The Scent Keeper

by Erica Bauermeister

Grief makes a tunnel of our lives, and it is all too easy to lose sight of the other people in the darkness with us—to wish they weren’t there, so their loss would stop rubbing up against ours.

It had ripped the fabric of what made us two and now we were not even one plus one.

It’s amazing how easily we can cast ourselves in the role of hero.

“Your clothes are in the wash,” the woman said. “They were full of smoke. They’ll be fresh and clean soon, don’t worry.” No. No. No. He was gone. A hole of grief opened beneath me and I fell in.

Much like foster care, the first wash of clothes takes away the smell of home, of parents, belonging.

Smells don’t care what the mind or heart wants, however. Scents will find their way around the darkness of closed eyes, slipping past barricades of thought. The body is their accomplice. We can live without food for weeks, and water for days, but try not to breathe and the lungs mutiny.

People are like that—given a chance, we come back, whether we want to or not.