The Boy Asked Me To Hold His Hand While He Died Because His Dad Wouldn’t

Until I found my brothers in the club. Until I found family.

Ethan didn’t have brothers. Didn’t have family. He had a stuffed elephant and a father too broken to show up.

“Yeah, buddy,” I heard myself say. “I’ll be your friend.”

I came back the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.

The nurses were suspicious at first. Who was this scary-looking biker showing up every day to see a dying child? They ran a background check on me. Called my references. Verified my charity work.

But Ethan didn’t care about any of that. He just cared that I showed up.

“Bear, you came back!” His whole face lit up when I walked in on day three.

“Told you I would, buddy.”

I brought him a toy motorcycle. Showed him pictures of my real bike. Told him stories about riding through the mountains. He listened like I was telling him about heaven.

“When I get better, will you take me for a ride?” he asked.

I looked at his chart when he wasn’t watching. Stage four neuroblastoma. Survival rate less than fifteen percent. The doctors had told his father there was nothing left to try.

“Absolutely, buddy,” I said. “When you get better, I’ll take you for the longest ride of your life.”

It was a lie. We both knew it was a lie. But sometimes lies are kinder than truth.

Week two, I met Ethan’s father. He showed up on a Tuesday afternoon while I was reading Ethan a story about a brave knight who fought dragons.

The man looked like a ghost. Thin. Pale. Dark circles under his eyes. He stood in the doorway staring at me like I’d broken into his house.

“Who are you?” His voice was hard. Defensive.

“My name’s Thomas. I’m a friend of Ethan’s.”

“Daddy!” Ethan tried to sit up, wincing from the effort. “This is Bear! He’s a biker! He comes to see me every day!”

The man’s face twisted. “Every day? You’ve been coming to see my son every day?”

“Yes sir.”

“Why?”

I looked at Ethan, then back at his father. “Because somebody needed to.”

The man’s jaw tightened. For a moment I thought he was going to hit me. Instead, he turned and walked out.

Ethan’s face fell. That hopeful light in his eyes just… died. “He always leaves,” he whispered. “He can’t look at me anymore.”

I pulled my chair closer to his bed. “Ethan, your daddy loves you. He’s just broken right now. Losing your mama broke him. And the thought of losing you…”

“Is breaking him more,” Ethan finished. “The doctors told me that. They said some people can’t handle watching someone they love be sick.”Continue reading…