The Trash Truck

I would hear it before I would see it.
It was the Wednesday morning ritual.
I would hear the sound of the trash truck coming down the street.
I could set a watch by its punctuality.

I would often see the trash truck on my morning walk.
We seemed to be on the same schedule.
I was not always consistent in the time I began my walk.
Sometimes, I would see the trash truck right away; other times I saw it as I headed home.

After a while, the trash truck driver and I counted on seeing each other.
I knew the sound.
The driver always saw me walking.
Soon, a friendly, toot-toot of the horn would greet me.

I could see the driver from a distance.
I could see he had a pleasant smile.
It was the man on the back of the truck I saw most clearly.
His neon safety vest made it impossible to miss him.

I marveled at how he could hang off the back of the truck so expertly.
He hoisted the large trash cans with strength and precision.
He would place the extremely heavy trash cans on the metal arms.
A push of a button and the metal arms lifted the can into the truck, emptying it of its contents.

It was on one of those morning walks, I finally got to meet the driver with the nice smile.
The trash truck was in front of my house.
I was ready to walk down my driveway.
I waved and the driver hung his head out of the window.

He was young.
He had no hair on his head.
He had large gauge earrings in his ears.
He had kind eyes and a warm smile.

I thanked him for always taking such good care of us.
He seemed to appreciate the encouragement.
It’s always good to see you on your walk, he said.
It’s always good to hear your friendly greeting on the horn, I admitted.

After that, the toot-toot on the horn was a bit longer.
After that, he waved to me with his hand outside the truck window.
After that, we both seemed to count on passing each other every Wednesday morning.
This year changed all of that.

The year of the pandemic.
The year of working remotely.
The year of schedules that really didn’t exist; at least not the way they were.
The year of pain in my left heel that kept me from walking for a while.

If I walked, it was much later.
If I walked it was only a mile.
If I walked, I knew that the trash truck had already come down the street.
If I walked, I knew that the old morning routine was no more.

I’m walking two miles now and getting back to my old pace.
Soon, I will be back to three miles and possibly four, soon after.
I went out on my walk early on this particular Wednesday morning.
All of the neighborhood trash cans were still at the end of the driveways.

I heard the trash truck come into our neighborhood.
I knew that since the street loops around, I would hear the familiar toot-toot.
I walked around the cul-de-sac, as the man on the back was emptying the trash cans.
No, toot-toot; no wave out the window.

A circle on the side of the truck caught my eye.
Inside the circle, I saw a picture.
It was the same face, the one with the kind eyes and the warm smile.
A new driver was behind the wheel.

I stopped and looked up at the driver sitting far above me.
I pointed to the picture.
In loving memory of our friend and colleague, it said in letters around the circle.
When? I asked the new driver.

Less than two months go, he answered.
Oh, I am so sad about that, I said, touching my heart without even realizing it.
We all are, the driver told me.
He was very loved, he added.

I looked at the picture again before walking away.
Less than two months ago.
Exactly the time I had been walking less because of my heel.
I realized that as I walked away, my hand was still over my heart.

Show me, Lord, my life’s end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting my life is. (Psalm 39:4)

I walked away quite sad.
There may have been a new driver, but this was the young man’s truck.
This truck drove around our little town with the picture of the young man on the side.
I wondered how many people got a chance to know him.

I wondered how he died.
I never asked.
I really don’t need to know.
I am sad that I will never hear the friendly toot-toot or see his hand wave out the window.

We never know when we will take our last breath.
We never know how we will leave this earth.
What we can know is where we will be after we die.
We can be sure of that.

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. (John 3:16)

God gave His Son.
We are to believe in Him alone for our salvation.
We are not to trust in our good works, our church attendance, or the length of our prayers.
Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life and no one comes to the Father but through Him.

I pray the kind trash truck driver knew Jesus.
Life is short.
Shorter than we imagine.
It is important to settle the issue of eternity while it is still today.

2 responses to “The Trash Truck”

1. Thank you for this story and the message.

   Reply

   • You’re welcome, Paula.
     It was a powerful message for me, as well.
     Blessings,
     Gina

     Reply