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The Kindness of Strangers

By Ann Curry, news anchor of NBC's "Today" show

In the last seconds of my mother's life, watching her breathing slow, the movement in her chest becoming smaller and smaller until she was still, the finality of death broke our hearts.

We, her children, cried for days, as our father struggled to stand tall in the face of his great tragedy, his military training steeling him even when he was asked how long they had been married.

"Do something that helps people. Do something of service. It will always make you feel good about your life." Photo of Ann Curry by Brad Trent for USA WEEKEND

"Fifty-three years," he said softly, proudly.

What made him break were the acts of kindness that came next. The flowers, the notes, the letters and hugs, sometimes from people he barely knew. Like the note from the waitresses at the coffee shop they went to every morning. One had taken up a collection and sent flowers. The note said they were for "the lady" who was his wife. That really got him. His eyes welled up, becoming a sea of tears, falling uncontrolled. "People are so kind," he said. "I can't get over it. It's just too much."

Kindness has always mattered to our father. He taught us to honor people, and he has encouraged us since before I can remember to empathize with human suffering. When I was a teenager, he'd say, "Ann, go do something that helps people. Do something of service. It will always make you feel good about your life."

Of course, Dad's idea was for me to join the military and serve our country, something two of my brothers did. But I got the idea that knowledge was power and that I could serve people as a reporter. My father's lesson guiding me, I sought stories about people who needed help. The suffering of homeless people. The rise of the aids crisis. The struggle of immigrants. The humanitarian disaster in Kosovo.

But now, three months after my mother's death, I am walking across a street in lower Manhattan, struggling to climb out of the emotional abyss of loss. I don't feel good about my life.

Then I see Mary.

It is hard not to notice her. She is elderly and, also like my mother, someone who obviously cares greatly how she is dressed. She is wearing a pretty, if no longer fashionable, dress. The brim of a straw hat gives her a kind of halo over her soft gray curls. And on her face she wears a small, knowing smile, enhanced by a pale lipstick, and a little blush.

People smile at her as they walk by. But something about how she is leaning, her hand heavy on a fire hydrant, makes me stop.

I dawdle, trying not to look like a stalker, calling my sister on my cell phone, intermittently glancing at that sweet, aged face. Does she need help crossing the street? Is she just resting? Then I see her try to hail a cab. The driver keeps going.

So I go over.

"Do you want me to get you a cab?" I ask.

She says, "Oh, I don't know why I'm out here. I can't walk very well anymore. But I need to get to the bank."

We introduce ourselves. And then I can see she is nervous about getting into a cab by herself. So I ask her if she wants me to ride with her. Mary's face lights up, but there is something in her expression that tells me she is not that surprised.

Riding to the bank, I wonder where her children are, and how she survives, so frail in tough New York City. As if reading my mind, she says, "I am always so lucky. I have to wait a long time sometimes. But then I find some good-looking young man or just someone with an honest face. Someone always stops to help me."

The cab arrives at the bank. I pay; we get out. And as I help her inside, Mary looks me in the eyes and says over and over, "Oh, I can't tell you! Oh, thank you."

She squeezes my hand, and something in her voice tells me she wants me to go. She won't be comfortable if I stay. It seems she can't take any more kindness and keep her dignity.

But as I walk away, I worry. Who will take her home? Will that person be kind to her? How long can she rely on the kindness of strangers?

I also feel great. My dad is right. Doing good is really, in a way, an act of selfishness. It can make you feel right again.

Like my mother, we will all die, probably before we are ready. So what are we to do with our time? In the whirlwind we live in, trying to be good parents and good employees, do we have time to be just good people -- to be of service to others?

Oh, let us breathe our last breaths, knowing it mattered that we were here.

That we had made a difference.

Ann Curry lives in New York with her husband and two children. She is an active supporter in the fight against breast cancer with the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation.