Just like millions of others watching last Sunday’s finale of “The Sopranos,” I reached for the remote a second after Tony glanced up from the table in the diner for the last time. Surely the cable or the power fritzed at the most inopportune time in the history of American television.

Tony’s jukebox selection of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” just stopped. No gunshot, no scream, no look of alarm on Tony’s face. Just a black, empty screen. We’ll never know what news Meadow Soprano was anxiously bringing to her family or whether the nervous guy in the Members Only jacket planned to kill Tony.

The conventions of movie and television drama condition us to expect a tight, logical ending. Series creator David Chase wrote and directed the final episode, exploiting every trick in the book to convince watchers such an ending was imminent. Frustrated viewers vented their opinions on the HBO Web site post-show, many saying Chase and HBO owed them a clear resolution for the series.

But Chase owes no one anything. His personal commitment to his own artistic vision made the show and its characters so engrossing. And the best artists never give an audience exactly what it wants for that reason alone.

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“The Sopranos” never relied on clever plot twists, cliffhanger suspense or mindless violence, driving many to complain that “nothing ever happened” on the show.

New story lines came and went, but the emotional continuity each character brought to the story lines made it feel so much like real life.

And plenty did happen in the final season. Tony grudgingly supplied information to the FBI about a couple of young Muslim men with whom Tony’s associates did business. The men may be terrorists intent of funding or conducting an attack in New York or New Jersey, but we never find out for certain.

Tony’s hatred for the FBI never wavers, but his instinct for self-preservation — always his most consistent characteristic — figures rightly that building good will with the agency could come in handy.

The season also included two overwhelmingly powerful episodes tying two of Tony’s most important loose ends together. In one, Tony coldly murders his nephew and protege, Christopher, when he becomes too much of a liability to be loved and trusted.

In the next episode, Tony’s son, A.J., who feels ignored and undervalued by his father, attempts suicide. Tony rescues him, and for a brief moment we see Tony’s grief at the effect his callousness metes on those closest to him. But neither of these events indelibly change Tony, and we shouldn’t be surprised because nothing ever has.

But a little hope exists for A.J., possibly. In the final scene in the diner, A.J. reminds Tony of something he once said: “Focus on the good times.” To kill Tony at that moment for no other reason than that no more shows are to be made would have made him and his world feel less real.

Like “The Sopranos,” life never really reaches closure, or a readily understandable meaning. Unwritten novels, unlost pounds, unbroken habits and unspoken love burden real lives. But some goals can be accomplished. And sometimes trying for them — or even believing they are possible — is enough.

Aaron Keith Harris writes about politics, the media, pop culture and music and is a regular contributor to National Review Online and Bluegrass Unlimited. He can be reached at aaronkeithharris@gmail.com.