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AngelAfriel 
11:28am, August 24, 2008
As a cab driver, I pulled up to a house that had called me and honked. No one came. 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 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 1940s 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's20nothing', I told her. 'I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated'.
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 1940s 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's20nothing', 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, 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. '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 tire d. 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 condition ed 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.
'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 tire d. 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 condition ed 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.
Comments
To my friends who grow older with me
SERENITY
Just before the funeral services, the undertaker came up to the very elderly widow and asked,
'How old was your husband?' '98,' she replied.
'Two years older than me'
'So you're 96,' the undertaker commented.
She responded, 'Hardly worth going home, is it?
Reporters interviewing a 104-year-old woman:
'And what do you think is the best thing
about being 104?' the reporter asked.
She simply replied, 'No peer pressure.'
I've sure gotten old!
I've had two bypass surgeries, a hip replacement,
new knees, fought prostate cancer and diabetes
I'm half blind,
can't hear anything quieter than a jet engine,
take 40 different medications that
make me dizzy, winded, and subject to blackouts.
Have bouts with dementia.
Have poor circulation;
hardly feel my hands and feet anymore.
Can't remember if I'm 85 or 92.
Have los t all my friends. But, thank God,
I still have my driver's license.
I feel like my body has gotten totally out of shape,
so I got my doctor's permission to
join a fitness club and start exercising..
I decided to take an aerobics class for seniors.
I bent, twisted, gyrated, jumped up and down, and perspired for an hour. But,
by the time I got my leotards on,
the class was over.
An elderly woman decided to prepare her will and
told her preacher she had two final requests.
First, she wanted to be cremated, and second,
she wanted her ashes scattered over Wal-Mart.
'Wal-Mart?' the preacher exclaimed.
'Why Wal-Mart?'
'Then I'll be sure my daughters visit me twice a week'
My memory's not as sharp as it used to be.
Also, my memory's not as sharp as it used to be.
Know how to prevent sagging?
Just eat till the wrinkles fill out.
It's scary when you start making the same noises
as your coffee maker.
These days about half the stuff
in my shopping cart says,
'For fast relief.'
THE SENILITY PRAYER :
Grant me the senility to forget the people
I never liked anyway,
the good fortune to run into the ones I do, and
the eyesight to tell the difference.
Comments
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hahahahahahahhahahahahaha has so made my day....sooooooo funny just what needed today x
Past Entries
| September 2008 |
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Saturday, 9/06
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August 2008 |
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Thursday, 8/21
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Wednesday, 8/13
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July 2008 |
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Sunday, 7/27
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Tuesday, 7/22
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Sunday, 7/20
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Sunday, 7/20
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Thursday, 7/17
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Wednesday, 7/16
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Tuesday, 7/15
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Monday, 7/14
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Saturday, 7/12
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Friday, 7/11
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Thursday, 7/10
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June 2008 |
Saturday, 6/28
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Thursday, 6/26
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May 2008 |
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Sunday, 5/11
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Tuesday, 5/06
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April 2008 |
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Friday, 4/25
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Monday, 4/21
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Saturday, 4/19
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Friday, 4/18
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Wednesday, 4/16
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Sunday, 4/13
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Sunday, 4/13
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Friday, 4/11
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Monday, 4/07
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Monday, 4/07
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Wednesday, 4/02
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March 2008 |
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Thursday, 3/20
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Sunday, 3/16
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Wednesday, 3/12
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Monday, 3/10
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Thursday, 3/06
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February 2008 |
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Wednesday, 2/27
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Wednesday, 2/20
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Sunday, 2/10
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January 2008 |
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Friday, 1/25
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Wednesday, 1/23
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Sunday, 1/20
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Thursday, 1/17
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Sunday, 1/13
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Thursday, 1/10
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Sunday, 1/06
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December 2007 |
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Sunday, 12/30
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This made me cry.
sabishii
almost in tears here....wow!!!!
hardys
AMAZING XXXX
sammy39