the Taxi and the old lady

There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on thecounters.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 suitcaseto 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 wayI 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 youdrive 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 ahospice".I looked in the rear-view 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 youlike me to take?" I asked.For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me thebuilding where she had once worked as an elevator operator.We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had livedwhen they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniturewarehouse that had once been a ballroom where s! he had gone dancingas a girl.Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building orcorner 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 hadgiven me.It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a drivewaythat 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 musthave 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 metightly."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 wasimpatient to end his shift?What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then drivenaway?On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything moreimportant 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 whatothers 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 it to ten people.But, you might help make the world a little kinder and morecompassionate by sending it on.Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we mightas well dance. Every morning when I open my eyes, I tell myself thatit is special. Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a giftfrom God."If I leave here tomorrow, will you still remember me?"I will remember all of you always.