[Nfb-krafters-korner] FW: The Cab Ride

[Nicole Hutchins]

This was touching. Thanks for sharing, Terry.
Nicole
On Dec 5, 2012, at 9:54 AM, Powers, Terry (NIH/NCI) [E] wrote:

> 
> 
> 
> From: Kapp, Mary K. [mailto:Mary_K_Kapp at mcpsmd.org]
> Sent: Wednesday, November 16, 2011 12:51 PM
> Subject: The Cab Ride
> 
> 
> 
> 
> The
> Cab Ride
> 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.
> 
> You won't get any big surprise
> if you send this to people. But,
> you might help make the world a little kinder
> and more compassionate by sending
> it on and
> reminding us that often it is the random acts of
> kindness that most benefit all of
> us.
> 
> Thank you, my
> friend...
> 
> Life
> may not be the party we hoped for, but whilewe
> are here we might as well dance.
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
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