They brought her stories from the road, modest gifts, patches from their motorcycle club, and the kind of company that she had been craving for in the absence of any other companionship.
Hope was the moniker that Emma chose for her road name because she wanted to be someone who helped other people feel more powerful.
It wasn’t long before her hospital room became the most lively place in the pediatric department, as more and more bikers gathered to meet the young girl who had won their hearts.
She decided to wear her honorary biker patch on her gown, referred to herself as the biker princess, and informed everyone that she had the intention of riding a motorcycle at some point in the future.
During those six priceless weeks, she was not a solitary patient; rather, she was our family.
In the middle of the night, the motorcyclists made their way to Emma’s bedside after she had a precipitous downturn in her illness.
They gently informed her that she was dying, but that she would not have to face it alone. She inquired as to whether or not she was dying.
Her bed was surrounded by them, and they held her hands while giving her stories about vast roads, warm sun, and fast bikes.
They continued to do this until she passed away with a calm grin on her face. Three days later, more than two hundred motorcyclists from across many states rode in her honor, giving her a complete club funeral.
Leave a Comment