What keeps going?

“No, I didn’t do anything special this year, nor any year really. When my children were little I gave them Christmas presents. We were Jews, but we weren’t religious Jews. I never believed in a God. If there was a God, what was he doing during the Holocaust? Taking a nap? I suppose it’s comforting for children. God, Santa Claus, whatever.

“We had a special meal now and then when I was growing up, certain foods my mother and grandmother made. I didn’t keep that going. I didn’t have time, didn’t care. My mother’s been dead longer than she was alive, and my sister who she screamed at is dead, and my brother, who was the sweetest man I ever knew. I ask myself what all my mother’s great suffering was about. She wanted money, but why? So she could impress somebody? Whoever she wanted to impress, they’re dead now. So what was the point?

“All my life I’ve read the New York Times, but I’ve stopped reading the news. It’s too horrible. I read book reviews. I forget the names of books and authors as fast as I read them. I read obituaries. Same thing. I look at them and ask myself what keeps going from a person’s life.”

Margie gazed into her hot chocolate for a long time, silent. I asked her, “What keeps going, Margie?” 

“What?”

“You said you ask yourself what keeps going from a person’s life. What does? What do you think?”

“Well, I don’t know. I think probably kindness. Kindness to whoever you meet. That ripples out; it goes on making more kindness, this one to that one. When you die, nobody cares how much money you had or what label was on your coat. That comes to a dead end. I could be wrong, but I think probably kindness is the only thing that keeps going.”