The Magnificence of Death

by Rhea Rainwater

“The life you’ve lived far outweighs the growth of an organ. Wisdom isn’t grown—it’s sewn over time. Through grief, laughter, heartache… even love.”

“If life’s so important, why are we all just running to the end of it?” My thoughts were a bitter observation of life's futile cycle. “Perhaps there’s no point,” he replied. “Have you ever thought of that? You’re born. You live. You die. It’s the natural cycle humans have repeated for thousands of years.” That truth was hollow and sharp. Humans fought over the meaning of life, waged wars under the guise of justice, and clung to religions that promised both beginnings and endings. We justified cruelty for the sake of an afterlife no one could prove, terrified of death’s finality. Everything we did—our wars, our beliefs, our search for redemption—was driven by our fear of the end.

“The connections and the time shared, however fleeting it may be. You seek solace in the idea of something beyond me, hoping it gives purpose to the suffering you endure. A comforting lie wrapped in hope, keeping humans from facing the terrifying truth: that I might truly be the end, and all you are left with is what you made of the time you were given.”

“You don’t have to earn your life,” I said quietly. “You don’t have to prove you’re worthy of it. You are worthy. Because you’re here. Because you breathe and hurt and try again even when it’s messy and half-hearted. That’s enough, Astoria.”

“You didn’t survive all this time to perform worthiness. And you don’t owe the world a legacy just to justify your existence.” Another tear fell, and I caught it with the pad of my thumb, gathering her sorrow. I'd take it all if I could. "You think you've done nothing, but you’ve endured. You’ve loved. You’ve grieved. You’ve woken up every morning in a world that’s forgotten you, and you’ve still chosen to breathe. That’s not nothing.”