Twenty years ago,
I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy's life, a life for someone who wanted
no boss. What I didn't realize was that it was also a ministry.
Because I drove
the night shift, my cab became a moving confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me
about their lives.
I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me,
made me laugh
and weep. But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August
night.
When I arrived
at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor
window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice,
wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people
who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation
smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone
who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the
door and knocked.
"Just a minute,"
answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across
the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80s stood
before me.
She
was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody
out of a 1940's movie.By her side was a small nylon suitcase.
The apartment
looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered
with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on
the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
"Would you carry
my bag out to the car?" she said.I took the suitcase to the cab, then
returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the
curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness."It's nothing," I told her.
"I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated.""Oh, you're such a good boy," she said.
When we got in
the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?""It's not the shortest way, " I answered quickly."Oh, I don't mind,"
she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice." I looked in the rear
view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued.
"The doctor says I don't have very long." I quietly reached over and shut off
the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked.
For the next two
hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once
worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood
where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull
up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she
had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular
building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint
of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired.
Let's go now."We drove in silence to the address she had given me.
It was a low building,
like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous
and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened
the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated
in a wheelchair.
"How much do I
owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse."Nothing," I said."You have to make a living," she answered."There are other passengers,"
I responded.Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She
held onto me tightly."You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,"
she said. "Thank you."
I squeezed her
hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was
the sound of the closing of a life.I didn't pick up any more passengers
that shift.
I drove aimlessly,
lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What
if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient at the end
his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once,
then driven away?
On a quick review,
I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're
conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great
moments often catch us unaware--beautifully wrapped in what others may consider
a small one.
People may not
remember exactly what you did, or what you said, ...but they will always remember
how you made them feel.
--Author Unknown
Do you know someone
who has touched your life in a very special way? Maybe a person whom you met but once. A person who shaped your life, or added a new found awareness.
Life is full of
great moments and great people. Take the time to listen, really listen with your heart and soul, for there
are many great lessons to be learned as we go throughout life. Emotions to feel, love
to share, moments to remember.
It only takes
a little to change someone's life for the better. A few meaningful words or deeds. Don't let those moments pass you by.
"THE BEST
AND MOST BEAUTIFUL THINGS IN THE WORLD CANNOT BE SEEN, NOR TOUCHED...BUT ARE
FELT IN THE HEART" --Hellen Keller
