ago.Games for the whole family

A couple of chapters later, she placed her small hand on mine and asked the question that broke my heart: “Mr. Mike… would you be my daddy?” Right up till the moment I pass away?

She spoke to me in such a compassionate manner, as if she were attempting to soothe me rather than requesting it. I wanted to respond with a positive answer right away.

I had a strong desire to do it as well. On the other hand, grief is a tricky prison, and the idea of losing another kid caused a portion of me to feel a deep sense of panic. I didn’t believe that I would be able to make it through it again.

As a result of that dread, I came dangerously close to saying no to her. However, as she looked at me, she was hopeful, brave, and just about to pass away, and I recognized that she was not asking for a lifetime.

he was pleading with someone to love her at this moment. And fear is not a shield that love hides behind. Then, while I was holding her hand, I informed her, “Sweetheart, I am your father for as long as you require my assistance.”

Everything was different after spending those three months with her.

Every day, I was there. As well as that, my biker brothers arrived, bringing with them a barrage of noise, laughter, and leather vests that were covered with patches.

They named her an honorary member of our club, presented her with a small vest that had her name sewn on the back, and filled that antiseptic hospital room with more family members than she had ever known in her brief life.

She became wiser in ways that no child should have to be forced to become wiser as she grew weaker. During the course of one night, she mumbled that she was no longer afraid because she would not pass away by herself.

She placed the photograph of my daughter, who had passed away, that was in my wallet on her cheek and expressed her wish that they would be great friends in heaven.

On the very first day that we were together, she asked me to hold her hand in a specific manner, and I did so immediately after she passed away, early on a peaceful morning in June.

We laid her to rest next to my daughter, and the chapel of the hospital was filled to capacity with bikers, nurses, doctors, and other individuals whose lives she had impacted without them even being aware of it.

Later on, the nurses established a program in her name to ensure that no child would ever have to go through the experience of being sick without a responsible adult at their side.

As for me? Every Thursday, I continue to read to children, but now I read to two little girls at the same time.

One of them has been in heaven for twenty-four years, while the other has been there for four years. It is commonly believed that she asked me to be her father till she passed away.

However, the miracle was that she made me a parent once more, despite the fact that I had believed that a portion of my heart had been permanently removed.