“I volunteer at County General Hospital,” Thomas said. “I sit with terminally ill patients who have no one. I hold their hands. I talk to them. I make sure they don’t die alone.”
She paused. Her eyes welled up with tears. "Ellie was alone. Her family didn't want to come. You couldn't come. The nurses called our volunteer coordinator. I arrived about two hours before she passed away."
She was crying. She couldn't stop. "Was I... was I scared?"
I was worried about the baby. About you. But I took her hand and talked to her. I told her everything was going to be alright. I told her the baby was perfect and healthy.
Thomas's voice broke. "He asked me to make sure Destiny didn't end up in the system. He said he knew what foster care does to you. He said he couldn't bear the thought of that happening to his daughter."
So I made her a promise. I told her I'd take care of Destiny until you left. She smiled. She squeezed my hand. And then she left.
I pressed my palm against the glass. "Did you promise a dying stranger that you would raise her baby?"
I promised a mother I would protect her child. That's what men do. Thomas moved Destiny in his arms.
After she died, I contacted Child Protective Services (CPS). I told them about the promise. They weren't going to let me take her. I'm sixty-eight years old, single, and I ride a motorcycle . I seem like just the kind of person they wouldn't give babies to.
"So how did you get it?"
I got 43 character witnesses to testify on my behalf. I hired a family lawyer. I passed all the background checks, home inspections, and parenting classes they asked for. —She smiled slightly—. It took six weeks, but I got emergency temporary custody. And I promised the judge I'd bring Destiny to see you every week until you got out.
I couldn't process what I was hearing. This stranger. This old white biker. He had fought the system to get custody of my Black daughter. He had promised my dying wife he would raise our child. He had shown up at a prison to let me see my baby.
"Why?" I whispered. "You don't know me. You don't owe me anything."
Thomas looked at Destiny and then at me. "Because fifty years ago, I was just like you. Twenty-two years old. Locked up for stupid decisions. My wife was pregnant. She died in a car accident while I was in prison. My son went to foster care."
Her voice broke. "I never got him back. The system took him. They said he wasn't suitable. By the time I got out, he'd already been adopted. A closed adoption. I never saw him again."
Thomas wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I've spent the last thirty years trying to make up for it. Volunteering. Helping people. Trying to be the man I should have been back then. And when your wife grabbed my hand and begged me to save her daughter from the same fate as her husband..."
She looked at me intently. "I couldn't refuse. I couldn't allow another parent to lose their child because the system doesn't believe people can change."
Every week, for three years, Thomas brought Destiny to see me.
Every week. Summer or winter, it didn't matter. Rain or snow, it didn't matter. He drove two hours there and two hours back with a baby in the back seat just so I could see my daughter through a glass partition.
At first, it was very small. Thomas held it against the glass, and I pressed my hand against him, trying to feel his warmth through the barrier.
I watched her grow up through that glass. I watched her learn to hold her head high. I saw her first smile. I watched her come closer to me even though she couldn't touch me.
CONTINUE READING...>>
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