Fwd: OT Kindness :How many are

[Guest guest]

Wouldn't it be if more people were like the driver? What a wonderful world it would be.

I also drove a cab at one time. I can relate to this story. I had a

steady passenger that I had to carry down a short flight of stairs. A

wonderful individual, with a lot of memories of our town.

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THE LAST RIDE

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. 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 trans-

portation. 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 80'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 1940s movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apart-

ment 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 rearview 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 neigh-

borhood 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 dark-

ness, 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 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 any-

thing 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.

Pass this on to all your friends. You won't get any big

surprise in 10 days if you send it to ten people. But,

you might help make the world a little kinder and more

compassionate by sending it on. Thank you, my friend...

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THat's all for this week. May you have a good week ahead of you, may

your ills be made smaller, and may the love of friends carry you through

the week.