A Dream
I am at a family gathering. I am young, in my early twenties. I am with my wife Lisa, but we are still childless. All my close relatives are at the gathering, including my dead grandparents.
Over the T.V. news, we hear reports that scientists have discovered that the sun is slowly losing mass and will explode within forty years. This story is confirmed on other channels. It is definite, there is really no doubt about it. We are all upset, and I feel stunned.
My mind races. My first thought is that we must frantically begin struggling to build space ships. But no. It is extremely unlikely that we would develop, in time, the technology to fly far enough away from the blast of the nova. Any ship would probably still be destroyed.
Then I began to debate with myself whether or not Lisa and I should have children. Should we refrain, since their lives would be cruelly cut short? Or should we get to work immediately, as an affirmation of our belief in the human spirit, and faith in humanity's triumph, even against apparently hopeless odds?
Even if death for our children was guaranteed in forty years, isn't four decades of life better than no life at all? Or does a life that is a dead end, as theirs would be fated to be, lose all value? Does posterity and our existence as links in an endless chain give our lives meaning?
Then the alarm went off, and I had a bagel and a cup of coffee.
