Father Todd: Sensitivity to others’ needs makes a big difference

The following condensed story, entitled “The Cab Ride,” was written by Kent Nerburn.

“I responded to a call and arrived at the address at 2:30 a.m. 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 90s 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.

“‘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 and 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 danced.

“Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. At the first hint of daylight, 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. Two orderlies came out to the cab when we pulled up. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. They had already seated the woman 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. 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?

“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.”

Making a person feel good is an exceptional gift.