The Biker Who Held His Hand As He Slipped Away And Found A New Kind Of Family

When I first met Ethan, I was participating in a winter charity run. I had no expectations other than to give away toys, as I had done for many years.

On the other hand, I discovered a young child of seven years old sitting by himself in a calm hospital ward.

He was holding a stuffed elephant that had lost its condition and was looking at the doorway as if he was waiting for someone who never arrived.

His mother had passed away long ago due to the same illness that he was currently battling, and his father was too devastated by his loss to visit.

The moment he looked up at me with those blue eyes that were worn out and asked, “Will you stay with me?” something inside of my heart, which was already broken, shattered into a thousand pieces.

Therefore, I returned the following day, and the day after that, until the nurses could no longer be bothered to figure out who I was and began smiling whenever I entered the room.

When I told Ethan my stories, he listened to them as if they were sunlight, and he held the toy motorcycle that I had brought him as if it were a promise.

His entire face lighted up when my club brothers arrived with a small leather vest that was emblazoned with the words “Little Warrior.”

For a few priceless hours, he was not a youngster who was on the verge of passing away; rather, he was a biker who was surrounded by brothers who considered him to be one of their own.

It hurt to gaze at his excitement because it was so genuine.

The only time his father came back was when the end was drawing near; he was trembling and afraid, but Ethan still stretched out to capture him.

During a moment that felt like forgiveness, I watched those two hands, one of which was little and the other of which was shaking, find each other again.

While Ethan was drifting in and out of sleep, I held his other hand and whispered stories to him about open roads and mountain air.

I hoped that he would feel safe enough to let go of my hand at this time. At the moment that he was eventually able to escape, he was wearing his biker vest, with the patches covering his heart in a protective manner.

Two hundred motorcyclists rode behind the smallest casket I’d ever seen as we laid him to rest in the midst of engines and cries.

A patch depicting Ethan riding toward the sky is sewed onto my vest, and his father now devotes his time to volunteering at the hospital to ensure that no child is forced to sit alone in the same way that Ethan did.

I sometimes hold his plush elephant late at night and whisper goodnight to the youngster who taught me that even the most difficult men can still love, still break, and still choose to show up when it matters the most.

He showed me that even the most difficult men can still chose to show up.