XPost: soc.support.depression.crisis

esus Cuevas
trrrhtYmSesitoeoarporrrdafuayns sfat 1o1:drr2ree2 AMd ·
Lois Ann
tMSrhtampcyionsore td21 ·
I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few
minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my
shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in
park and walked up 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.

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