Fear of Infinity

Last night I had dinner with my dad and grandma in the city. We ended up talking about the place where my dad grew up and how these townhouses are going to be torn down for new buildings. Naturally, this lead to stories of his childhood. I could listen for hours to stories of the past and indulge in the fantasy that life was better, simpler, more romantic in such a time.
But these stories also elicit a fear that I cannot properly describe. The idea that the places where all of these events happened is about to be destroyed and eliminated forever scares me to a point of desperation, a void that cannot be filled. The immensity of it all, of all the things that have been, that were, that never will be again. The things I have never known, never seen, never felt, and yet somehow feel connected too. The infinite songs, movies, picture, novels that I will never hear, watch, see, or read.
It's an irrational sentimental fear, but the idea of not being able to know every song that has ever existed, every movie that has ever been made, photographs of people who once were like you and me, and pages of books that I will never touch. All of these are forgotten stories, and it only reminds me of how someday I will be a forgotten story, a memory that will not be remembered. I don't mind not being remembered after I'm gone, but it's all of the things that have come & been before me; things, people, places that I will never know or experience, the immensity of everything that has happened throughout time that has been lost from all recollection really plays into my fear. It gets me thinking about why we are even here at all and what part do we each play in this world, a world that wavers between being small, damaged and hopeless to being vast, illuminating with greatness and hope. An adventure. An overwhelming wave of infinity that, from time to time, floods my mind.
Be good, spread goodness, accept goodness, live a life of kindness and creativity. That's the conclusion I reach everytime these thoughts haunt me. And on the long ride home when my dad decided to turn off the radio and let the silence settle, I looked through the window into the lonely dark sky and focused on the stars,  remembering how insignificant everything is at the end of the day.