Thursday, May 9, 2019
The Scent of Grief
Every now and then I will walk past a young man wearing just a little bit too much of one of Zuka's favorite scents and his memory whisps by me. I catch it and breath him in. For a moment I even turn my head in hopes that maybe he is there. It's silly, of course, he isn't there but for a moment my olfactory sense sends a message to my brain that Zuka's scent is near and my heart yearns to believe it to be true.
I find myself opening the storage containers to smell his deodorant, his old shirts, anything that smells like him. Incredible how much memory is sparked by a scent. It's funny what you miss when someone is gone.
on May 09, 2019