Its 2am and I’m picking
up an elderly lady from the hospital to take her home to a nearby town, she is
quiet and thoughtful, you sense that some people should be alone with their
thoughts. A few minutes go by; the night is especially dark as it is a new
moon. I hear the start of a little choke that precedes a cry, something I hear
a lot. The already low volume of the radio is silenced as I switch it off. I ask if she is ok as gently as I could. “My
husband, he passed away tonight” I just listen.
“We were married for sixty one years and I have never been alone, never
slept alone and never been in our house alone in all that time.” We sit outside
her house for quite a while, I hold her hand and she makes eye contact with me
for the first time and sees me being a bit tearful and I apologise for my
silliness, eventually she plucks up courage to go into her own house. I told
her I will be with her till all the lights are on. I end up making ‘that’ call to
her daughter and she is on her way. I leave. I do not belong there. The house
is now full of activity; neighbours are knocking, even at this silly hour of
the morning. Its 3.30am she isn’t alone and I drive away, I forgot to get paid
again, but it doesn’t really matter. Not really. I finished my shift soon
after, got to my own car and find it smashed up by vandals. I had a bit of a
cry.
This was a blog about the lives that got in a taxi, The newspapers i wrote for, now it’s just a blog about life.
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