The end — the words that follow the conclusion of many books. Sometimes we’re glad to read them because the writer found the perfect ending, one that leaves us teary eyed with happiness.
Or perhaps, in a rather different scenario, we’re just glad that the book is finally over, only having finished it because we hate abandoning a project halfway through — it wasn’t any good, so we breathe a sigh of relief when we finally close the book and say, “At least that’s over.”
If only life were as simple. If only every nasty plotline and story in this world had its own little epitaph and then stayed completely dead — the good kind of dead — the end.
Too bad that things have a habit of popping back up even when we try our hardest to make-believe that they’re long gone.
Remember the drinking problem that one dad in our church struggled with for years and years? In and out of rehab, not able to hold down a job, all that shit? Praise the Lord he got over it, right? He held down a job for a while and stayed sober for two whole years! We did our bit — praying for him when we thought of it, checking in with his wife every now and then, making sure they both knew they were in our thoughts and prayers.
It wasn’t our fault he fell back into drinking after a few years. I mean, we tried, right? And we kept on praying.
And no one could blame us when he died of alcohol poisoning a year later. Of course, we still pray for his wife every Sunday. She’s taking it hard, but if she wants to come to church we’re always here for her, like a loving, encouraging family.
We’re all sad he’s gone, but then again — at least it’s over. Right?