“Some people think we’re made of flesh and blood and bones. Scientists say we’re made of atoms. But I think we’re made of stories. When we die, that’s what people remember, the stories of our lives and the stories that we told.” Ruth Stotter

There’s something in this statement; by the virtue of being human we can only make sense of our lives and those of others, not in reference to our physical realities, but in terms of meaning; how we lived, the memories we left behind, more plainly in terms of stories.

And regardless of whether one believes in a God, or Gods, a resolute materialist, or one unsure in the matter, the question remains; are the memories we leave behind fond ones, or will we leave people shaking their heads at our demise relieved at our passing?