November 2022
One of Kara’s best friends on the West Coast has a little vacation spot by a river up in Washington. It’s maybe an hour or so from where we lived, and they would go there from time to time for a lady’s weekend. As such, Kara kept a few provisions at the place including what wound up being an unfinished 375 ml bottle of Rich & Rare whiskey. That was our “code of the road” whiskey - cheap, relatively non-abrasive going down, and somehow pretty forgiving with regard to headaches and hangovers. A bottle of R&R typically made its way into every travel bag we packed together.
After she passed, her friend discovered the bottle and presented it to me the next time we saw each other. That bottle of whiskey, while it did represent the occasional point of contention in our relationship - more so reminded me of a number of my life’s most treasured moments. Wide-eyed mutual discoveries, celebrations with new friends in unfamiliar places, and unbridled instances of joy were all experienced before the backdrop of a boundaryless and all-consuming love. I was excited by its existence and happy to have it in my possession.
My intention was to keep it as it was. A cherished relic. A museum piece to adorn an inconspicuous but prominent spot on a shelf I would someday own. Which it now does. But as the overwhelming sadness and longing of my first October without her was nearing its zenith one evening, I unscrewed the plastic cap and took one long, slow swig. Replaced it, and commenced a profoundly somber soul cry.
The opportunity to touch my lips to what might have been the last place on this planet to hold DNA from hers was too tempting not to take. A mournful man’s desperate last attempt at a cross-consciousness kiss.