I Resented My Biker Father for Missing Every Birthday and Every Important Moment Just to Ride His Motorcycle

For eight years we barely spoke. When my mom called and told me he was dying, I almost chose not to go.

But I did.

Not for him—for her.

He was in the hospital, weakened by lung cancer. The man who once looked powerful sitting on his motorcycle now seemed small and fragile beneath the hospital sheets.

He tried to talk to me.