There is a beginning - we are fresh, excited, and willing.
There is an end - we are worn out, empty, and dragging.
There was an A. Words flowed. Now Z. ...
We don't like to talk much about endings, do we? Trying to end a book well is not only difficult as a writer, but it's sad too. The experience with characters as they develop is one we want to continue. As a reader, a good book, one that traps me in its pages whether I'm holding it or not, is emotional to finish - I want to know what happens to Frodo and Sam, but I'd also like to keep reading perpetually. It's as though they die when the book is over!
Saying goodbye to people, especially due to a move or a death, is painful too. So much so it can seem unnatural. For the longest time after my grandpa died, especially after our first child was born, I would have thoughts like, "Oh, I've got to tell grandpa!" And for a moment he was still alive.
If death is as certain as taxes, why is it so hard to cope with, so hard to understand? Why does it feel as though loved ones should go on living forever? Is it our attachment to them, our need for them to stay? Or is there something deeper?
If I should long for never-ending fellowship with family and friends, if death - no matter how certain - seems abrupt, abnormal, then the question of whether we were made to die is warranted. Eternity wells up in the heart of every man, and in the face of death our response is to ache, to ache for a time when everlasting life finally overwhelms the temporary.
For now we see an end to all things; then we will see renewal, life, and beauty as it was intended.