As I watched a television series the other night, the episode ended with the credits appearing, and I found myself muttering aloud, “to be continued…” Television series often entice viewers to anticipate and tune into upcoming episodes by ending shows with incomplete plots and hints that events and relationships have ongoing stories that will be revealed in future installments. Though usually implied, occasionally episodes would end with a screen stating “to be continued…”
I surprised myself by this spontaneous utterance, whereupon I immediately remembered that my older son, Neal, used to curl up with me as a toddler watching television. He was just learning to read and becoming familiar with the patterns of shows and the screen introductions and endings that invited viewers and signaled departure until next time. He would often intone the question, “Dad, is it to be continued?”
“Yes,” I’d answer, reassuring him that the story, the adventure, and our togetherness would go on. This ritual seemed to comfort him, providing a link to renewed anticipation, adventure, and security.
This month marks the seventh anniversary of Neal’s passing. In the familiar bittersweet memory of loved ones lost (and a less common occurrence of losing a child), I reflect tenderly upon this dear offspring I miss so very much. Of course, I think of him routinely, the parade of images and movies of his development, my parenting, milestones, laughs, traumas, and the joys I had being his father. His life was cut short too soon.
Neal left us the age of twenty-six. It is a grievous loss and trauma for the many who loved him. In the words of one consoling friend, “children dying before their parents is an abomination.” A sensitive pastor reminded me that the value of a life cannot be measured by its length. Comforting words, yes, but how I miss him!
Yet, life goes on. The future is to be continued.
A human lifespan is a fraction of an eye blink in eternity. It’s hard to think about timelessness and perpetuity. To consider ourselves as tiny blips in the scheme of things can bring affront to our pride and fear to our being. It confronts logic, but invites humility. As you get older, you think about these things much more than when you were younger.
Scientists and spiritualists consider perspectives of time, numbers, and significance more than most people do. Neal was a physicist, constantly preoccupied with cosmology and consciousness. His questions and expositions were often too much to listen to. His science and his obstinacy were ways of exploring where he fit into this overwhelming world and how things would be continued.
The Old Testament recounts that God promised Abraham that his descendants would be “more than the stars in the sky and the grains of sand…” I read that astronomers estimate that there are ten times more stars visible from Earth through telescopes than grains of sand on Earth’s beaches and deserts; some 70 thousand million, million, million stars! I cannot even count the grains of sand on half of my toenail when I lift my foot from the beach. It’s all too vast and incomprehensible to me.
Science continues to uncover profound and intricate mysteries about our planet and nature, even as we race against time to prevent destruction. I marvel at programs, documentaries, and research about the intricacies of life, nature, and the universe. I’m awed by how life forms survive and flourish and by the more “advanced” manifestations of human art, talent, and brilliance. I find these topics much more interesting than my personal repetitive patterns of thoughts, feelings, and needs. The genius and discoveries of others interest me more than my own predictable behaviors and needs “to be continued.”
Against a backdrop of modest stability and predictability, I move through my limited time trajectory with keen observations of human development and character—anchors for me in understanding the world and helping others. In this regard, the more things change, the more they essentially remain the same, although there are indeed many new things under the sun. The accumulation of birthdays shows more linear predictability than variation. I am grateful for my birthdays; there’s a peculiar security in knowing I can keep them until they are all taken away at once. The value of a life cannot be measured by its length.
How, then, is the value of a life measured? And, if things are to be continued, when do they stop and what’s the point?
To the seminal question of what makes a life worth living, I review some top contenders:
A reductionist view would narrow the purpose of life to the simple drive to reproduce and continue the species. Those leaning toward spiritual and abstract or existential philosophies would acknowledge biological imperatives, but add more evolved purposes to the capacities and desires of humans.
Few of us can escape worrying about and striving to provide for basic needs and safety. Yet, even the most materialistic or pragmatic amongst us has wondered about finiteness and beyond and one’s place and purpose in this hard-to-figure-out, seemingly arbitrary and often unfair universe. The luxury of philosophy does not preclude the need for meaning and importance that is the birthright of every person.
Even in this abundant life I enjoy, there are times when I wonder how I can go on. I have resources, health, coping skills, good equanimity, people who care, technologies, food, options, experience, know-how. Yet, certainty and material security are routinely compromised by unknowns and surprises along the paths ahead. Planning, planting, saving, putting forth good works are good. Faith makes it even better. Much of the time, it boils down to just keepin’ on keepin’ on—because I’m invested in “to be continued.”
My own view of purpose and a life worth living borrows from most of the points listed above. Maturity brings its own rewards along with the inevitable restrictions in opportunities and capacities. As my options and opportunities become more circumscribed, I find purpose and privilege in what I’ve been given and allowed. Depending on the day or the period, I often find great satisfaction.
How long will my part and paths be continued? I don’t know. How long will yours?
With sobering realization that my seasons of production and entertainment will not be renewed indefinitely, I enjoy the new episodes and the reruns as much as I can. I have a list of preferred actors, and my favorite character is the one who watches them all. I understand that commercials sustain the shows. I am part of the biological and financial economy.
When the present run ends, I am still part of eternity. In my earthly body, I do my best to reflect the purposes of my maker. I strive to leave a legacy that will endure well beyond my flesh. I know I have a soul that is infinite. According to the creator of the universe, it is all “to be continued…”
— Mark Steinberg, PhD
