"Was That My Mother: She Died Almost 4 Years Ago"

My day started like any other typical Monday. After swiping  the snooze button on my smart phone a few times, I got up a little after 7 a.m. My first pickup is at 8:30 in the morning in Southfield, Michigan. After I picked up my first client, I dropped her off in Warren, which was about a thirty-minute drive.

With a little downtime, approximately 2 ½ hours before I had to pick up my second client in Waterford, I thought it would be a good idea to run the car through the car wash and vacuum it. After the car wash, I stopped at the gas station to fill up and get a newspaper for my clients. I also refilled the inside door handle with tootsie rolls, and made sure fresh water was in the cup holders. The car was now completely equipped to transport my senior clientele. 

By 11:30 a.m., I’d picked up two people I’d never met before. This particular run was a referral from a prior client; I was transporting her mother and her mother's friend. I was taking them to the medical district in Detroit for a follow-up doctor’s appointment. It took us about fifty minutes to make it downtown.

When we finally arrived, I pulled to the curb to assist my clients out of the car. After I put the car in park, I got out and opened the doors for my clients, pulling the walker out of the trunk.

As I unfolded the walker from its collapsed position, and placed it on the sidewalk so my client could brace herself, I noticed out of my peripheral vision another senior walking toward us. At the time, I didn’t really think too much about it. I continued assisting my two clients. I made sure they had my cell number to contact me when they were done.

The senior who was walking in our direction finally made her way to the place where we stood. She waited there patiently as I wrapped up my conversation with my clients. Then, it all happened.

"Excuse me, you do transportation, right?"

“Yes,” I said.

"Can you drive me to the parking structure? I can't make it way over there. I'm not going to make it."

I was more concerned about her heavy breathing. I wondered if she was in pain and if she was going to pass out.

“Sure, not a problem,” I said.

I helped her into the car—the one I was so meticulous about, as if I was chauffeuring royalty. I did this routine for years--thirty to be exact. However, this time felt different. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I'm not sure if it was because this was the very first time, in my thirty years of being in the transportation industry, that I’d driven two seniors at the same time.

As I was driving into the parking structure, she asked me, "How much do I owe you?"

“Really, you think I’m going to charge you? You owe me absolutely nothing. It’s a pleasure to help you. I'm so glad that I was actually there at the right time.”

"God bless you, son. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus!" is all I heard coming from the back seat of the car.

"We know each other well. He and I have a very good relationship,” she said.

“Great, make sure you send one up there for me.”
"No, I'm not. I am going to send seven up there for you.”

“Thank you so much!”

I pulled up to her car, got out and opened her door. As I was helping her out of the car, she said, "You are such a wonderful young man. (My mother said this to me on many occasions. My mother really loved me). Can you give me a hug?

“Sure I can. I would love to!”

This is when it hit me like a ton of bricks—the moment I embraced this senior. Her embrace felt like the ones my mother used to give me. I held her in my arms, as if she was my mother. Her embrace and gentle touch reminded me so much of my mom. This is when I totally lost it. All of my emotions rose up from the bottom of my soul. 

As I rested my forehead against her sweaty neck and aged face, tears formed in my eyes. I tried my best to hold them back. It wasn’t working; this was an awkward moment. I didn’t want this stranger to see me crying. Although she was a stranger, she felt more like the woman who birthed me 51 years ago. But, my mother has been dead for almost four years.

I said to myself, "Is this really happening? Why am I feeling like this?”

Her limp, how she labored as she walked, the way her clothes draped her body--all reminded me of my mother. Even her heavy breathing sparked a memory of "Miss Kat." That's how the kids on the block addressed her, back when kids respected their elders. As children, we were never allowed to call an adult by their first name only.

I don't really know if she knew I was crying because our eyes never made contact. As I helped her out of my car and into hers, my right hand automatically went to the small of her back to help support her weight, before she lowered her medium-built frame into the car. This is how I always helped my mother into my car. It became a natural reaction after doing it for so long.

Never making eye contact with me again, she said, "Thank you so much and God bless you."

“Thank you, and God bless you, too!” She adjusted herself behind the steering wheel.

My emotions were out of control. I couldn't get in my car fast enough. As soon as I closed my car door, I wept profusely for twenty minutes. Although this was a bittersweet moment for me, I will forever be appreciative of the event. I don't know if I should call it an event opposed to an encounter. Whatever it was, I will always ask the question, "Was that my mother?"