Light at the end of the tunnel

I have always been curious about this expression- "light at the end of the tunnel"- popularised during the the dark days of the vietnam war. That is until recently when its import affected me personally. 


All of us go through phases in our life when it feels that darkness would completely envelope us, when there seems to be no hope of any reprieve from the daily indignities or tragedies. It is at these times that we turn to religion and supernatural to provide a modicum of hope to light the way out of the darkness.


Many of us wish that our end come with speed and quickness that there be no lingering around in hospital beds for days on end. But life is not so amenable- when we ask to live longer we often forget that the length comes with a price- pain and sorrow. I remember the poignant solilquoy of Cyrano de Bergerac, sorrowing that he could not even chose the manner of his death:


"To be struck down,
Pierced by sword i' the heart, from a hero's hand!'
That I had dreamed. O mockery of Fate!
--Killed, I! of all men--in an ambuscade!
Struck from behind, and by a lackey's hand!'Tis very well. I am foiled, foiled in all, 
Even in my death."

But it is also true that in the depths of darkness, there will always emerge someone who will light the way  forward, providing a dim ray of hope and giving a rationale for overcoming the travails of the time.

In my case it was my grandson. Just nine months old, he would talk to me twice a day from across the world, sharing his joy and wonder of the day. His parents would regale me with his latest exploits- the first words, the first steps, the delightful smile and his own music. Through the wonders of technology, I would see him the first thing in the morning and the last thing before I fell asleep. It was hard to be despondent after these conversations and not to be hopeful that may be, just maybe, things would turn out to be all right.