One clear summer afternoon at a park down by the bay, while I was eating lunch with a friend, he told me that he was worried about death.
I laughed, and asked, “Why?”
He said because he didn’t know what came after. All he was certain of was that the end was coming.
“So?” I asked.
“So?” he repeated. “It will all be over.”
“Everything,” he said with a frown. “Life, love, fear, hope, doubt, pain, joy – it will all just be over.”
“So?” I asked again, still not sure what his point was.
“Well doesn’t that bother you?” he said with a stare. “Aren’t you worried? To lose everything? To lose your hold on life?”
I paused, thinking for a long moment about what my friend had just said. “As far as I remember, I wasn’t alive for most of time’s time. I guess we’ll all just be going back.”
“Going back where?”
“I don’t know…” I said, truly unsure of the right answer, “but look at the two of us now. How the hell did we end up here?”