The Kiss

© J. Francois Barnard – 18 August 2024

She was beautiful — absolutely radiant in her vulnerability. I couldn't help myself. My hands instinctively cupped her face, and before I knew it, I kissed her — both to her surprise and my own.

"You're kissing me?"

Guilt washed over me. I hadn't meant to startle her, but in that moment, she reminded me of something fleeting — an era that was slipping away. Words failed me. We stood at the funeral of a mutual friend and having already lost so many of that generation, including my parents, I found myself cherishing those who remained even more deeply.

That impulsive kiss stayed with me, echoing in my thoughts. Why did I do it? There was so much that felt wrong, yet something in it felt undeniably right. Age has a way of softening people, making them delicate and fragile. You want to shield them from the cruel weight of time, to protect them from the indignities of ageing.

Their wrinkles, the faltering memory, the paper-thin skin — each detail is a reflection of our own inevitable journey. You ache for them, but in that ache is a sorrow for yourself, too. We long to stop the march of time, knowing full well we can only slow its pace by caring for our bodies, minds, and souls.

Yet, there's grace in the transition to the next world — a profound relief. For those who move on, the burdens are lifted: no more pain, no more foggy thoughts, no more loneliness. They are free, with a new body and vitality restored.

And then there's the light — the Sonshine. In His presence forever. It's in that thought that I find peace. I could kiss her again, gently send her on her way, just as I kissed my mother's forehead on her final day.