Recently I moved packing boxes from two houses into our already crowded condo while my new home undergoes renovations. I am hoping to assimilate most of what I didn’t want going into a hot storage facility. Slowly, box by box, I try to find places to stash 2 years of paper products (Pam always assumed we needed toilet paper, paper towels, tissue and paper/plastic plates whenever we made a Costco or Sam’s run) toiletries and cleaning supplies, along with less durable items, all of which I am the beneficiary. Although, I can certainly argue that there is no bene (good) from this ficus (doing) beneficiary, if you will indulge me a little Latin etymology.
On this Saturday morning I decided to tackle a couple of boxes and reclaim a bit of floor space in my office. Things were going along swimmingly until I ran across 2 bottles of Carolina Herrera perfume, it was Pam’s signature scent. She has literally worn it for many decades. It is not popular so for our family and friends, it is only associated with Pam. For the past 20 or maybe 30 years it has been much more difficult for me to locate, thus at any given time she possessed several bottles spread among our three homes. Therefore me having 2 bottles at once is far from being a remarkable incident.
It’s a familiar scent; it’s a comforting scent; today it is a discomforting scent.
On a morning when I contemplating the complicated and emotional task of naming a new sailboat while honoring Pam, her love of sailing and our years together, a brief whiff of this has sucked me down a vortex of memories and emotions.
The memories are good, the reliving of so many in consecutive, rapid-fire instances- good, but painful.
If you know me, you know I love words. Scent is an interesting word, we naturally and rightly associate it with our sense of smell. The French root sen however, means sensation or feeling; the Latin sentire to perceive or feel. The smelling of a familiar scent can evoke a number of visceral responses . Such is the case for me this morning.
When our children were school age, they would report a knowledge of Pam’s presence from the scent of her perfume lingering in the school hallways, even when they had not seen her, it brought a comfort and peace to them.
Pam, before she died, had bunnies made for grandkids and some others using favorite Ralph Lauren nightshirts that we would all recognize or a few with a popular Lily Pulitzer dress. I doused all of them with a spray of her perfume before giving them out. That action prolongs the memories and engages multiple senses as we hold, see and smell the familiarities and tokens of the woman we loved and of her love for us.
In the days following her passing, I would walk into her closet just to smell this scent upon her clothes. Her puppy would lay himself upon her bed pillow to do the same.
This morning as I popped the lid and breathed in a deep scent of Carolina, it was simultaneously a fresh scent and old familiar one, which caused me to pine for former days, while I look ahead to more promising ones. To God be the glory, for he is good, all the time, and his providence never fails me.