Nothing I Do Will Ever Be As Grand As That Last Motorcycle Ride With My True Love

Posted on

A few weeks later, she ends up back in the hospital. And on Thursday of that week, my motorcycle— my Harley-Davidson—was ready to be picked up. So I went that Thursday to get the bike. And it was beautiful. She was in the hospital, and I got a call that she went back to hospice. So I drove the bike over to the hospice, and I didn’t know what to do. Should I show her the bike? What the fuck do you do?

I brought the bike out front, and I went into the room, and I said, “Franny, I want to show you something,” and I brought her outside and showed her the bike.

And she was mad. 

She was like, “What the fuck is that?” I brought it to her ’cause it was our dream together, and she was still very important to me, and I just thought that would make her happy. But it didn’t.

So the social worker came over to me and said, “Mike, people are never dying. They live and then they die. And dying is in a moment. She feels that you’re treating her as if she’s dying, and you don’t need her anymore. You don’t love her anymore.”

That wasn’t the truth. I told her every day. But I went home, and I came back to the hospice, and I brought a few of my work shirts with me because she loved ironing for me.

I came back a couple hours later, and my shirts were all ironed, and she was walking around the hospice, dusting, like she would clean the place up. She was on a lot of morphine and— some of you that never did it— it’s wonderful. It makes you feel excited about things.

So she saw me, and she’s like, “Where’s the bike?” Everything I wanted her to feel in the beginning, she now felt. Because I asked her to iron my clothes.

And I said, “It’s outside. Let’s go see,” and I took her out.

She said, “Let me sit on it.” So I put her on it.

And then she said, “Can you start it up?”

So I start the bike up, and it’s rumbling. It was a loud bike. It was gorgeous.

And then she says, “Well, can you just take me for a little ride? Just around the parking lot here?”

And I’m like, Fuck.

I’m thinking she’s gonna fall off the back, and I’m gonna have to tell her family, Yeah, she almost died of AIDS. But then I killed her on my bike.

So now we’re riding around the hospice, and she’s got the morphine pole dragging next to her. 

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *