After an unproductive visit to Kaiser the other day, I stopped by the bathroom on my way out. As I washed away the lather, that familiar scent of hospital soap gently reminded me of Ryan. For a moment, I was taken back in time to the NICU unit where I always washed my hands before visiting him. Days after he died, I would yearn to smell that fresh, clean hospital soap scent because if I could smell it, then he must be around and I could see him again.
As I stood there in the bathroom, I kept pumping the soap in my hands to make sure the aroma was strong enough so the scent would linger longer. After I dried my hands, I closed my eyes and deeply inhaled. My hands smelled clean, pure - just like Ryan. For a moment, he was alive again.
I must have looked like such a nerd walking to the parking structure with my hands pressed close to my face. But I didn't care. And when I finally sat in the car, I covered my face with my hands and breathed deeply. Over and over again, remembering the time when I touched him, held his tiny fingers, stroked his little brown head and gazed at his beautiful round face. Then I cried. I cried and cried and cried...
I don't think I was hurting myself for doing what I did. It's actually so healing to me. That scent will always be a beautiful reminder of my sweet, loving boy. It will always bring me comfort and transport me to a time when he was living and I was alive with hope.
