My Son Was Dying When He Asked a Rough-Looking Biker to Hold Him — What Happened Next Changed Everything
The hospital waiting room felt colder that day than it ever had before. Maybe it was the air conditioning, or maybe it was the weight of what the doctors had just told me. I sat there holding my seven-year-old son, Liam, his body small and fragile in my arms. His breathing was soft, almost fragile, and his head rested against my chest like it had done so many times during his two-year fight with leukemia.
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For months, I had watched him battle through treatments that would break most adults. I had watched him lose his hair, lose his strength, lose pieces of his childhood. But what amazed me most was that he never lost his softness. He never lost that gentle smile that seemed to lift everyone around him.
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The doctors spoke in calm, controlled voices. They used phrases like “comfort care” and “end-of-life plan,” trying…