I have lived my life reading book after book and seeing movie after movie and the one thing that has remained constant is that there is always a beginning, middle, and an end to every story. Every struggle needs a conclusion and every story needs a beginning. In the past couple days I have had one question in my mind – what is the point of living and dying?
My Papaw has decided that it is time to die after struggling with a number of ailments in these past few years. The dialysis that has been allowing him to live is something he no longer wants to do. So, now we must say goodbye and let his journey come to an end. Why? What’s the point of living if you are only going to die in the end anyway? Why do we struggle to learn, work, make money so that we can feed ourselves and maybe have a little fun if our end is already written before the beginning has even begun? Why must all good things come to an end? What’s the point of the end?
I asked this question of Alejandro and he didn’t have an answer that I could accept. That’s ok. I don’t think anyone has found the answer to this question – at least not completely. Some may say it is the middle of the story that makes the end meaningful. I cannot deny that living a life masks the pointlessness of the end a little bit, but I still do not understand the point of death.
Why does there have to be a point?