For the next two hours, shifts of bikers rotated through Christopher’s room, singing Christmas carols. Silent Night. O Holy Night. Away in a Manger.
Christopher died at 11
His mother said the last thing she saw before he passed was a tiny smile on his face.
“He heard the angels,” she said. “Your angels.”
I found Big Jim in the hallway afterward. He was leaning against the wall, tears streaming down his face.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have let you go in there. That was too much.”
He shook his head. “No. That’s exactly why we came. That little boy didn’t die alone. His mama didn’t face it alone. That’s all we wanted. To make sure nobody was alone tonight.”
At midnight, the bikers gathered in the hospital lobby. They were exhausted. Emotionally wrecked. Several were still crying.
Big Jim addressed them one final time.
“Brothers, I’m proud of you. Every single one of you. What we did tonight mattered. Those kids will remember this. Their parents will remember this. And Christopher…” His voice broke. “Christopher went home hearing angels sing. That’s a gift we gave him. That’s a gift nobody can ever take away.”
“Merry Christmas, brothers. Now go home and hug your families.”
One by one, the bikers filed out. Each one stopped to shake my hand or hug me. Some couldn’t speak. They just nodded.
As Big Jim walked toward the door, I grabbed his arm.
“Why do you do this? Every year. Why?”
He turned to look at me. This giant of a man with tears still wet on his cheeks.
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