Quiet Ghosts

That smells are so distinct is a tribute to our not-yet-well-understood olfactory system. That distinct smells can be irreparably linked to memories is just another mystery of brain.

Today I could smell my late grandmother. She was a young woman walking the opposite direction and across the street from me, right through the dry cleaners' driveway. I don't remember the name of the scent she wore--Estee Lauder something--but I can always recognize it as her.

I haven't smelled her for over seven years. A third of my life. She died shortly before my 14th birthday, right before Thanksgiving. She had cancer all over her body. We knew when they told us it was in her liver she wouldn't make it. Thanksgiving at grandma's house that year, without grandma, just my family and my aunt and her two sons.

I had to skip out of school for a few days before the Thanksgiving weekend began, of course. I had two best friends, and neither of them knew why I was gone. I figured when I got back they'd ask, but they didn't. I just knew I had to tell them.

I don't remember my grandmother often, and I remember my grandfather even less. I've never been close to extended family. Immediate family, sure; anyone who lived with us has always been important. It's only been the past year that I've realized I ought not discount the relatives as much as I have.

Maybe I'm lucky to have such quiet ghosts in my life. There is no roaring or guilt for me. If they say anything at all, it's in a whisper. I'm sure my dad whispers to me sometimes. As certain broad strokes connecting family members fade to gray, I'm reminded of their absence and wonder what I can do to maintain the other lines.

I have no animosity; it's simply difficult to make family out of what has always been distant. Where I grew up, family was who was around, and that wasn't relatives, for the most part. The definition of family is broad. It even includes some ghosts.

listening: minus 5 - where will you go?