One Month & Phantom Scents

I have made it through the first month anniversary of Oliver's death. As I have learned from other dreaded days, the anticipation is often more difficult than the actual day itself. I had coffee with friends, some time walking in the fresh January air and lots of time loafing on the couch with Matt.

I have struggled to "find" Oliver. After Waverly died, I felt her presence. Reflecting back, I think Oliver provided such a strong reminder that she felt so near. My muscles were doing a lot of the same movements - prepping meds, pushing wheelchairs, lifting a diaper bag. With each activity, she was there. I took him to the same doctors, our Tuesday mornings were still filled with therapy appointments, school drop off remained. Oliver's absence from my life is magnifying hers.

I remember saying that I didn't think I could fully process Waverly's death until Oliver died. I was theorizing, but thus far I have found it to be true.

As I grieve, I see her. And I want to tell her to move aside. It is his turn. I feel guilty when my memories drift to time with her. It is when I am in his room, on his bed (as I am right now), that I truly can remember and see him. I know that it is impossible to separate my grief for each of my children. They are forever intertwined.

I am finding myself in Oliver's room more often. Tonight as I snuggled up in his bed with a book, the sweet smell of eucalyptus wafted by. I was transported back to caring for him. I added eucalyptus oil to the dryer wool balls for his clothes and rolled a sleepy eucalyptus infused essential oil balm on his feet each night. At his funeral, I tried to fill the stage and tables with greenery, including eucalyptus because its scent was ever present in our home. I am not sure where the phantom smell came from. I grabbed items longing to find the source and couldn't locate the culprit. Instead I bask in the warm thought that it was a little reminder of him. He is here. Patiently waiting his turn, as he always did, for my full grief attention.

I also wanted to share a picture of my newest tattoo. Lament - prayer from pain. I love it.