I haven’t blogged this before… and I only do so now really so that I can tell you a story where its relevance will matter.
My mom is sick. She has cancer… as oh so many do. My mom’s cancer cannot be cured. And so we move through these days and months in treatment, in limbo… in life.
She was diagnosed in March – and one of her great hopes was to make it to football season.
And here we are.
Tho I fear she will take the news of B ruschi’s r*tirement worse than her own diagnosis... we are poised and ready to take in another Patriots season - in hi-def of course.
Every year here in southern Connecticut a group of motorcyclists get together to do a charity ride for 9/11.
By ‘a group’ I mean over a thousand of them.
I’ve blogged about this before… and we try to be there every year to cheer them on.
It’s really quite moving.
We like to toss some lawn chairs in the car and head over to Main Street in our town to watch. As soon as we see the riders I will call my mom who lives in the next town over in a retirement community right on the riders route. She then makes sure all the old folks from the village are out by the road in time.
This year however, not sure if it was the timing or perhaps we were too busy, maybe it wasn’t well advertised– we were unaware of the date of the ride.
Yesterday mom was resting in her recliner and watching some afternoon TV. Chemo leaves her rather wiped out for a couple days, and so her recliner is her weekend pal.
When the sound of some loud motorcycles came she waited impatiently for them to pass so she could hear her show.
But there were more… and more… and it didn’t stop.
She went to the door.
There were more…
It slowly dawned on her what was going on.
She realized no one from the village knew - no one was out there to cheer them on.
And so … pale, tired, shaky and little nauseous – she went out the door and slowly made her way across the lawn - to the curb.
There she stood all by herself… waving, tears streaming, completely moved by the sight of those thousand motorcycles.