The Last One Left

The last one left. 

This weekend we traveled to our daughter and son-in-law's home for a community garage sale. Rain had been threatening, and we were not sure what the turn out would actually be. As luck would have it we had a dry day, and plenty of customers. 

Near the end of the sale during the early afternoon an elderly gentleman pulled in to take a look around. He appeared to be in his late seventies, and as is my custom I began a conversation with him. In our short time together I learned that he had lived just down the road for sixty-one years, was a machinist by trade, and had shut down his business almost fifteen years ago. 

I inquired about his family, and he confided that he was the only one left. His actual age was eighty-eight, and he seemed to be in both good physical and mental health. We continued to talk for several minutes about how much change he must have seen in his long life. We said our good-byes, and he slowly turned his car around, and headed home. 

I looked at my daughter, and said it was sad to hear that he had outlived all of his family except for a couple of nieces who lived out of state. It reminded me of my Dad's only living sibling, Aunt Theresa who lives in Massachusetts. I then said that for many older folks the only time they may have social interaction is when they are out and about in their community taking care of errands. 

I was pleased that he had stopped by to check out our garage sale. Although, he admitted he really didn't need anything, I think maybe he did. He needed the friendly talk of another who took the time out of their day to connect with him, and let him know he still had value.