Stasia's Place Of Grace

Wednesday, August 28, 2002

 

Thankful for...

• The fact that my neighbors had their windows closed, and there were no little kids on the street, when a cicada fell out of a tree and onto my head this afternoon. The fact that it was dead didn't exactly help, but I'm thankful that at least it didn't grab onto my hair!

• For getting out on my bike tonight and doing five miles. I don't ride when Jeff is away, as, if I get hit by a car, who will feed the dogs? (My warped mind works like that!) I'm especially thankful I rode through a very quiet subdivision still being developed and went to the end of the cul-de-sac, where I got within about twenty feet of a heron in a little pond! We just stared at each other for a few minutes until he flew gracefully off. What a treat!

• That the vet was able to squeeze us in immediately this morning so that she could take a look at Fi's abscess, which popped up again late yesterday (the ER vet said it could wait until this morning). Fi is on atibiotics and is doing well. I love having vets that really care about our "family."

• That Jeff made me a veggie juice tonight for energy and is now cooking homemade Chinese for me, so I will be able to use my puffer fish chopstick rest! Significant others that cook, when one doesn't like to or can't, are really something to be thankful for!

• I am thankful that I still feel good, but not "martyr-like," about inviting my mother and Jeff's parents and grandfather and his girlfriend to my pizza party, especially since I realized last night that I can have my feelings but that doesn't mean I have to share them with others. I can be an observer and, rather than disclosing viewpoints that I feel may be criticized or not respected, I can keep them to myself (and have some juicy things to share with you guys afterwards!)

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I received this in an e-mail today and I hope it will touch you the way it touched me. It may not be true, but isn't there some amount of truth in all parables?

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, 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. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.

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 80'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'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, 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 rearview 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 tired. Let's go now."

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, 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, 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.

Send this on to all your friends. You won't get any big surprise in 10 days if you send it to ten people. But, you might help make the world a little kinder and more compassionate by sending it on.

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Tomorrow, I am going to really think about how I interact with people. I hope you will be conscious of how you do, too!

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