Brad Marley

From the moment Jack Shephard opened his eyes and came to the realization that he had survived a plane crash on a mysterious remote island in the South Pacific, I have placed my trust and my faith in the hands of the show’s creative duo, Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse, to assure me — and millions of other fans — that there was something worthwhile waiting for me at the end.

And if that statement sounds almost religious in nature, well, you’re right, because, for those who have been worshipping at the altar of Lost, tonight is our Rapture.

In a lot of ways, this show, at it’s core, is about everyday life, about our dreams and our nightmares; holding out hope that everything we do is for a reason, and not the other way around; that those strange coincidences every single one of us encounters is part of a larger plan.

That, sometimes, all we need is a second chance to do good.

I’m not expecting every single mystery we’ve encountered these past 121 episodes to be answered tonight, because, Lord knows, we’ve encountered some unanswerable doozies over the years.

But it would be nice to come to know that, come 11:31 EST, my Tuesday and Wednesday nights for the past six years were not spent in vain.

That’s all I ask.

Relationships are all the rage these days.

It's why we get married.

It's why we go to the bar with our friends.

We want that connection.

If we're not getting anything out of that connection, we kick it to the curb and forge ahead in an attempt to find something more meaningful.

And sometimes that "something" ends up being a television show.

In this case, I'm talking about "Lost".

What started out as an infatuation quickly became an afterthought when I grew tired of being teased week after week; getting nary a crumb of a reward for my diligent viewing. 

I was spending one hour a week in front of the television and countless hours in front of my computer reading all of the latest theories.  Surely they could've thrown me a bone.  But each episode ended much the same as the previous one: with more questions than answers.

After staying away for about a season and a half, I returned to my former love in the middle of season 3, and was glad to see the pace had quickened.

Sure, there was still a multitude of secrets, but at least we were getting some answers.

Then when it was announced it would end after season 6, things got good.

Answers were given.  Flashbacks became flash-forwards became flashes-at-same-time.  My head was spinning, but in a good way.

I had tried to run away, but I came to the conclusion that I needed this show.  I couldn't walk away, never knowing if we were meant to be.  So I returned and have been faithful ever since.

However, in classic fashion, that tiny thought, that tiny "what if it was all a waste of time?" has creeped into my brain.

I still really enjoy the show; I love hearing what other people are thinking about the island and everyone's purpose.

But at the end of the day (or season six), I want the time I spent on this show to matter.  I want the last episode to leave me with a sense of wonderment.

I want to turn to my wife and say, "Damn.  That was totally worth the price of admission."

Because for all of the time I've invested, it can't end in a snow globe.  Or, a fade to black.

I want meaning.  I want it to tell us that there are things in this world, like fate, that cannot be explained, and we're better off that way. 

In short, I want my mind to be blown.

Because if it turns out it was just a game between two egotistical characters, I'm gonna be pissed.