May

I arrived at the address and honked the horn.

after waiting a few minutes

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 90's 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 to be

treated.'

 

'Oh, you're such a good

boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave

me an address and 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 in a soft voice.. '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, and 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

to 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.

 

At the bottom of this great story was a request

to forward this - I deleted that request because if you have read

to this point, you won't have to be asked to pass it along

you just will...

Thank you, my

friend...

Life

may not be the party we hoped for, but while we

are here we might as well dance.

 

And so I did....Happy Holidays..JAG