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.”
"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?"
