Life: A Tragedy

Life at its core is a tragedy. Characters fighting their flaws. The resolution always death. The ending spoiled from the beginning. And yet, we characters, we like to imagine otherwise. But what is so wrong with a tragedy?

A comedy may seem like a better option. Shakespearean comedies mirror modern day romance films: the ending cultivating in marriage. But what happens next we often wonder? For after the “I dos”, the conflict persists. It is continuous and eternal. A comedy can only track the character for a certain portion of her life. It ends feeling complete. But what happens after the honeymoon is over?

Inevitably, the escalator moves us forward.

My grandparents experienced over 50 years of marriage. The key word we generally add to this description is “wonderful” and their marriage was full of more positives than negatives. But make no mistake, there was tension. There are differences of opinions, and styles, and music and dinner choices. And after this duration of differences for over 50 years, my grandfather passed away. Unwillingly but expectedly. I can still remember his body lying on the floor and my grandmother gently touching his still face. By all rights, we could label this a tragedy. A great love terminated. My grandmother alone. And I wonder how many times in her heart she tells herself, “If only Louie were here...” But he is not.

Yet she is still living. And even though we know how her story will turn out, which is to say in death, she is still laughing at jokes and enjoying ice cream. She is still supporting political candidates that I cannot stand the sight of. You see, it is the perspective in which we tune in to the events that makes the difference. A comedy starts with trouble and ends on high note and a tragedy the reverse. She has continued where an ending had existed. So, the question remains: Where do we decide to begin or end the story?

When experiencing labor contractions, a woman may believe herself to be dying. Unaided by medicine, the pain ranks generally as the worst pain she may ever experience while living. Yet, the birth of a child can be exceedingly joyous. Because it ends in the birth of a being. A creature full of potential, promise and pride. Again, not all mothers feel as I did. Because their stories are different than mine. Even still, the child will grow and cause problems. The terrible twos may feel like the reign of a dictator. Again, we jump in and out of a life. How are you telling your story?

We know the ending for each of us. At some point our mortality will overthrow our perspective. But such a dichotomy creates the poignancy of each moment. For isn’t there also beauty and joy in a tragedy? Doesn’t the director zoom into a scene that takes your breath away? When all seems lost in the heartbreak, there is always that one thing: someone holding the dying character’s hand, a gentle kiss on the forehead or a sunset that deserves to be painted. In the midst of loss, what to cherish clarifies.

This is your tragedy. You are the protagonist. Make the audience mourn your exit. Be the hero that we can’t imagine living without. For then perhaps, we will carry your story and it will stir the beginning of something else which in turn will not classify it as a tragedy after all.