It is our weaknesses and wounds that wait for us at the end of our lives, when our strength fades. Those who have played out their lives being strong will find this hardest to accept. But there is no choice and there is even a kind of hope in this. It is our wounds and weakness that have always made us who we are. They are what, to those who know us best, are lovable and human in us. A man cannot live life without this. For what is there at the end is not strength but sadness, and still love and hope. If there is someone to love us for that weak humanity, for that wound we have hidden in all our strength and pride, there can be love; there can be home and hope.