The Stranger Who Carried My Mother Through the Blizzard
It was a Michigan blizzard that could erase streets in minutes. That’s when a stranger named Derek carried my 91-year-old mother through the storm—saving her life after her own sons failed.
My mother, Ruth, is small and fragile—ninety pounds, four-foot-ten, sharp in moments, lost in others. She has dementia. She also has two sons: me, Michael, living in Florida, and my brother Tom, twenty minutes from her assisted-living facility.
Eight years ago, I moved south. I told myself she’d be better cared for in a professional facility. That was the lie I used to sleep at night.
On January 17, the facility called Tom—Mom had fallen and needed X-rays. He refused the $800 non-emergency ambulance fee. Then he called me to complain. I shrugged. “Do what you think is best,” I said, and hung up.
Mom ended up in a low-cost transport van to urgent care, three miles away. The driver left her there, assuming family would pick her up. Nobody did. Six hours passed. By 7 p.m., the clinic was closing. Staff called Tom—no answer. They called me—I ignored it.
That’s when Derek appeared.
He was a biker, snow-covered, checking the weather before heading north. He saw my mother crying alone. “My son’s coming,” she whispered.
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