Dude, Where's My Car?

I met a nice old lady down by the apartment parking lot. She seemed rather lost. It was a bit chilly that night, so I decided to ask if she needed anything. She told me that she was looking for her car, a light blue Oldsmobile. She had come to see a friend in the seventh floor and was about to leave when she realized that she just couldn’t remember where she parked. The parking lot wasn’t so big, so I thought it was a little odd of her to forget where she parked. I quickly brushed off my senses since she was old, and even I tend to forget. After a while of walking around, I decided to simply call the securities as I have seen the management tow cars away that do not have permits. A man picked up the phone and said that everything has been taken care of, that the lady was taken home. It turns out that she never had a car in the first place. She lived on the seventh floor, and I guess this wasn’t the first time.

 

It was a small happening, nothing too wild, but I was again reminded of human frailty. We’re all growing old, growing weak. It wasn’t that I got depressed from seeing this, but I was gently reminded of the limits of time. I wanted the assurance from God that I will be taken care of when I lose myself.