The Last Time I Saw Him

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I am thinking about race. I am thinking about crafts men. I am thinking about my small town. When we moved here, I was intrigued by a shop downtown. It had an eclectic array of hand crafted items. It was called Woodys. I stopped in a time or two. Eventually I had Woody repair the glass top of an antique table I got at a yard sale. He also showed me his refinishing techniques. I do not know how old he really was. He had retired from two careers, and moved to our town with his wife, who lived here. He was black. She was white. At one point they were raising their grandsons. The mayor, and some other business owners would stop in to visit at times. Just as hubby and I did. He was hired to build unique things like a wet bar, and kitchen islands in some people's homes. He also was passed over without an interview or bid for a project in our local library. He said he felt it was racial. Woody was working on a big old limestone house. He had slate from some old schools to put down as flooring. He also had more than one health problem. His wife left him and moved in with someone else, she did not want to take care of a sick man. He kept on working. For some of his issues, marijuana worked. CBD oil worked. He would go to Colorado to get it, it was illegal here at that time.He wanted to move here.He did not like being guilty of bringing illegal substances here. Especially as a black man. The last time I saw him, I was walking home from the school bus stop. He was getting in his pickup. I stopped to greet him. He was being admitted to a hospital 30 miles away for a heart problem. He was driving himself there. As we parted, I gave him a big hug. I guess from the hospital he went home with one or more adult sons who lived in Oklahoma, and he died there. When you speak to someone, leave the conversation in a way you would remember well, as it may be the last day you ever see them again.