I smelled your cologne today, as I do at this time every year. I only take your shaving kit out once a year. It’s just the way you left it. Manicure kit, razor, bottle of prescription medication, a ziplock bag of discolored granules -perhaps epsom salt, and your cologne. I wouldn’t dare spray it. I can’t imagine the fragrance on anything or anyone but you. Ten years; ten sniffs.

I draw the smell in, and I am hugging you again. Ferociously. I am enveloped in your arms and plaid shirt. It’s always plaid. Even though you wore suits and dress casual attire so often, you liked to think of yourself as a rugged kind of guy. To be held in your arms again, if only in my imagination, is a delight. I notice your shoulders and arms are more sinew rather than the bulk they use to be. I think you’ve decided to get healthy in your mature years.

For a moment, my face is against your chest, feeling your heartbeat and the reverberation of your voice as you say, “Hey, Patty!” You were the only one who called me that, one of my many aliases, the evidence of being adopted at seven. There was no one nickname that stuck. Everyone just came up with one of their own for me. You called me Patty, or Sister, which you called both of us girls. When you said Patty, it had a softness to it, like a caress. I wish I could hear you say it again. I’m so thankful that I can still remember the exact way your voice sounded.

My mind drifts back through the years, picking up the special memories, and leaving the rest. Sifting the wheat, and gifting the chaff to the wind. Click To Tweet

Remember when I was in junior high, and our class took a trip to the Capitol? You asked if a friend and I could go back to your office with you, separate from the group. I admit I loved the looks of admiration. I was a Princess for the day. Remember how I asked you to pose for a picture like you were taking a business call?

Remember when you took us yard selling and ran out of gas? Always pushing it to the very last thimbleful. That must be where I get it from. We had to coast down the hill, through an intersection, into the gas station.

Remember when Logan went to his first prom? I called you and told you, and you said, “And Mama’s a little sad,” and I cried. You knew exactly what I was feeling. There were two more proms that you never got to comfort me through. They were so handsome and beautiful. You would have been so proud. Your oldest grandson has made me a Memaw three times over. Three boys. Can you believe it? I wish you could bury your face in their bellies and smell their fragrance, just like I’m smelling yours.

Remember when you showed up at the office out of the blue? I didn’t even know you were in town. You took me out to eat, and bought me a milkshake. You reminisced about your days as a boy, seeming puzzled at where all the years had gone. You said, “I still feel like that little boy inside.”

You memorialized the dogs that you had loved as a boy, and talked about the one you had at the time, a schnauzer named Hercules. You said, “He’s the best dog I’ve ever had. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost that dog…I’m tired of losing people I love.” I knew it was more about the people than the dogs. Thank you for letting me glimpse your heart that day. I wish I had the time back to share with you the dogs…and people that I’ve loved and lost.

I should have known that day that something was amiss. You were always just so larger than life. I couldn’t see you any other way. Tough as nails. Invincible. Frank P.

Remember when I called, and you seemed distracted. You finally had to confess that you were at the hospital having a blood transfusion.

…A blood transfusion…

Suddenly, you were mortal, after all. Then it was a blur. Calling the siblings, and asking if they knew. No. You had decided to walk this path alone. Why do people think that’s best for everyone? We had hardly any time at all to say goodbye. To say, “Thank you,  I love you,” or “How dare you?”

Hospice came.

Family came.

People I didn’t know came.

Death came.

We did have that one last special moment, ten years ago today. While breathing in the last breath you ever breathed out, I held your hand as you crossed over.

I smelled your cologne again today for the tenth time, and cried.

Warm Regards, -Pat

As always, please feel free to leave a comment, share to social media, email me: PAT@PATVICK.COM and SUBSCRIBE to my newsletter.

INVITATION TO SHARE

-How do you choose to remember loved ones who have passed away?

-Have you been successful at “sifting the wheat, and gifting the chaff to the wind” from relationships with deceased loved ones?

-What does this phrase mean to you?