I’ve been in a very spiritual mood lately. I have had many instances where I really feel like I am in sync with the universe and that it has my back, along with my angels and spirit guides who are cheering me on. I haven’t always been a believer, and there was a time when I felt like all forces were conspiring against me to keep me in a dark place (not a dark place per se, but preventing me from being happy). But when I really started embracing the signs I was seeing, hearing and smelling (as you will read in the prose below), the universe and I really fell into harmony. I started seeing repeating numbers like 11:11 and 222 everywhere I went, and not just when I was staring at the clock at 11:10 waiting for it to turn. It was always random, where I just happened to look at the clock or my watch after being very absorbed in something and not having any clue what time it was. If you see repeating numbers, many believe it is a sign that angelic beings are near, offering love, protection, and guidance. The same can be said for finding feathers or coins in your path, or seeing a beautiful butterfly or cardinal in your sight when you are thinking of a loved one or in a contemplative mood.
I have some friends who are atheists, and I respect their views just as I know that they respect mine as a believer. I have had way too many signs from loved ones who have passed on to not believe. My atheist friends would probably tell me there’s a logical explanation, or that I’m imagining what I’m seeing, hearing, or, in this case, smelling. I’ve had examples of all these things come through to me without any explanation other than that it’s my loved ones trying to get a message to me from the afterlife. The gift of being able to pick up energy with smell is known as clairolfaction, and many psychic mediums use this to communicate with those who have passed on, along with clairvoyance (sight), clairaudience (hearing), or clairsentience (touching or feeling). I am not claiming in any way to be psychic, but I’m open to receiving messages, and it does help me to hold out hope that something exists beyond this current life, and that I will be reunited with loved ones some day.
When my mother died in November 2016, the family started the necessary but difficult task of going through her things (Here is post on that topic: https://thepracticalpoet.com/gone-from-gather-seeds-of-hope/). In her bedroom, she had a tall, antique jewelry box with a pink felt lining. We emptied it out, including all of her necklaces that were hanging against the felt, divided up the jewelry among the few of us that wanted to keep some pieces, and packed up the rest of the jewelry to be donated to charity. I ended up taking the antique jewelry box home and put it in my bedroom. Shortly after, I opened up the doors to the box to start loading it up with my own jewelry, and noticed a unique smell. It smelled sweet, like roses, but there were other indistinguishable scents mixed in. Unlike some women who have only one signature scent they always wear, like Chanel No. 5, my mom did not have one favorite perfume. She wore several different scents depending on her mood, and she would usually spray a little more perfume right before she walked out the door, which lingered on her clothes and any jewelry she was wearing. I figured the scent emanating from the jewelry box was a combination of all the different scents mingling together from when she would hang her necklaces each night onto the little hooks that rested against the felt lining. As weird as this may sound, I sometimes found myself sticking my nose near that felt lining just to breathe in what had inadvertently become her signature scent.
This next poem touches on a unique experience I had in December 2016, the month following my mother’s death. Those of you who have lost loved ones are aware of “the year of firsts,” and this was going to be the first Christmas without her, and the first year that some longstanding customs would be broken. My mom and I had begun the tradition several years prior of spending a day in December in a small town called Geneva, Illinois, and doing some Christmas shopping at a place called The Little Traveler. This place was a renovated mansion and consisted of several rooms that flowed one into the other, each room having a different theme. The first year I went there I was mesmerized, going from room to room, gathering up gifts for others and decorations for myself. After shopping for a while at The Little Traveler, we would wander down the street and in and out of other quaint little shops, eventually stopping somewhere for lunch. Sometimes it was just the two of us, and other times friends would join in.
One day, during the week before Christmas 2016, I had the day off from work and found myself in the town next to Geneva. I had no plans to go The Little Traveler that year. Maybe in future years I would be brave enough to face it, but not that year. It was too soon. But almost without realizing it, I found myself driving down the main road that leads to the street where The Little Traveler is located. I was stopped at a red light about half a mile from this street when suddenly my car filled up with a floral scent. I recognized the scent as being familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. I looked around to see if there were flowers nearby, which was absurd seeing as it was winter and nothing was blooming, plus I had the windows up and the heat blasting. The more I tried to identify the scent, the stronger it got. By now the light had turned green, and as I got about three blocks away from the street with the shops, the scent was almost overwhelming. It was then that I identified it . . .the jewelry box smell! As soon as I recognized it, it dissipated slightly, but by then I had decided it was a sign to go do my shopping at The Little Traveler. As soon as I made my right-hand turn down the street, the smell came back and lingered until I had parked and gathered my things. It was then that I knew I wasn’t shopping alone that year after all.
Smell is the strongest human sense, and can often invoke powerful emotions or memories. This is called olfactory memory. Whenever I smell a cigar, I can instantly recall my grandpa’s house and picture him sitting in his leather chair, smoke wafting in the air above him like a halo, even though I was very young and those memories should have faded long ago. When selling a home, realtors will often advise the seller to have a pie or cookies baking in the oven prior to a buyer coming to look at the home, to make it smell cozy and welcoming. If someone does have a signature scent, just smelling the fragrance can cause one to look around to see if the person is near, even if they’ve passed on. We can’t help ourselves; we just have to look. Sometimes the memory is bittersweet, especially if the person has passed on or is no longer in our life, and the recollection may linger long after the scent has faded. We may question where this came from, and wonder why this aroma had to come along and stir up all these emotions in our memory bank. But hopefully, we can look upon the memory with respect as a part of our past, and perhaps smile a bit as we recall the person or the events tied to the remembrance, and rest assured that our senses are at work to help us from forgetting these moments in our life that have faded to the back of our minds.
The Scent of You
I smell it in an instant
When I walk into a room.
Immediately, I am transfixed
By the smell of your perfume.
I know you’re not the wearer,
But I embrace the familiar scent.
And I’m filled up with emotion,
And tears I can’t prevent.
I smell it when I hold your coat
Or take out your favorite sweater.
I smell it when I open a drawer;
Your perfume on a letter.
Some days these little reminders
Show up everywhere;
Little signs from heaven
That let me know you’re near.
Other times I go for months
Without smelling the scent.
And I can’t help but miss you,
And wonder where you went.
Then suddenly when I’m busy
Or driving in my car
I’ll catch the aroma,
And I know you’re not too far.
-K.A. Bloch-
