Comments poured in from around the world. Parents holding their children tighter. Grown men crying at their desks. Strangers asking how to help a boy they’d never meet.
A woman in Texas started a GoFundMe for Mikey’s grave. Raised $47,000 in a week.
Letters arrived from six continents. I read them to Thomas and his brothers at their clubhouse.
“Dear Mikey, I’m a little girl in Japan. I saw your video and I’m sending my favorite teddy bear because everyone needs a friend.”
“Dear Mikey, I’m a grandfather in Ireland. I lit a candle for you at my church. You’re not alone anymore, lad.”
“Dear Mikey, I aged out of foster care at eighteen. Nobody came to my graduation. Nobody cared if I lived or died. I know what it’s like to be forgotten. But you’re not forgotten anymore. Millions of us know your name now.”
Thomas broke down reading that one.
The video started something bigger than I imagined.
People researched unclaimed burials in their own towns. Found forgotten graves. Adopted them.
A biker club in Ohio found a teenage Jane Doe murdered in the 1970s. Built her a memorial garden.
A church in Michigan adopted a homeless veteran who died alone. Now someone visits every week.
All because seven bikers refused to let a little boy be forgotten.
Last month was October 15th again. Mikey’s thirteenth birthday.
This time, seven bikers weren’t alone at his grave.
Over two hundred people came. Bikers from across the country. Local families who’d seen the video. Children carrying flowers they’d picked themselves.
They sang happy birthday so loud it echoed across the cemetery.
Thomas stood at the headstone, tears streaming into his beard, looking at the crowd of strangers who’d come to honor a boy nobody wanted.
