I bought a lotion today at Superstore - it was kinda random - I needed a brand to deal with winter skin and this one fit the bill.
I didn't remember if I'd ever tried it before - and it wasn't an issue as Kurt and the girls were waiting for me to cash out and I just needed to choose one and go.
When I got home I had a quick bath and broke out the new lotion to get ready for bed.
The scent was familiar at first - and I vaguely registered I had used it before.
But like a sudden flash of lightning the memory became crisp and clear - bringing tears.
I pressed my eyes shut and sat on the edge of the bed and let my mind go back in time.
I had bought that lotion before Autumn was born - to take to the hospital in my bag for use after delivery.
The day she was born, I used that lotion after I showered. When I held her, I smelled it. Her blankets I brought home smelled like it. In the weeks after her death I would go into her room and hold that yellow blanket and weep... clinging to something physical - trying to create and maintain connections with the child I never had a chance to know.
Eventually, the blanket lost it's scent. The lotion ran out and I never bought the same kind.
Life moved on - and I have felt for a long time all I had was the pictures. On October 21st, 2007, I was in physical pain, as well as shock. I've not even been sure I have any real memories of that day. It's kind of like looking at pictures of your childhood: you might think you remember something... but it's really only just a vague impression that has been reinforced by the snapshots you see in photo albums. I'll be honest: this has grieved me deeply. It's like the most momentous event in my history: and I don't even feel like I was fully present.
That's the incredible impact of today.
I had no idea, but my aching, inexperienced, brand-new-mommy heart did take measure - even in the shock and grief - it latched on to something to remember.
Like a perfume, or a particular brand of laundry detergent often characterizes people to us... this lotion is the smell of Autumn. It's in my heart. And my heart is remembering more clearly than it has in a very long time the feel of her tiny body - her little fingers and toes... and her scent.
3 years and 3 months after the most horrible day of my life, I'm faced with the bittersweet discovery that I do have more of her than mere pictures. My heart has stored a memory of her as clear as those of her sister's baby-fresh scents.
It's like finding a long-lost treasure I didn't even know was missing.
It hurts, though. Enough to bring tears.
But it's something 'new' of her that I can have for me for the rest of my life.
I love you forever, Autumn. Tonight more than ever... because with every breath, it's like you are in my arms again.
I miss you so terribly, baby girl... but I'm grateful.
Thank you, Jesus.
I didn't remember if I'd ever tried it before - and it wasn't an issue as Kurt and the girls were waiting for me to cash out and I just needed to choose one and go.
When I got home I had a quick bath and broke out the new lotion to get ready for bed.
The scent was familiar at first - and I vaguely registered I had used it before.
But like a sudden flash of lightning the memory became crisp and clear - bringing tears.
I pressed my eyes shut and sat on the edge of the bed and let my mind go back in time.
I had bought that lotion before Autumn was born - to take to the hospital in my bag for use after delivery.
The day she was born, I used that lotion after I showered. When I held her, I smelled it. Her blankets I brought home smelled like it. In the weeks after her death I would go into her room and hold that yellow blanket and weep... clinging to something physical - trying to create and maintain connections with the child I never had a chance to know.
Eventually, the blanket lost it's scent. The lotion ran out and I never bought the same kind.
Life moved on - and I have felt for a long time all I had was the pictures. On October 21st, 2007, I was in physical pain, as well as shock. I've not even been sure I have any real memories of that day. It's kind of like looking at pictures of your childhood: you might think you remember something... but it's really only just a vague impression that has been reinforced by the snapshots you see in photo albums. I'll be honest: this has grieved me deeply. It's like the most momentous event in my history: and I don't even feel like I was fully present.
That's the incredible impact of today.
I had no idea, but my aching, inexperienced, brand-new-mommy heart did take measure - even in the shock and grief - it latched on to something to remember.
Like a perfume, or a particular brand of laundry detergent often characterizes people to us... this lotion is the smell of Autumn. It's in my heart. And my heart is remembering more clearly than it has in a very long time the feel of her tiny body - her little fingers and toes... and her scent.
3 years and 3 months after the most horrible day of my life, I'm faced with the bittersweet discovery that I do have more of her than mere pictures. My heart has stored a memory of her as clear as those of her sister's baby-fresh scents.
It's like finding a long-lost treasure I didn't even know was missing.
It hurts, though. Enough to bring tears.
But it's something 'new' of her that I can have for me for the rest of my life.
I love you forever, Autumn. Tonight more than ever... because with every breath, it's like you are in my arms again.
I miss you so terribly, baby girl... but I'm grateful.
Thank you, Jesus.
12 comments:
wow. beautiful.
What an unexpected blessing :).
Another small gift from Him, given in His perfect timing. God is good!
Wonderful memory for you, through the sense of smell that God gave us!
Isn't that one of the biggest fears when we lose someone we love? Forgetting?
I love how God in His gentleness gave you that reminder that Autumn - even her smell - will always be in your heart. You will not forget her. God won't let you. Though it brings pain it's a wonderful reminder of God's care for you - you personally.
Praise God for this gift to you, Kendall. I feel so similarly about the memories–too much shock, not enough real memories. It's one of the hardest parts of traumatic death, I think.
Thanks for sharing this story about Autumn. I cried with you as I read. It was beautiful.
Beautifully put Kendall. I know bout the smells - I have a bottle of lotion in the girls' memory box. It was the one I used pregnant with them. Every time I smell them it brings me back!
Just a beautiful reminder that she was here - albeit briefly and she will always be your daughter. How wonderful that God would bring that back for you. I sit here with tears rolling down my cheeks imagining how it had to grip your heart when you smelled it.
{{{hugs}}}
Oh Kendall. Sending you love & a huge hug right now.
This is too beautiful.
That's one thing I regret, is washing the blanket he was wrapped in.
I'm jealous of your new found scent. But so glad you have that to cherish.
Hugs.
jen
Kendall....
Wow. What an amazing day for you, though it was hard. What a beautiful memory trigger. God is so wonderful and knows just what our hearts need.
Hugs to you while your heart aches as you remember. I have come to the conclusion that even though the ache hurts, I don't want it to end because it means that Zoe was real, she was here and she was loved.
Autumn is forever treasured and loved by you and many others.
Praise God for this precious surprise! Praying for you right now.
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