I'm lately remembered the book called "Man's Search for Meaning" of Viktor E. Frankl ,
I think that every person should read this book it's like journey to the recesses of the mind ,read it and if you like to think you cannot stop ,huge book.
here little story from this book:
Don't be lazy read till the end I sure you would like it 
~who has a why to live can bear with almost any how~
I should like to cite the following instance:
Once, the mother of a boy who had died at the age of eleven years was admitted to my hospital department after a suicide attempt.
Dr. Kurt Kocourek invited her to join a therapeutic group, and it happened that I stepped into the room where he was conducting a psychodrama.
She was telling her story.
At the death of her boy she was left alone with another, older son, who was crippled, suffering from the effects of infantile paralysis.
The poor boy had to be moved around in a wheelchair.
His mother, however, rebelled against her fate.
But when she tried to commit suicide together with him, it was the crippled son who prevented her from doing so; he liked living! For him, life had remained meaningful.
Why was it not so for his mother? How could her life still have a meaning? And how could we help her to become aware of it?
Improvising, I participated in the discussion, and questioned another woman in the group.
I asked her how old she was and she answered, "Thirty." I replied, "No, you are not thirty but instead eighty and lying on your deathbed.
And now you are looking back on your life, a life which was childless but full of financial success and social prestige." And then I invited her to imagine what she would feel in this situation. "What will you think of it? What will you say to yourself?" Let me quote what she actually said from a tape which was recorded during that session. "Oh, I married a millionaire, I had an easy life full of wealth, and I lived it up! I flirted with men; I teased them! But now I am eighty; I have no children of my own. Looking back as an old woman, I cannot see what all that was for; actually, I must say, my life was a failure!"
I then invited the mother of the handicapped son to imagine herself similarly looking back over her life. Let us listen to what she had to say as recorded on the tape: "I wished to have children and this wish has been granted to me; one boy died; the other, however, the crippled one, would have been sent to an institution if I had not taken over his care.
Though he is crippled and helpless, he is after all my boy. And so I have made a fuller life possible for him; I have made a better human being out of my son." At this moment, there was an outburst of tears and, crying, she continued: "As for myself, I can look back peacefully on my life; for I can say my life was full of meaning, and I have tried hard to fulfill it; I have done my best—I have done the best for my son. My life was no failure!" Viewing her life as if from her deathbed, she had suddenly been able to see a meaning in it, a meaning which even included all of her sufferings. By the same token, however, it had become clear as well that a life of short duration, like that, for example, of her dead boy, could be so rich in joy and love that it could contain more meaning than a life lasting eighty years.
