tonight, i breathe in that familiar scent

The past few days have been a whirlwind of emotions due to some unexpected circumstances. Though I don't want to get into the details of those encounters, I did want to note that it was that string of events that brought me to this spot on my bed where I find myself typing from at 2am.

I was tossing and turning about an hour ago, unable to fall asleep, thinking of the trauma my family has gone through over the past several years.  I was replaying memories, mourning deep regrets and painful losses, wishing that I could just do it all over again.  Mostly, I just wanted to rewind the clock and have a second chance at things.  I missed the people who we've said goodbye to and the way our family unit used to function.  I missed the sense of home that I used to know so well.

I got out of bed, determined to find a box of sweatshirts of my mom's that my dad had mentioned still lingered in the house.  After a rather short search, I found it.  Furiously shaking, I pulled out articles of clothing and stopped when I picked up a very familiar navy blue USA sweatshirt.  I held it out before me, images flashing across my mind, scenes from the 90's replaying in my brain.

Hesitantly, I brought the old sweatshirt to my nose and inhaled very deeply.  Mom.  I breathed in the scent of love which used to fill my nostrils every time that I hugged her, and collapsed in a ball on the ground, sweatshirt in my lap, silent tears streaming down my cheeks.  I thought of my unwillingness to hug people now and wondered if somehow, those things were connected.

The pain doesn't go away.  My life has moved on.  I'm four years older now.  I have a college degree and a real life job.  I've met Jesus and my life has been deeply transformed by the Gospel.  I have a new mom-figure in my life for all of those necessary mother-moments.  The reality of her being gone isn't as debilitating as it was when I was 18, but the pain is still the same.  It's still sharp and strong and at times very consuming.

Sometimes I wonder if people think I'm silly for still hurting to the degree that I do over my mom's death, and so I refrain from talking about it.  But what I remind myself of is that the majority of people in my life (thankfully) just don't understand.  I praise God that my friends didn't go through what my sister and I had to as teenagers.  A mom is so significant in a girl's life--especially at our age.  I long for her comfort at every difficult moment and for her celebration at every joyous one.  I wish she saw me graduate college and I wish she saw the births of our little cousins.  I wish she was going to be there at our weddings (if we get married, that is).  I wish I could have shared with her when I found a major to study that I enjoyed and a career that I was passionate about starting.  So many times things happen throughout the day and I think, "I wish I could call up my mom to tell her about this."

I miss her laugh and her constant involvement in my life.  I miss her telling me how proud she is of me.  I miss her cooking and her giving heart.  I miss her making up crazy stories about our neighbors at the beach.  Mostly, I just miss her hugs and having someone who would lay down next to me and hold me.

I just miss her.

I sat on the floor, heart aching from the loss of that comforting smell, lips quivering as they wished for one last chance to apologize and say, "I love you."

Eventually I pulled myself together and dug to the bottom of the box, where I found the sweatshirt that reminds me of my mom more than any other article of clothing.  Walking into my room, I slipped it over my head and gazed in the mirror.  I look like her, only younger and with longer hair and bigger glasses.  And now I sit on my bed, the scent from this sweatshirt I'm wearing rising into my nose.

For now, I smell like her, too.

But the scent will fade, just like it did from the other articles of clothing I've taken from her closet.  And I'm sure over time, the memories will fade too, just like they did of the other family members who have passed away.

And this pain?  Maybe one day it will fade.  But for now, for today, it hurts just as much as it did back then.

me (currently, at 2am)