Page 95 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

“That’s it, Enzo,” he said. “There is no ‘but.’ Life sucks. It isn’t fair. There is no answer to that one. There’s nothing I can say that will take away your grief. And even if there was, I’m not sure I would say it.”

“But why?”

“Because I hope your grief—when you think about how much you wish your family hadn’t suffered the way they did—will remind you that they wouldn’t want you to suffer now,” he whispered. “I hope your guilt over surviving will be softened when you finally get your head out of your ass and realize how happy they would be for you.”

I said nothing.

“Don’t hate yourself when so many people would be happy for you—are happy for you,” he said. “That’s not really honoring your family, is it?”

“I…I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just be you. Live, fucker.”

We both laughed softly. I had asked God many times “why,” and I had never gotten a response. So, I whispered the question to Alex.

“Why did my family have to die?”

I didn’t expect an answer, but I needed to see if someone could explain it to me.

“Illness. Disease. I don’t—”

“Why?” I demanded.

Alex sighed. “Because life means nothing without death. More specifically, life means nothing if every life—and every death—is the same.”

Sitting there, my eyes focused on the oven door, I couldn’t speak.

“Whatever the reason for your family’s deaths—when they died, how they died—brought meaning to their lives. To your life. To everyone’s life,” Alex said. “Because life means nothing if it doesn’t end. And it means even less if we all have the same life and death.”

‘Then…what?” I sniffled. “What now?”

“You live, Enzo,” he said. “You figure out what your life means.”

“You told me that life has no meaning,” I grumbled.

“I told you life had no meaning so you get to make your own,” he said softly. “That’s also what gives life meaning, Enzo. Possibility.”

“What was the meaning of my family’s life then?” I asked angrily as tears slid down my cheeks. “My brother’s? My sister’s?”

“I told you,” he said, “we all make our own meaning. I can’t tell you what they thought the meaning of their lives was. You’ll have to ask them when the time comes.”

I sighed. “Do you really believe that? That I will see them one day?”

“Are you calling me a godless heathen?”

I chuckled, still a bit angry.

“You don’t seem religious. That’s all.”

“Enzo,” he said, “I believe that this isn’t all there is. I don’t know what else there is. But this isn’t all of it. But I guess that gives life meaning, too.”

“What?”

“I could be full of shit and my belief that there’s something bigger waiting could be bullshit,” he explained. “But living our lives, waiting for the big reveal at the end of it, kind of gives it meaning. At least a purpose. Don’t you think?”

“I suppose.”

“What do you want the meaning of your life to be, Enzo?” he asked, his head still on my shoulder. “What purpose do you want to give your life? What’s possible for you?”