I took her hand. “Sarah, listen to me. There’s more. Our club is going to set up a fund for you. Regular donations to help with expenses. Some of our brothers are contractors—they’re going to come fix up your house. Make it more accessible for your wheelchair.”
“And we’re going to look into clinical trials for your MS. New treatments. Options you might not know about.”
I looked at Lily, still dancing with joy. At the tiny bicycle with the FOR SALE sign. At the woman in the wheelchair who’d lost everything but kept fighting.
“Because your daughter reminded us why we ride, Sarah. We ride to help people. To protect people. To show up when nobody else will.” I squeezed her hand. “You’ve been fighting alone for too long. You’re not alone anymore.”
That was three years ago.
Sarah’s MS is in remission now. She’s on a new medication from a clinical trial we helped her find. She still uses a wheelchair some days, but most days she walks with just a cane.
She went back to work part-time as a bookkeeper. Our club helped her set up a home office so she could work from bed on bad days.
Lily is eight years old now. Still has her purple bicycle, though she’s getting too big for it. She’s the top reader in her class. Wants to be a doctor when she grows up so she can help sick people like her mommy.
The Iron Brotherhood officially adopted them. Sarah comes to every club event. Lily calls all forty-three of our members “Uncle.” She knows every brother by name and insists on hugging each one whenever she sees them.
Last month, Lily asked if she could make a speech at our annual charity dinner. We said yes.
There wasn’t a dry eye in the room.Continue reading…
