Last of...

I was in a grocery store today. Usually I breeze in and out quickly. I know what I want and where to find it. I rarely just wander the aisles. As I was walking I saw and old man talking to a woman with a shopping cart. They were strangers, I could tell from the conversation. I don't know how it started but I eavesdropped as I walked by.

Old man: I'm the last one standing. No one in my family is left. I'm last of the Mohicans. I'm 96. I don't have much time left.

He didn't say it with any bitterness. Maybe just resignation. He was waiting. He seemed in a good mood. Very talkative.

The woman tried to say something comforting to him. I had walked out of earshot by the time she tried to answer. I got my groceries and headed back to where he had been. I don't know why. I wanted to say something. Meet him. I don't know. Something in my heart hurt for him. His aloneness or something like that resonated with me.

When I got to where he had been, he was gone.I looked around the rest of the store, but I guess he had left. At the check stand I engaged the cashier in world cup talk. But my mind was elsewhere hoping that man was not really as alone as he said.