There are a lot of people who would think I was crazy to look for signs from my son who killed himself. I don’t care. While we all have beliefs about what it’s like after we die, no one really knows even though they think they do. So I’m going to go all kumbaya on you all.
Last week, I woke up from a Charles dream, the details of which faded like an old photo as soon as I was fully conscious. I had not had a dream about him in a long time and I crave them because that’s when he is alive. As soon as my feet landed on the floor, I caught a familiar scent and started to walk around the room.
No, not in here.
I walk into the hallway where I had heard the dog rustling about. Since the COVID-19 pandemic started, getting the dog’s nails trimmed hasn’t been a top priority and you can hear those soft clicks across the floor when he moves around. Clickety clack, clickety clack as he trots across our room and into the hallway. He’s an old dog now and he had sounded more active than he has been of late. Just for a few seconds. It’s what roused me out of the fog of sleep.
As soon as I get to the top of the stairs right outside my bedroom door, fully awake by now, the scent shocks my nose and I murmur Charles’ name. I feel something but can’t explain what. That’s Charles’ scent. But this is no ordinary scent.
When Charles was alive, this scent would hang in the air in his room and was pungent only when he was in a depressive episode. Other times, it simply didn’t exist. I remember that my alert senses would perk up when I detected it but at the time, I didn’t associate it with a depressive episode until right before his suicide.
No one else could smell it which was frustrating. So after a while, I stopped asking others about it. It was very distinctive and I wrote a blog post about it years ago.
Even though it was a smell associated with a deep depressive episode, it made me smile. Had he been there in spirit? That’s what I’m going with.