a memory of happiness

Not long ago, our local bike community was shocked by a news story. One of our own was hit and killed by a bus on a city street. I saw the first photo of the crash scene and knew immediately who it was.

I hadn’t met him, but I saw him nearly every day riding through downtown, especially at the post office at the end of the day. He almost always had a smile on his face while he was riding his bike. Even when I was having a really lousy day, that smile made me happy.

At a bike event last week, I met a stranger whose face I recognized and had a conversation that touched me. Her eyes were sad. Until that fatal crash last month, her life was intertwined with that of the young man who died that day.

I told her about that memory of seeing his smile as he rode past. Her eyes had a light in them. She said, “I wonder how many other people felt happy when they saw that smile.” “I think there were a lot.” It was that kind of smile.

His family flew cross country to collect his ashes and be part of a big memorial ride with people from the local bike community. She told me that his grandfather, who hadn’t been on a bike in 40 years, really wanted to ride to honor his grandson’s memory. Someone lent him a bike and he did the ride — the whole 15 miles.

She said he bought himself a new bike when he got back home, committed to riding as a way to remember his grandson. She collaborated with bike friends back home on organizing a second memorial ride in their hometown.

His grandfather starting riding regularly again, preparing for the second memorial ride. He rolled with them that day, and he continues to ride.

She sighed. “I don’t know if I’m going to stay here or go back home. I haven’t decided. My brother said that there would be no shame in it if I came back home.”

“Starting over is hard. Moving cross country and starting over is even harder. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you let yourself heal a while.”

I gave her a big hug. She said thanks. “Take good care of yourself.” She smiled.