A Parallel Parking Surprise

Strangely, I began to get comfortable in the neighborhood surrounding the New York City hospital. We had been staying on there since Christopher, our nine-year-old, spiked a fever from an experimental chemo a few weeks before. He had been diagnosed with an adult-form of leukemia eight weeks earlier.

It would be our home until his immune system recovered which unfortunately was not any time soon as the aggressive chemotherapy destroyed all of his cells – including the healthy ones.

As a “local resident” as I often felt, I came to know the best coffee places, which Tasti D-’lite locations offered the most flavors and how long it took to jog up to Central Park. I even had a temporary membership to a nearby gym – a gift from my friends.

Some days, the strangers on the street felt like neighbors. So I didn’t find anything terribly odd about accepting help from a woman and her mother one Sunday afternoon in June.  My husband, Rich, on the other hand, felt very differently.

It was Father’s Day and Rich was spending the day with Christopher. Ryan, our seven-year-old, wasn’t allowed in Christopher’s room because he was under the permitted visiting age of 12. This rule could only be bent when Christopher didn’t have a roommate, which unfortunately wasn’t often.

More than a week had passed since the boys last saw one another– the longest stretch of time ever. Our plan was to meet in the hallway near the pediatric floor elevators and drag a metal chair or two into the corridor.

It was around 3pm when Ryan and I arrived in the city. As we neared the hospital lobby, Rich phoned to tell me that one of Christopher’s nurses had secured an empty room for us to meet and we could stay as long as we wanted. A huge smile stretched across my face as I shared the news with Ryan.

Once inside the room, the boys found a stray basket of LEGOS on the windowsill and quickly made up a Star Wars story.

Once they were settled, my husband looked at me and asked, “Where did you park?”

“On the street,” I said.

We had been trying to avoid parking garages because they were expensive.

"Did you have any trouble?” He asked, picking some lint off his blue t-shirt.

Parallel parking was not one of my strong suits.

“Well,” I paused. “I got some help. It was taking me forever to park the new SUV and I just wanted to get here...so, in the side-view mirror, I noticed a woman about my age, and her mom walking up the street. They had seen me struggling and through my open window, the younger woman offered to park the car for me.”

My husband stared at me, black eyes wide.

“The mother,” I continued, “stayed on the street while her daughter climbed in behind the steering wheel. Ryan was asleep in the back, so I scooted over to the passenger side just to be safe.”

“Did it ever occur to you that she might steal the car?”

“Yes. That's why I didn't get out.  But truthfully, I felt relieved. Besides, as we were getting out, I saw the woman helping another driver up the street,” I added as justification.

He just looked at me and shook his head.

Later, I wondered at what point I had become so accepting of strangers’ help. Accepting help, even from close friends, was never easy for me.

So why on that Father’s Day in 2007, did I let a complete stranger in New York City park my car?

My priorities had shifted.  All that mattered at that moment, was getting my family together. I also realized that accepting help was not new to me. I had been doing it for months -- from our church members who brought dinners, to the friends who took care of Ryan after school, to the more than 2000 people who got tested at three different bone marrow drives to try to find a match for Christopher.

Accepting help from that woman on the street had become part of my ordinary. In fact, it was among the many blessings I received along this very difficult journey.

On that warm afternoon, when that woman kindly offered, “May I help you,” I was not thinking about what she could take from me, but rather what she was giving to me.

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