A Parting Kiss

It’s been nine months today since Cindy passed. And as time goes by I still remember
things about our relationship that I hadn’t thought much about since her death. Over the past week or so I’ve been thinking more about our parting kiss.

Early in our relationship, Cindy and I made sure that whenever we parted, we’d go off
with a kiss, a parting kiss. I’m sure many others do too. It was something that we made an immediate part of our daily life. We tried to never forget it.

It didn’t matter, either, where we were going or how long we’d be gone. Going to the grocery store for a gallon of milk, heading to the gas station to fill up the gas can for the mower, or going off for a week at a training seminar, we made sure we exchanged our parting kisses.

Seeing the things that can happen in the world, you just never know. No regrets, no should have dones, no I wishes - a parting kiss every time.

Truth be told, Cindy remembered it every time, and I, on a rare occasion, would let it slip my mind because I was thinking “BIG THOUGHTS”. Going to the landfill, well come on, that required intense activity of the grey matter.

However, not to fear, (see Cindy…in above paragraph), Cindy would remember for me. As I climbed in my truck and hit the garage door button to bring it on down, I would see a set of feet pass by the gap before the garage door settled firmly on the concrete floor.

Think quickly, Dave. I’d try to bluff my way through and hit the button to raise that garage door and hurry back to give her that parting kiss. I would feign surprise to find her just inside the garage door. She would laugh. She knew better.

Or on a rarer occasion, I’d actually make it part way down the driveway and detect motion in my rear view mirror. Cindy would be standing at the top of the driveway with an expectant, half-way chagrined, look on her face. She wasn’t tapping her foot, but you could see it was floating around in the back of her mind to do just that. No escape from this one, or feigning any kind of surprise. I’d back my way up the driveway and lock lips with my girl.

Whether I reopened the garage door, or reversed that truck up the driveway, it didn’t matter. I loved seeing the glee in her face and the twinkle in her eye as I got closer. I’d share with her, and enjoy, that parting kiss, and then get on with my business.

Now before I leave the house, or after I get home, I’ll talk to Cindy while gazing at a photo of her. I’ll tell her what I have going on, where I’m going, how long I expect to be gone. And I’ll feel a connection to her like we’re chatting rather than me just spouting information. 

But, the parting kiss? It’s difficult to imagine that parting kiss. I miss it a lot.

The wonderful thing about that parting kiss? Sometimes, it wasn’t a parting kiss at all. It would start out as one. But, you know, maybe that business we had wasn’t all that important anyway. Maybe this parting kiss was really where our “business” for the day belonged. 

Cindy and I would walk back into the house, because we could do parting kisses another time. Right then, passionate kisses seemed a whole lot more fun.