Scent is memory. Scent is thousands of tiny snapshots that make up our lives, whether we are aware of it at the time or not.
I have been stealing myself to be brave enough to press “checkout” on a bottle of your perfume for days now.
It’s been months since you flew away, and it still doesn’t seem real to me.
Not in the sense of agonizing disbelief, or inconceivable pain…
Not like that.
Not like them.
You lived a gorgeous, lush life unto the very end. You taught me (without being aware of it, I’d wager) that a woman can walk through life with graceful strength, and an elegant mettle that would catch even the most philistine of busy bodies unawares.
You had an ethereal air about you…like gossamer woven through with pure adamant….one that I’ve been to terrified to claim.
Scent, holds memory…sometimes it is powerful enough that it can seem to contain an entire essence of a person.
And there it is.
Several days after finally clicking checkout, I stopped at the mailbox.
And there it was.
“Eternity” for me, was and is- you.
I held the small bottle in my hands, KNOWING that once opened, you would come flooding back to me.
Bracing myself, I uncapped the familiar bottle that was a permanent fixture on your dresser, and brought it slowly up to my nose.
I didn’t dare spray it… what if your scent unleashed the blinding pain that I was still waiting to experience? I would be trapped with it.
Scent holds memory.
Memory holds emotion.
Emotion is pain.
Emotion is love.
The moment I inhaled my Grandmother’s scent, I was infused with her essence of strength and love. She was wrapped around me, bolstering me up, and for that brief moment, I knew that she was there with me.
Now, every night, I spray my pillow with her perfume, and am gathered into her graceful strength once more.
I have no doubt that I was divinely guided to do this. I needed SOMETHING to quell the panic and fear that has been rising as the days go by.
If we are willing, still, and quiet enough…spirit will always provide.