Sunday, March 25, 2012

Exceptional Little Moments {Philadelphia Senior Portrait Photography}

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. One time I arrived in the middle of the night for a pick up at a building that 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 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 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.”
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.
A true story by Kent Nerburn


Skeller said...

these are truly lovely pictures of a lovely young woman. and the story? also perfectly lovely. Becky, you're such a bright, beautiful, encouraging corner of the blogosphere ...

Andrea said...

Beautiful photos and a beautiful story. :)

Gigi said...

I've got tears in my coffee from that story!

Sharon said...

Beautiful girl! I've read that story before...but it is always good to read again. Thanks for being you Becky!

Bethany Ann said...

What a beautiful story!!!! Wow, it made me teary eyed, but so joyous that the driver took the time to help that woman. What a beautiful life she must have had. Thank you for sharing! Have a great week. :)

Tami said...

Thanks for commenting on my blog today!! And these pictures are beautiful! Great story's so important to stop and really see people...thanks for the reminder!

Tracy P. said...

Aw, she's amazing. Her smile is just contagious, like you are Miss Becky!! Now, time for a tissue.

April said...

The sweetest story ever, Becky, and your pictures are OUTSTANDING!

Debby said...

Beautiful young girl.
Amazing wonderful story.

Formerly known as Frau said...

Wow ....story made me cry! Beautiful young lady her smile!

Farmgirl Paints said...

That was an exceptional story. Touched my heart. And you really captured that girl's spark. So pretty.

Anita Johnson said...

I love that story, what a wonderful world this would be if we all slowed down a bit and looked for opportunities to encourage one another. Great photos too. Keep 'um coming!

M said... succeeded in making me cry.
Happy Monday....beautiful senior pics :)

photowannabe said...

Okay, here I go again. I have a lump in my throat and my eyes are misty.
Aging can be difficult and to some so painful.
There are many lessons to be learned from this post Becky.
Thank you.

Maddy said...

That story made me well up with joy! So important to remember the little things and be kind to those around us at all times :)

Becca said...

How beautiful my friend!

Lisa jay said...

What an inspiring story. I am so glad I stopped by and read it. Beautiful pictures too.

Rachel said...

Beautiful photographs - she must be thrilled with them!

And I have always loved that story. Such a timely reminder that what we do - we must be intentional with it. It needs to count. (And sometimes it counts in an awful way and we live to regret it).

Thank you for sharing it.