It was the kind of Michigan night that people remember for years—a blizzard so fierce it seemed to erase the world. In the middle of it, my 91-year-old mother, Ruth, was left alone. Small, frail, and living with dementia, she waited six hours at an urgent care clinic, cold and confused, believing her sons would come.
Eight years ago, I had moved to Florida, leaving my mother in the care of professional caregivers, telling myself I was doing what was best. My brother Tom, only twenty minutes away, refused to pay the ambulance fee when she fell. When the clinic called, neither of us acted responsibly.
That’s when Derek appeared. A biker, snow clinging to his leather jacket, saw Ruth sitting outside, quietly crying. Calls to both Tom and me went unanswered. Without hesitation, Derek wrapped her in his jacket and lifted her into his arms. Through snow up to his knees and wind cutting like glass, he walked, talking to her to keep her calm, until a police officer spotted them and helped them safely home.
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