First Kisses. Last Kisses

I remember our first “real” kiss. 1971. On my front porch. I stood on the first step to make up for my lack of height - 5’ 4" to his lanky 6’1” frame. It was a sweet little kiss after our first official date. In the two and a half years previously, a few “friendship kisses” were all we ever shared. A simple peck on the cheek. But that kiss on the porch? That one was different. Intentional. And I remember it made my stomach flutter. A flutter I had not known before. That first kiss. So unforgettable. So innocent. So special.
Maui kisses with my Big Kahuna

I don’t remember our last kiss. We kissed all the time, but the passionate kisses of two lovers had been derailed by cancer, chemo, and mouth sores. 52 weeks ago I said goodbye to the only man I had kissed passionately in well over 40 years. Someone I kissed every single day. Until...

Holiday kisses 

That Day.  I didn’t know our last day was going to be our last day. I didn’t kiss him in the ER, when he said, “Honey hold my glasses.” The oxygen mask he wore as they took him to the ICU blocked his lips from mine. I kissed his forehead instead. In the ICU, he looked at me, and weakly mumbled words through his oxygen mask. I kissed his forehead and begged him to “fight,fight, fight,” as they prepared for the intubation. If only I had known we would never speak again, I would have removed his mask to better understand him. What was he saying? It haunts me to this day.

My last kiss was one that he could not return. The ventilator tube, that brutally awful monster that robbed him of his voice his last few hours, stole that opportunity from me.

Oh how I wish I remembered our last kiss. But I can imagine it. Every single day. I knew it well. His soft lips. His gentle way. Never forceful, always sweet and loving and tender. A kiss that I hold in my heart - forever. My Last Kiss.


Comments

  1. Although our journeys are different in so many ways, they are alike as well. Hindsight being twenty twenty, I would have done the last year we had and particularly the last month. We hugged goodnight for years...I miss that. Often she would fall asleep on the couch and I would try to roust her and tell her it was bedtime, when I turned off the TV. Sometimes she would obey, and sometimes she would fall back to sleep. On the nights when she would actually go to her bed and read, I would go in after I played on the computer and would say goodnight with a hug. Every now and then she would stay on the couch and come find me in bed and say goodnight. Very rarely did we miss. The last month she was weak and spent a lot of time in bed. I regret not having gone in her bedroom and sitting with her more, and the hugs were difficult for her, so we didn't try. Her last days are a blur, but I feel I failed her in those last hours. She died while I was out of the room (be design, I think), but I too didn't get that last goodbye. I feel I am failing her now as I have to give and throw away so much of her possessions, and in a sense small pieces of her memory...I hope she understands. I wept bitterly this morning as I thought of my failures to her in life, and now in death. Intellectually, I think I did the best I could, then and now...but emotionally I feel so much differently. Thank you for helping me navigate this new reality, your strength and words keep me going.

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    1. Sweet Chris, grief is, sadly, one long ugly cry. And if I can share anything, it is this....they forgive us, so we have to forgive ourselves. As we both know, that sometimes feels impossible. Let's both keep trying... XO LPM

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