#beccatoldmeto

(Originally posted April 2010.  Dartmouth, NS.)

Thankfully my meetings finished early. Good thing because after an eight hour training session the last thing I wanted to do was sit in traffic. The day had left me with a monster headache and I just wanted to get home.

Turning out of the hotel parking lot, I tucked neatly into the pre-rush hour traffic. Perfect. A slick getaway.

Up ahead the overhead crosswalk was blinking.  I slowed to take my place in line, about 5 cars back.

I fiddled with the radio station to find CBC. Mumford and Sons crooned “The Cave.” I checked my blackberry. No new messages. I turned up the radio.

I glanced in my rear view mirror and noted the line cars idling behind me. My blackberry dinged - a meeting reminder for tomorrow. 

Singing along with my favourite song, I snapped back to focus when I realized we should have been on our way.  My mild irritation was confirmed when I noticed the lights had stopped flashing but yet we still weren’t moving.

Hello? Heellllooooo…

Cars were now backing up in each direction.  More than one or two were honking to prod the line on.

Nothing.

I craned to see what was holding us up from getting to the very important places we all needed to be.  It looked like someone was there but I couldn’t quite tell who it was or what they were doing.

I sat back in my seat.

I sat forward in my seat.

Ok people.

You could sense the collective restlessness building.  Vehicles started to jut out into the oncoming lane but hesitated to follow through. Instead we all sat…growing increasingly annoyed by the inconvenient delay.  

More honks.

Clearly fed up, a driver two vehicles ahead suddenly jolted out of his place and bolted forward.  He was making a break for it! Go buddy go! Others were quick to follow but their short-lived freedom left them even more confused when the leader of their pack stopped in the middle of the intersection, blocking all lanes, holding up traffic yet again.  What…is...he....  

What the...?

And then, in what felt like slow motion, a tall, young man wearing a light beige Airforce uniform stepped out of his vehicle. He moved effortlessly across the intersection, nodding gratefully to the gobsmacked drivers.

We watched as he walked to the side of the road.  He bent down momentarily before turning back into the crosswalk, moving ever so carefully.

Passing slowly in front of us, we all finally understood what, or rather who, had brought traffic to a standstill.  On his arm was the smallest, frailest elderly lady I think I have ever seen. She clung to him like a lifeline, he smiled at her like a son. Holding her bags with one hand and her arm with the other, it took the pair almost three minutes to get to the other side. 

I sat back in my seat once again, only this time it was minus the frustration and impatience. In fact, despite a crowd that had been growing agitated and passively rebellious just a few moments prior, no one appeared to mind the wait at all.

As I continued on my way home, my pace was noticeably slower. My thoughts had stopped racing through all of my "to-do's" and "didn't get done's."  But as much as I found myself reflecting on the kindness shown by the Officer, I was also trying to ignore how ashamed I felt. By the time I pulled into my driveway, I had mustered the courage to ask myself the obvious question - would I have stopped to help her, and equally important, why only one of us did.  

I've never forgotten the image of the Officer stepping out of his vehicle.  I felt blessed to have been there at that moment, to have had my "busy-ness" interrupted by something much more important - a reminder that no matter how much of a hurry we think we're in, we should never be too busy to be kind.

Thank you for the reminder, Officer.

Thank you for the reminder, Rebecca.  God speed little one.