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
> 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 in 10 days if you send this to ten
> 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 while we are here we might as well dance.

Just imagine what the world would be like if we always practiced kindness to otheres. Good post, Buchloc.