– Brought to you by Fr. Bernardino Andrade
In his book, “Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace”, Kent Nerburn writes about his experience driving a cab for living. He remembers one night in particular when he received a call at 2:30 AM to go to a small brick fourplex. Thinking he was going to pick up some late night partiers or someone who had just had a fight with his or her spouse, he was surprised when a small woman in her eighties answered the door.
She wore a print dress and an old fashioned pillbox hat. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment was empty, except for a few pieces of furniture covered with sheets and a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware. The driver picked up her bag and helped her to the cab. She gave him the address and then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?”. “It’s not the shortest way”, he answered. “Oh, I don’t mind”, she said. “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice. I don’t have any family left. The doctor says I don’t have very long.”
The driver reached over and shut off the meter. “What route would you like me to go?”
For the next two hours, they drove through the city. She pointed out the building where she worked as an elevator operator, the house where she and her late husband lived as newlyweds, the furniture store that was once a ball room where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she’d ask to slow down in front of a particular building or corner; there she’d just sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the dawn broke over the horizon, she said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.” They drove to the small house that served as the hospice. Two attendants came and helped her out of the cab and took her bag.
She asked the driver how much she owed for the fare. “Nothing “, he said. “But you have to make a living,” she insisted. “There are more passengers,” he replied.
Almost without thinking, he bent over and gave her a hug. She held him tightly. “You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,” she said. “Thank you”.
Then, in the dim morning light, he watched as she walked into the hospice.
***
Kent Nerburn remembers: “We are so conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware. When that woman hugged me and said that I brought her a moment of joy, it was possible to believe that I had been placed on earth for the sole purpose of providing her with that last ride. I do not think that I have done anything in my life more important”.
Comments are closed, but trackbacks and pingbacks are open.