Homeless Boy Asked The Biker To Take Him To See The Ocean Before He Died From Cancer

Three weeks after I met Lucas at that gas station, I got a call from his new caseworker. “Mr. Harrison, I don’t know how you did it, but the judge approved your request. You’ve been granted temporary guardian status for a supervised trip to the coast. Three days. You, Lucas, and a CPS chaperone.”

I sat down and cried. Forty-seven years old, covered in tattoos, and I cried like a baby.

The morning of the trip, I rode my bike to Lucas’s new foster home. A better one this time. The foster mother was kind, actually cared about him. But she was caring for four other kids and couldn’t make the trip herself.

Lucas was waiting on the porch. Still bald. Still thin. But his eyes were shining.

“You came back,” he whispered. “You actually came back.”

“I told you I would, buddy.”

“Most people don’t come back.” His voice was so small. So broken. “Most people say they’ll help and then they forget. Or they see how sick I am and they get scared.”

I crouched down to his level. “Lucas, I’m not scared. And I don’t break promises. We’re going to see that ocean. Today.”

The CPS chaperone was a woman named Margaret. She was skeptical of me at first. Watched me like I might suddenly turn dangerous. But by hour two of the drive, she’d relaxed.

Because she saw how I was with Lucas.

We talked about everything during that drive. Lucas told me about his real mom, who’d died of an overdose when he was five. About the seven foster homes he’d been in since then. About his cancer diagnosis at six years old. About the chemo that made him so sick he wished he could die.

“Do you wish that now?” I asked carefully. “Wish you could die?”

Lucas thought about it. “Sometimes. When it hurts really bad. But mostly I just wish I could have more time. Time to do normal kid stuff. Time to have a real family. Time to see the ocean.”

“You’re seeing the ocean today, buddy.”Continue reading…