Everything's Eventual

The bitter struggle between time and life

Tucked away obscurely in the corner of the room and camouflaged by the various happenings of the surroundings. He sits, silently composed, while shuffling feet scrape across the seemingly scrubbed floors. White tile with the appearance of maybe being too clean and the fluorescent glow of the overhead lights reflecting on its surface with ease. Stale smoke hangs in the air which ruins the remote possibility of mistaking this for a hospital - though there may be more cleansing power at work than one may at first think. The room is encased in a solemn hush, allowing the reflective mind to roam free and travel wherever it so chooses…

I am standing out in the falling snow which has given the day a type of serenity. The ground below me has been stiffened by the unsympathetic winter temperatures. Making my way up the walk, I notice the cracks in its weathered surface and the weeds struggling for life between them. A neglected house is at its concrete end. The majority of the wire in the screen door is missing and the inner wooden door fairs no better as it sits off the rusted metal hinges. This door is merely a placeholder and is virtually ineffective at doing anything else other than keeping troublesome animals out. Termites have done their damage over the years to the former home of my great-grandparents. The wood underneath my feet is brittle and with each step comes the expected snaps and cracks.

My father and I have come to remove a table. Various objects and trinkets lay scattered on its top, ranging from an old record of “Christmas favorites” to a schoolbook of Kentucky geography. Relics of the past long forgotten, waiting for someone to notice. I try to imagine my grandfather as a younger man sitting around this table, but I simply can’t and laugh at my pitiful effort. This house is part of my past, even if it is not directly connected to me. Worn by age, I appreciate that it still stands as a testament to my family’s history.

And with each step on that decaying floor I realized, or maybe more correctly: reaffirmed in myself, that everything has its time. A time which will come to an end one day. Events, monuments, buildings, lives. Even after they are gone we can hold on to the memory, but even then, that will be taken from us.

Everything is eventual…