The Final Days
By June, the cancer had spread everywhere. The pain was constant. The brothers increased their visits—someone was always there, day and night.
I called my children, begging them to come. None did.
But my house was full—bikers, their wives, their children. A teenage girl held my hand. “You don’t have to be scared,” she said softly. “We’ve got you.”
I wept.
On Tuesday, June 24th, I woke up knowing it was time. Ray sat beside me.
“Ray,” I whispered. “You gave me back my humanity. You showed me what love is. I tried to destroy you, and you saved me.”
“You were worth saving,” he said simply.
“I wasted so much time,” I cried. “I could have had thirty years with you.”
“You have it now,” he said gently.
The brothers gathered around me, holding my hands as I whispered, “I love you all. You’re my family.”
“We love you too, Margaret,” Ray said softly. “You’re our sister now. You’re Iron Brotherhood.”
At eleven o’clock, surrounded by them, I passed peacefully as they sang Amazing Grace.
