Some bikers were painting my mother’s house pink after she died at 4 a.m., and I didn’t know any of them.Some bikers were painting my mother’s house pink after she died at 4 a.m., and I didn’t know any of them.
The loss didn’t become easier because of what happened that morning. There were still quiet moments that hit just as hard, still days when everything felt heavier than it should.
But there was also something else now.
A story.
A strange, beautiful, unexpected story about a group continue reading …
