The last cab ride

The last cab ride


Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. One time
I arrived in the middle of the night for a pick up at a
building that was dark except for a single light in a
ground floor window.

Under these circumstances, many drivers would
honk once or twice, then drive away. But I had seen
too many impoverished people who depended on
taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a
situation smelled of danger, I always went to the
door. I walked to the door and knocked.

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman 
in her  80’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress. By
her side was a small nylon suitcase.
The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for
years. All furniture was covered. There were no
utensils on the counters. I took the suitcase to the
cab, and then returned to assist the woman. She
took my arm. 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.” She gave me an address, then asked,
“Could you drive through downtown?”
“It’s not the shortest way,” I answered quickly. “I’m
in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice,” she said. “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. For the
next two hours, we drove through the city. She
showed me the building where she had once
worked. We drove through the neighborhood where
she and her husband had lived as newlyweds.
As the first hint of dawn, she suddenly said, “I’m
tired. Let’s go now.”

We drove in silence to the address she had given me.
It was a small convalescent home. Two orderlies
came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. “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 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.”
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. What if
that woman had gotten an angry or an impatient
driver? 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.
— Author unknown

So Guys Don't forget to share the same love with 
others in Your Life.