The Better Way

After the Great Storm of July 8, 2013, Toronto seemed in a bit of a mess. Many parts of town were without power, traffic lights were out throughout the west end, and stores were closed in and around Etobicoke.

For weeks I had known that I would be called upon the morning of July 9th to run my mother to the hospital for knee surgery. She was understandably nervous and I was happy to do my duty to escort her to the hospital and see her settled in.

I left home at 7:00AM and started out for my mom's house. Its only a couple of blocks but I glanced at my dashboard and noticed that I could use some gas. "No problem", I thought to myself, "there are a couple of stations en route to my mom's house.

The going was slow. Traffic lights were out. Many folks appear to have forgotten the need to now treat intersections as a four way stop. I made my way slowly.

I came across the first gas station. Closed. No power. Same with the second.

Knowing that the highway route to the hospital had no gas stations, I picked up my mom and began to make our way through the city to the downtown core. Yonge and Wellesley to be exact. That's about as "downtown" as you can get in Hogtown.

I'm not sure at what point the fear set in. At first, caution was slowly replaced by frustration. Frustration was then replaced with anger (at the pace of traffic but also the continued black-out).

Eventually, anger was replaced with panic and the realization that I may have well screwed this escort up in a pretty big way.  At this point, I can feel my mother's anxiety beginning to rise to match my own. I think a big part of my job was to get her to the hospital in a stress free and relaxed state.

By the time I reached Royal York and Bloor at the edge of Etobicoke, I knew I was done for.  Still no lights. Traffic chaos. Not an open gas station to be found.

At this point, the gas light had begun to blink on and off and chime that annoying chime. Mocking me every few minutes. "You should have filled up last night", I can hear it saying.

"What's that?" mom asked, probably responding to my grumbling at the dashboard.

"I need gas and soon" I answered.  No point in trying to fool mom. She would see through it anyway.

By Keele and Bloor, the first open station appears on the corner. The lines of cars waiting for their turn at the pump extend onto Bloor as well as Keele. It looks like the scenes in disaster movies where everyone is trying to get out of town.

Me, I know I need gas if I'm to make it downtown. If I get caught in those long lines, I'll run out of gas idling and I'll have to push my car up to the pump. I don't think Mom would appreciate having to help push at this point.

(Huge sigh)

Defeat is no longer imminent. It has arrived.

It is now 8:20AM. mom was to be at the hospital by 8:45AM.

With shame, I realize I've failed and I won't get her there. We could have another hour of travel left and I knew we were done for.

"Mom, I think I have to let you off at Keele Station here and you'll have to take the subway", I tell her.  She doesn't normally mind taking public transit, but on this morning it wasn't supposed to be an option.

I am completely and utterly guilt ridden as I pass my mother $20.00 for fare and watch as she struggles into the station with cane in one hand and her small overnight case in the other.

To this point in my life, I don't think I've ever felt such a failure as a son. As I pull away, I find a second gas station, with power and fully operational, almost immediately. Ugh, if I had only tried to go another block, we might have made it. Maybe.

I gas up and call my wife and sister on my cellphone to confess at what I'd just done. They sound sympathetic, but I suspect they both now firmly believe that it would have been better if they had driven mom themselves. Shame on me.

Some time later, I get a call from my wife. My daughter, who works downtown, went over to the hospital to make sure my mom had arrived ok. Then I hear the story. The TTC, the better way, was by far the better way that morning!

My mother walked up to the Keele Station ticket booth. The TTC staff noticed the cane and overnight bag and asked where my mother was going. When she told them about her morning ordeal (and I still wonder if there were any derogatory references to a useless son), they swung into full public service mode, helping my mother on to an east-bound train with a TTC escort in tow.

She even got a subway car all to herself.

Her escort disembarked and transferred trains with her. Once at Wellesley Station, they took her over to the hospital, a few hundred yards from the station's entrance. She was grateful for the assistance and somewhat giddy from the extra-special attention.

Thanks to those TTC staff who stepped up that morning.

Above and beyond the call.

Knowing that Toronto's transit system and its employees take a beating in the media at times, I thought a little public acknowledgement of a job well done was appropriate.

More than appropriate, it is down right deserving! I'm just doing what's right, the way my mother taught me.

To the TCC

Thank you!



Postscript:


Dear Mom,

I'm sorry I messed up the trip to the hospital.

At least the pick up a few days later went off without a hitch.

I hope the $20 bought me some small measure of forgiveness.

I love you.

B.