I went to bed furious with Lost. The nerve, I thought, to end the series with seven straight minutes of metaphor and over two hours of sentimental curtain calls. I mean, I’d been lost by Lost before, but this time, there was no chance of clarification. No final-final episode to explain why Hurley’s still on the island if Smokey’s gone. Or why it really mattered if Smokey ever got off the island in the first place. Because everyone would die? Seems like everyone was already dead. Then I shook a fist of anger at Jimmy Kimmel for not asking any of the castaways "What just happened?" and fell back in bed disappointed and confused.

But to use a metaphor myself (they’re handy sometimes), I had missed the forest for the trees. Here’s what really mattered, in my opinion:

The island existed—always existed—in real time. People died there. Evil smoke ruled there. It could travel through time. The island was a metaphysical miracle, and that’s all we needed to know. Suspend disbelief when Frank Lapidus emerges from the wrecked submarine with enough wits to repair a crashed airplane and fly Miles, Richard, Kate and Sawyer home. Or when a nuclear bomb detonates and the island—and everyone on it—remains intact, in a different decade. Or that the island’s energy is kept in by an ancient cork. It was all ultimately a means to an end—a setting for the castaways to learn to be better people. And those castaways were the reasons we watched in the first place, from the very first flashback to their "awakenings" in the Sideways world.

Ironically, the writers did work purgatory/limbo into the storyline after denying early on that the island was purgatory. And though it took me a while to wrap my head around the existential now-ness of Sideways Limbo Land (like, why was Penny in the church, but Helen not? Aren’t you supposed to be surrounded by all your loved ones?), I cried every single time the castaways reunited. Claire, Kate and Charlie. Sawyer and Juliet. Even Sayid and Shannon. Michael Emerson and Terry O’Quinn proved that they do deserve their own show together when Ben asks Locke to forgive him outside the church.

As my colleague Melissa put it: The final episode wasn’t technically satisfying, but it was emotionally fulfilling. When Jack lay down to die in the bamboo forest with Vincent at his side, and his eyes fluttered shut—bringing the show full circle—I felt closure.

Even if it took a good night’s sleep to realize that.