Everything That Has a Beginning Has an End
Including us!
Yes, this is an undeniable fact, though I hadn’t thought about it much during my youth – young people rarely entertain such musings. In fact, I was likely flirting with 50 years of age before I started to consider this notion and what it means in my own life. But there it is, and there’s no way around it. If it has a beginning, it will surely come to an end.
As we go throughout our lives, we become familiar with and connected to things, places, and people who, from our points of view, have been a constant presence. When friends and family members who have been a part of your life for as long as you can recall eventually die, it’s understandably difficult to accept. They’ve always been there, and now, nothing but a series of memories.
The same can be said for objects and places. For example, old oak tree in the back yard where your dad hung the tire swing; things weren’t the same after the big storm blew it down. The same goes for that favorite restaurant or club after they’ve closed. Perhaps, upon visiting the old neighborhood, you discover that your childhood home had been torn down to make room for a new highway or retail center. And when the old church where you attended worship services with your family is closed, de-sanctified, and turned into a restaurant or a residence, it’s often hard to comprehend. Perhaps generations of your family were baptized, married, or received their last rites there. It had been a constant fixture as long as you can remember, but now ‘tis no more.
The twin towers of the World Trade Center were scarcely even a thought prior to the 1960s, but they were so much a part of the New York City landscape, it seemed as though they were always there. If you were born after their construction, for you, they were always there. Until they weren’t.
Other iconic structures have been present for far greater periods of time. The construction of the magnificent and historic cathedral, Notre-Dame de Paris, began in the mid-12th century, and took nearly a century to complete. It survived the French Revolution, and two world wars, yet was nearly burned to the ground in 2019. I’ve never been there, nor do I have any personal connection to that grand cathedral, but I remember experiencing a great sadness when I saw news of the fire. It likely has something to do with my career as a builder, and my affinity for such breathtaking, historic sites.
Through tremendous efforts, the cathedral was reopened in the latter months of 2024 – a feat that is, in my opinion, nothing short of remarkable. That particular landmark has stood fast through many generations, yet it was very nearly lost to the ashes of history.
This difficult truth doesn’t just apply to man-made structures, as there’s no guarantee of immortality for features in nature either. The Old Man of the Mountain, an iconic, natural rock formation that stood for millennia in New Hampshire, succumbed to the forces of nature and gravity when it crumbled to the ground in May of 2003.
This famous Great Stone Face gazed out over the landscape from 1200 feet above, and was recognized and revered by the indigenous peoples of the region as well as the European settlers that came well after them. It has become synonymous with the state of New Hampshire, and memorialized on everything from medals, mugs, and t-shirts, to stamps, coins, and license plates.
After the effects of erosion became impossible to ignore in the early 20th century, considerable efforts were made to shore up this cherished geological pareidolia. In all likelihood, these efforts prolonged the life of the Old Man by several decades, but eventually, nature was not to be denied. Down he came, much to the dismay of those who had a connection to him. He had, it seemed, always been there, though in reality, had been formed by receding glaciers thousands of years ago.
I was recently running some errands, one of which was grocery shopping, and came to the realization that I was more than a little hungry. I know better than to go grocery shopping with an empty tummy, so I looked around for somewhere to grab a bite. Even though there are some wonderful restaurants to choose from in the area, I really wasn’t in the mood to go to any of my usual favorites. Realizing that I hadn’t had any sushi in quite a while, I ventured to the Japanese steak house at the local shopping mall.
As I walked to my car with a belly full of delicious sushi, I decided to go back into the mall proper to have a look around. It had been a long time since I last visited this once bustling center of commerce, and the few times I did, I was taken aback at the growing number of empty retail spaces. This time it was downright shocking!
The question that kept running through my head was, “How does this place even stay open?!?” When I say empty, I mean M-T! Sure, there are still a few anchor stores, though one of those had been replaced with a giant storage facility, and another with a farming supply store. I didn’t do any actual counting, but it appeared that 95% of the smaller retail spaces and kiosks were vacant. Gone were the crowds, the families, and the rambunctious teenagers. Even the fountains were dry.
No, this facility hadn’t always been there. Prior to the beginning of construction in the mid-1960s, it was a golf course in the middle of a rural, farm-centric township. After its opening around 1970, it became the focal point for retail, entertainment, and community gathering. During its heyday, it hosted 100,000 shoppers per week.
I don’t remember those days, as I was still running around through the woods of Southeastern Ohio back then. I do recall how busy it was when I moved up the Ohio River to Western PA in the mid-80s. Restaurants, movie theaters, arcades, and of course, lots of options for shopping for practically anything you might want or need. And good luck finding a parking space during the Christmas shopping season!
Shopping malls, once the latest, greatest offering in retail, were largely responsible for the death of downtowns across the country. And now I suppose it’s the mall’s turn. I wrote about that in my essay, Downtown, April 8, 2024. Feel free to read it here:
For those who grew up in the golden age of the shopping mall, it must be a bit of a shock to see them going the way of the Dodo bird. Though I didn’t come of age in the era of the shopping mall, I did spend quite a bit of time within the halls of a massive retail facility much like the one I’ve described. It may not have always been there, but it sure seemed like it had been.
Though our lifespans encompass no more than a blip in history, that relatively minute chunk of time represents our entire lives. To us, that’s everything. In spite of that reality, unless we do something that gets us recorded in history books, we’ll be all but forgotten within 100 years of our own passing. I’m not trying to ruin your day; it’s simply reality.
Coming to terms with the fact that everything in our world is finite, up to and including this rock on which we fly around the Milky Way galaxy, has actually brought me a great amount of peace. It’s a not-so-subtle reminder that, in the grand scheme, people, places, and things come and go with regularity, so make the most of the experiences at hand, and keep your priorities in order.
And instead of pining for what was, relish what is while you still can.
This great read really hit home. We lost Sherrie's mother on March 24, one week after she entered home hospice, and my father passed unexpectedly on April 24. It really hits home that "instead of pining for what was, relish what is while you still can." Thank you for your insight, Charlie!