The Cab Driver #4

There are those times when Brian decides to make contact in some ridiculously irrefutable way. If you knew him, you would know that he had a sense of humor. It was sideways of sorts and childlike at times even as he grew older. There was often a mischievous smirk on his face, likely because he was into something. I said in my introduction to this blog that I would bring the stories to you with the help of other people, this would be one such story.

My family is a large one. We have found ourselves spread out over the years but are a rather tight-knit group. We are a bit loud and raucous when we get together, Irish and proud and pretty protective of one another when the chips are down. When one is lost, it is felt harshly by all. The loss of Brian was devastating to each of us. He was only twenty, it was unexpected and tragic in every way.

One of Brian’s cousins, who is within a year of difference in age, was out on tour at the time and performing with an international Irish dance company. His mom, my sister-in-law, had to deliver the news to him as he was travelling between shows and on a tour bus. Awful to be so far from home and away from family. Trying to absorb the shock, facilitate travel back to be with family for services and back again to join the company was overwhelming. Travel eventually proved to be not feasible with a series of four flights here and four back. That, compounded with no guarantee of even making it on time, resulted in having to make the hard decision to remain with the tour.

In speaking to him later, he carried an enormous amount of, unnecessary but understandable, guilt for not being able to be with his family. He was far away and coping with the loss of a cousin his own age without the benefit family brings to such an event. As life often does, there was a second curveball. In March of 2014, within a month of Brian’s death, he was injured and forced to return home with a torn hamstring muscle and the ensuing rest and treatment.

In April 2014, about two months after Brian left, the tour company was to perform in Jacksonville, Florida. Though still not fully recovered from the injury, he decided to fly out to join them. As for me, I was back at work on this particular day, busy and away from my phone. At some point, on a stop by my office, I saw my cell phone lying on my desk lit with missed calls and messages from both my brother and sister-in-law. It was obvious that they were anxious to speak to me, that something had happened. I returned a text message and we opted to speak when I left work for the day.

My nephew, caught his flight to Jacksonville that April day and proceeded to the taxi ring as there was no Uber or Lyft service in 2014. Upon standing at the midpoint of a line stretched with 40 or so people, he saw and was approached by a cab driver he describes as a “5 foot nothing Jamaican woman.” She proceeded to point at him and say, “I’m taking you.” He was a bit disheveled by it, as there were others in line before him, and voiced his concern about “breaking the rules” to which she simply responded in full on charming Jamaican accent, “Come on baby, come on.”

He described the ride as normal for a time. The conversation consisting of simple small talk for the first 35-40 minutes. It was then she became quiet and began to peer a bit nervously at him from the rear view mirror. At the point when their eyes met, she asked,

“Can I ask you weird question?” Answer, “Suuuure.” Not quite knowing what this was leading to. She then said to him,

“You recently lost a cousin?”

“Yes”

“It was a car accident?”

‘Yes”

“I didn’t know why but when I saw you I had to pick you up.” pause….

” He wants you to know that he is ok.”

Crying…..

She went on to explain that she had had this experience once before with a passenger. She was lead to tell a male passenger that his cancer would be healed. He was of course shocked at her knowledge. He had gotten into the taxi after just learning of his diagnosis and was going home to tell his family.

This situation was much the same. She had NO idea he had lost a cousin, that the cousin was male, whom either of them were nor any details of his life beyond the fact that he was meeting the dance company. He later told me that he kept waiting for Ashton Kutcher to show up and say “you’ve been punked” but that would just be cruel. In reality there was nothing cruel about this.

She got out with him at the end of the ride, asked if she could hug him, and said good bye. There are still tears when we talk about it. The tears are thankful ones. True appreciation for finding a way to say, it’s ok that you weren’t at the service physically. That he knew where his heart was and that the love was still there. There is thankfulness for removing a burden of guilt being carried and for getting the message to his family that he was indeed ok.

There is also real appreciation and, if you know Brian, some serious validation that he would find delivery in a “5 foot nothing” Jamaican cab driver in Jacksonville, Florida.