Smell...

When I took Physiology last semester I learned that smell is the most powerful sense linked to memory.

Our ability to associate different scents with specific memories occurs due to a link in the limbic system, otherwise known as the emotional part of the brain. Certain smells will uncontrollably conjure up vivid memories. These memories can set off heavily-rooted waves of emotion depending on what or whom we associate that particular scent with.

Sometimes smell will make us remember things we have forgotten.

Wednesday will be the five week mark of Ethan’s passing. The last time I inhaled my son’s intoxicating scent was the day his spirit left his tiny body. That was also the last time I cradled him in my arms...

...the last time I felt like my arms were full.

The day he passed, I immediately boxed up the clothes he wore in an attempt to preserve his sweet smell. I wanted to hold onto as much of Ethan as possible and his scent was part of that. Because I already knew that smell triggers powerful memories, I didn’t want the last "scent memory" of my son to be associated with formaldehyde. I was already anticipating that preservation would have robbed my baby of his signature smell. I know "saving a scent" sounds totally crazy, but grief makes you do crazy things.

I was clinging onto whatever I could.

Today was the first time I opened up the box and smelled his clothes. My arms felt especially empty today and I just wanted to feel like Ethan was still around. Ironically, the first outfit I took out was the last one he wore, the outfit he was in when we took him to the emergency room. Immediately after I pressed his clothing onto my face and inhaled deeply, I unexpectedly started crying.

I know I may seem like a masochist for doing this to myself, but I really missed Ethan today. Smelling my baby made me realize how much I miss nurturing him. It made me remember what it felt like to have him in my arms. I didn’t think that smelling him would affect me the way it did. Had I known that I’d lose it at that very moment, I probably would have waited a while before I opened up the box.

When he was in the ICN his smell was comforting, it didn’t make me sad. John and I carried Ethan’s hats everywhere when we were playing the waiting game at the hospital - it was portable comfort at the time. I suppose I was just trying replicate that comfort to make myself feel better.

My crying jag and the sadness I’ve felt afterward was totally unexpected. It made the reality of him being gone even harder to cope with.

I mean, he’s really gone.

Everything feels so real today... realer that it has ever felt. Before Ethan was born I washed his newborn layette and folded it neatly in drawers. We had to start fresh since Ethan was a surprise pregnancy...everything he had was brand new. He was so loved that his wardrobe was huge - at least enough to last him his entire 1st year! I distinctly remember being excited with anticipation as I prepared for his grand entrance into our lives.

All of the preparations I made before his arrival were put away this weekend; his drawers have been cleared out. I folded up the clothes I washed and boxed up the stuff with tags on them. Tomorrow we’re bringing everything to the ICN so the staff can use their discretion to distribute it to needy families. I guess sitting there staring at his empty drawers while smelling clothing heavily infused with his scent made me remember how much I miss him. I created my own terrible juxtaposition and the contrast didn’t make any sense.

I smelled my baby, but I had physical evidence that he was truly gone. The smell triggered memories of what it felt like to hold him, but my arms were empty. It made me feel a whole new level of anguish.

Once again my scab has been ripped off and my emotional hemophilia has set in. I think it might take a while for this particular bleed to stop.

At least I know opening up the box won’t make me feel so sad in the future.