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.

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

But Mike didn’t arrive by himself. Fifteen bikers followed, each one in leather and denim, with weathered faces and eyes full of sympathy. They brought gifts: a toy Harley, a tiny vest patched with an “Honorary Member” badge, and a certificate welcoming Liam into their club.

Mike knelt beside him. “You ready for that ride, buddy?”

“Yes!”Continue reading…