Tag Archive for: grief and loss

World Cerebral Palsy Day, 2024

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I find myself in a strange, yet lovely and new spot as I age. I am far more accepting of myself, the roles that I am called to, the ways these change like the tide and the ways they are beautifully and achingly the same. My role as “mom,” is ever-changing as my kids also age. With my oldest in college this year, my 17 year old son on the very brink of adulthood and my 13 year old daughter changing before my eyes, I would be remiss if I didn’t take an honest look at how I am changing as well…

They don’t need me the same ways they always have; they need me in different ways now. (By the way, THIS change is also wrought with both/and, the grief of changing family dynamics and the exhilarating moments of growth.)

Yes, I MUST acknowledge both/and as our family shifts a bit…otherwise, I forfeit the beauty and right-ness of God’s plans for all of our lives, rather than becoming bitter, fearful and sad at all the independence and therefore, change, that plays out in every moment of every day in our family.

There are other changes too…

I have been working for two full years with EMDR International (EMDRIA) to become a certified EMDR clinician, which will reach completion this week. Just as quickly, I will begin the process of becoming an approved consultant with this ground-breaking organization. As I look at the next chapter of this career I love dearly, I am focused on bringing continued perspective and growth to brave clients as well as assisting other therapists who also care deeply about complex trauma and the healing work of EMDR.

I am a part The Fred Rogers Educator’s Neighborhood for the next year as well. I am very honored to have been accepted by Fred Rogers Institute for this year long study. Along with a group of others who have been impacted by Mr. Rogers, we are together learning  how to utilize Mr. Rogers’ wealth of knowledge, study and perspective in many areas of child, family and  professional development. Though we have met only twice, I am so thankful to rub shoulders with others in the world who genuinely believe, like Mr. Rogers, that kindness really does change us all. And heavens, don’t we all need more kindness in the world?

As there always is in life, there are difficult adjustments too: this week, two significant deaths in our world. Though I specialize in grief and loss, it is still very personal when it happens to you or in your very personal corner of the world. Losses bring us to the opportunity (I say this so gently,) to look back, to grieve again or in new ways and to use losses to inform how we want to LIVE going forward.

There are new and enduring friendships, growth in so many areas as we have recently come home, again to the church that played such an important part of my life from age 14 – 24. God has stretched, challenged and blessed our family in profound ways in the process of leaving our former church, grief like I have never known in that process and the faithfulness of finding a new church community. It is both the biggest blessing to be cared for, to be vulnerable and to love and care for others in this new and not new church home.

Finally, there is the both/and as World Cerebral Palsy Day was observed on October 6, 2024.

It is a heart-wrenching thing, this part of my identity that I so wish wasn’t AND after many years of grappling with what it means for and about me, to find pride, hope and love for myself and fellow CP warriors. It is so holy to see, validate and celebrate the bad-ass-ness (I made that up, can you tell?) that comes with living with and caring for those with this disability. This week, a friend finally got to bring her son (who has CP) home from at least a month’s stay in the hospital for complications with seizures and other physical issues. I am stunned by her son’s (and her own) positive attitude after so much. For as much shame as I have carried and overcome in my lifetime around my own diagnosis with CP, it is gift to be able to smile and be proud on World CP Day.

Here’s the thing…God is not, will not and has never been surprised at the ways he created us, the things we do need to go manage here, apart from heaven and how we are limited in our humanity in the midst of these things. He IS with us, even if it feels like he absolutely IS NOT. Deuteronomy 31:8 says, ” The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.”

Ohhhh, that’s such a hard one, isn’t it? We are so human in that feeling that says, “why does God put me through this? He COULD change _________________…..”

I hear it multiple times a day and my own reaction is understanding the question AND compassion. What I hear in that phrase, I immediately  think, “oh, he is NOT, putting you through it; he is holding you, as he himself hurts that this is happening too.”

I do not understand all the mystery that surrounds the what’s, how’s and whys that surround God and his sovereignty. I have been there too, crying in rage, frustration and desperation. I have also come to a place where there is more peace in releasing the whys to God’s care and fully trusting him anyway…

I suppose that is how, after many years, many feelings, many experiences and many prayers, I can joyfully put on my green World CP day t-shirt, raise a “cheers,” to my fellow bad-asses, and hold space for that rather than the negative.

I am curious, how are you experiencing change in this season? Maybe we can hold each up, give more care to ourselves and others and float on these crazy waves of change rather than fight them…

God, who is in it all, through it all and who holds it all together: Thank you for understanding our limits, frustration and even anger when things aren’t changing for the good. Thank you being near, always. May we seek your understanding, your heart and greater trust in your love and goodness. May we see ourselves and each other with your vision, compassion and desire for whole-ness. May we know love and joy as only you can give.

xoxo

Both/And

Deuteronomy 31:8

“You have solid steel I-Beams, Stace.”

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“Mom, they are going to demolish that building soon.” My son told me as we drove through town.

“Yeah?” We were talking about the former municipal power plant building, much of which was already demolished.

“Yes, they are getting the explosives set on the beams. The I-beams are the only thing left.”

My brain raced back to the sweetest of memories as I glanced at the big building.

“You have solid steel I-beams, Stace.”

Do I? Is he talking about me?

I held the phone, tears in my eyes and a hopeful breath caught in my throat. My friend and mentor, Jim, had offered a defining word of encouragement that would shape my journey from age 29 on…

I suppose to really explain the importance and beauty in those words, I have to go backwards before I go forward. This is often something I explain to clients in the beginning of counseling (and remind often during counseling).

It was the first day of my sophomore second semester at Hope College. The pressure to declare my major was looming larger each day and it was nerve-wracking to figure out what I was going to do with the rest of my life. I had moved back into Gilmore Hall a few days before; it was snowy and cold, which matched my feelings of overwhelmed and lost. Initially, I wanted to be an English major, writing was always my favorite part of classes. I kept getting asked what kind of career that would give me and I honestly did not know….

 I had explored so many different career and major options but for a multitude of reasons, none seemed to fit. I could not settle on any of them.  My dad always encouraged, “have a job that you love going to, you will spend a lot of time there.” Both he and my mom had careers they loved and it set a strong example for me. They both worked so hard, lots of long hours as a physical therapist and a nurse (and her side hustle as an antique dealer.) At dinner, they always had good antidotes about their days, from his inspiring patients and the bartering and re-selling antiques to also the sweet (or funny) parts of her day as a nurse in a pediatrician’s office.

They have both lived what it means to love the career you choose and are given as a calling.

That pressure, to find my path, was mounting and the more worried I got, the more confused I became as well.

That January morning, I trudged through the snow on campus, cursing Michigan for this snow. It seemed to match the feeling in my body (what I would later learn is fight, flight or freeze). I was panicking about my future; it was cold and my anxiety was spiking. Trying to pay in class was going to AWESOME. I’m not even sure I remembered which class I was trudging to…

It didn’t help that my class that morning was located in Graves Hall, a building on campus that was old and original to when and how it was built. In other words, outdated, dark and seemed to have a musty, dusty smell to match. (Kind of similar to the fabricated smell of the Haunted Mansion, just not near as fun to be in.) No offense to my Alma Mater, by the way. Simply the way I experienced it, 30 years ago. Graves has since been renovated!

There was a bigger room in Graves, where student life usually showed semi-new releases for students on weekends. It had old fold-down seats with velvet cushions, once decadent and now aged.

I settled in, pushing down the adrenaline that came from walking in the snow and fear of icy sidewalks on the way to class and pushed my ever-present, “what am I doing with my life?” fear even further down.

“Hi there, so glad you are all here.”

I looked up and saw a warm, familiar smile. Jim (Dr. P on campus), was both a neighbor of my family AND a former fraternity brother of my dad. Even when I ran into him near home, he was always kind, happy and genuine in his “good to see you.” I could feel my heart, body and anxiety settle a bit, just in his greeting. I had also forgotten that he taught this “Intro to Social Work” class.

He began describing both the goals of the class and the history of social work. For the life of me, I wish I could remember the next few sentences, but I cannot. All I know is that it was in those few sentences, God made himself and my path abundantly clear. I think it was something like, “If you have a heart for caring for people, listening and helping problem solve, this is the path for you.”

I sat riveted on Jim’s passion for this field, the joy and humor in his voice, suddenly feeling the pressure dissipate.

I often ask friends and clients how they KNOW when God is guiding them. “When have you known without a SINGLE doubt, this is the path God has for you?”

Usually the answer is, “I don’t know, I just know.” For some who might not know Jesus, perhaps this is your conscience or a gut feeling. For others, this could be related to having an intimate relationship with Jesus, being guided by the Holy Spirt.

For me, this moment was without doubt, one of the places I did and still return to if I am struggling to make a decision or have difficulty deciphering “next steps.” I cannot tell you how or why, but I know with absolute certainty that I heard Jesus gently whispering next to me, “THIS is the path for you. THIS is exactly where I want you.” That fear that had been mounting since my junior year in high school, quickly began exciting my body, like a balloon that suddenly begins to leak and lose air. It was replaced just that quickly with a sort of scary excitement as Jim described the many areas in which a social work degree could be used in a career.

I realize that this paragraph might sounds like a nice story or argument to trust Jesus but it is all my truth. I know that deciphering God’s will is not that easy all the time, but for me, even when it is not entirely clear, it is more than enough….

I declared my social work major a few weeks later and the path since has been not always easy, but always completely RIGHT. I often tell clients, “The right thing is rarely the easy thing.”

About 3 weeks later, on Saturday, January 23, 1993, I awoke to a knock on our dorm room door. A family friend stood there and I was so confused. I loved her, but could not for the life of me, figure out what she was doing in my dorm hallway, knocking on the door, on a snowy Saturday morning.

“Stacy, I am so sorry, your grandma died this morning.”

My Gram’s death and all it taught me is certainly a post for the future. But
I’ll leave it here for today just knowing that I was one person before I answered that door and another entirely after dear Ardys uttered those words.

The following days and weeks were some of the most confusing, life-changing and difficult I had up to that point in my life. And God absolutely began shaping me in those very days to become a therapist specializing in grief and loss.

I moved in a fog, feeling so heartbroken and disorientated that I did not know which end was up. I sat in my writing class and my professor asked if I was alright. I was anything but…I couldn’t stop crying, aching or simply feeling shocked.

One day, not even really knowing how or why, I found myself wandering toward Jim’s office. He welcomed me into the sunny space that was filled floor to ceiling with books. Heavenly. There was a path to his chair and one other comfy chair that I gratefully sunk into, then noticed being surrounded by piles of papers; I spied a notorious “blue exam booklet” (Did other colleges besides Hope use those?) on top of a pile here, manila folders there. I instantly felt welcomed and safe, even though I truthfully felt like a complete wreck.

I don’t know what I said (again), or what he said, other than the fact that he reassured me that I wasn’t crazy, I wasn’t going to flunk out of college, and that I would, indeed, someday stop crying. It was all going to be ok, somehow. I could believe him a tiny bit, a miniscule beam of light in that dark season of my soul.

Jim was an absolute anchor in the storm and I experienced the care of Jesus many, many times over in the course of our friendship. I visited him many times that semester, as well as many the following two years. I did indeed graduate with my BSW. We stayed in touch during my first job. 5 years later I applied and got accepted into grad school and as God led me closer and closer to becoming a therapist. He was affirming in my professional skills, as well as becoming a trusted role model for my own internal struggles. Which was why, when the bottom fell out of my life again, the week after I started graduate school, he was amongst the first phone calls I made.

Someone dear to me was killed violently and tragically as he drove home from his job as an EMT in the middle of the night. The driver, her passenger (her sister) and my friend were all killed instantly as the girls were both many times over the legal drinking limit.

In this, another, life-changing moment, my foundation shook and crumbled. I had family support, friends who did their very best to understand and yet, I was floundering, triggered once again. I often tell clients,  Grief brings up grief.

 One of my favorite analogies comes from Disney’s original animated version of The Little Mermaid (1989). Do you remember how Ursula grows gigantic quickly and begins stirring up the sea with King Triton’s glowing Trident? The old shipwrecks begin to resurface from the ocean’s floor. I often tell people that “Big Ursula “can feel like our present grief and all the “shipwrecks” can be past grief experiences that resurface in connection with the new, present grief. While the analogy is my own, if it weren’t for Jim, I would not have been able to move through both of those searing losses and have an understanding to draw on when counseling in the future. He spent many hours listening, normalizing and teaching me about grief, it’s affects, the need for self-care and affirming my ability to work through it, WHILE going to graduate school.

It was Jim, who with the wisdom of a dad, said to me one night on the phone, “You have solid steel I-beams, Stace. You are so strong in your desire to understand, work through and be healthy.”

That is how I felt about myself, that I wanted to understand, to find my way through this scary forest (many forests for all of us) and come out with better understanding, peace and the ability to help others because I had people who helped me.

In his kind affirmation, he praised WHO I was, HOW I was and gave me much-needed belief in myself.

I remember vividly, sitting on the floor, tears streaming as he uttered that life-changing-truth to me. I can feel how I wanted to rise to that, to see it for myself. I can feel the gift of being known by this mentor and friend and I am ever thankful.

I wonder who it is for you, that speaks absolute acceptance and life into you. Who is your person, who sees you as you want to be, who accepts who you are now, but cheers you on to who you will become?

I know we don’t have just one….there are many who add to our lives, each has their place. But don’t we all have a couple who come into our lives, help us see our own strength and change us for the good?

Mr. Rogers, in his acceptance of a Lifetime Achievement award, said (in part) to an audience of Hollywood elite:

Oh, it’s a beautiful night in this neighborhood.

So many people have helped me to come to this night. Some of you are here. Some are far away. Some are even in heaven.

All of us have special ones who have loved us into being.

Would you just take along with me 10 seconds to think of the people who have helped you become who you are — those who have cared about you and wanted what was best for you in life?

Ten seconds of silence.

I’ll watch the time.

[silence observed]

Whomever you’ve been thinking about — how pleased they must be to know the difference you feel they’ve made.

Jim is still the dearest of friends and mentors. We don’t talk often, but when we do, we pick up just where we left off. We share photos and details of life in the present and he without fail, he encourages me. The blessing of being known is without compare.

He is but one who has shaped me and been an important part of the tapestry of this life, both personal and professional. He is an important one for me in this 28-year career, one who I still draw from today in my work and value.

I pray that you too, have many, who come to mind who have believed in and loved you. It is one of my biggest hopes and prayers, that we can feel and give that care and love to ourselves and others. If you have a “Jim,” or Neen, Tom, Jill, Rick or Susan, whoever it is that speaks love and affirmation in your life, today is good day to tell them. You never know if today is the day that your encouragement will bless your person in return.

I pray we can all claim our own “I beams,” or the truth others help us to see about ourselves. That is so much of the journey. Be proud and even a little excited at what it has taken for you to keep going on your journey. It is nothing short of miraculous.

To that end, if you look in the shirt shop, you will find an option to support kidney disease awareness. I have a dear acquaintance who shows me daily what it means to be born with a steel I beam. I made the “I would go anywhere as long as its not dialysis” in her honor. All proceeds from the sale of this shirt will be donated at the end of December.

 God is good, all the time. Thank you, Jesus, for each and every one of the people you place on our journey to show us how you love. I am profoundly grateful.

Both/And

Phil 1:3-5

Sometimes, it is good to howl….

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(Oh my heart…be brave my soul.)

“I can feel something welling up, deep in the pit of my stomach, a clenching I don’t have a name for. I have spent too many days, NOT caring for myself, AGAIN. Between family needs, schedules and even the joy, I have yet again, put my own needs on the back burner. As the days blur together, I can feel something building up inside me, something between anger, exhaustion and sheer overwhelming emptiness….”

“I don’t know the point in saying, “I am angry. Of course I am angry! It is endless. But it won’t change…I need to just get over it. Except, I can’t stop thinking about it, even when I say to myself, I am over it. I don’t understand it….”

“I will never be able to stop crying if I let myself start, it is too big, too painful. I will never stop. I just need to keep busy, keep going and keep working.”

“It was such a long time ago, it doesn’t matter anymore, right? I thought that if I just ignored the pain of what happened to me, I would forget. But I haven’t, I can’t. still, this many years later, when I close my eyes I can see and feel it all just like it is happening right now. I don’t know what to do anymore…..”

These sentiments are just a tiny glimpse into the daily life of brave clients…if these walls could speak, there is so much more.

Oh my heart….be brave my soul.

In this career I hold dear…(and maybe not just my career, but this very life), God has let me witness both so much tragedy and so much profound beauty. I don’t think I can truly describe it adequately.

Professionally, It came first in the form of children at my first internship when I supervised visitation between kids who had been removed from their parents care for a multitude of reasons. Even when the reasons for removal seemed the most legitimate, the kids AND the parents were doing their brave best in the most heart-wrenching situations.

Sometimes, all we can do is howl….

When I got my first job out of my undergrad, I began working with teens in a grassroots relational ministry. I was young, idealistic and introduced to the joy and heartache of life in ministry, earning the right to be heard while supporting teens and families in about every possible scenario over the course of 7 years. Standing with teens at a visitation of one of their beloved friends as they tearfully asked me, “what does she look like in that casket?” The gleaming dark wood casket was closed and raised up on the the opposite end of the funeral home. The kids moved slowly together, a dazed look, shock and pain raw, unable to wrap their minds around the sudden, tragic loss they were instantly thrust into.

Sometimes, you can’t do anything but howl…

I began my MSW program and came to understand the concept of family systems differently than ever before. I lost a dear friend one week after my program began and over the next year, learned what grief truly was. It was one of the hardest, growth years of my life. The the next year, after a lot of soul searching, prayer and the uncomfortable feeling of the right thing not always being the easiest thing, I began an internship at Hospice. I was changed in every single way, the holiness and tenderness of this calling – from my supervisor who taught me about peace and hope through her life, how to care for clients through her expertise and authenticity and boundaries through her intentional approach to nearly everything.

An unforgettable client taught us all about living while she was dying, gave us unique and needed perspective as we were stunned, huddling around TVs on my first day there, 9/11/2001. She sat on her small deck that morning, overlooking a pond, waiting for the temperature to rise enough to release the butterflies she had watched over from being caterpillars to beautiful, painted ladies. I will never forget her calm demeanor talking about war, global events and life experiences she’d lived through. She was sad, but not stunned as we watched the Twin Towers fall. She described “other, difficult things, saying, this too, shall pass.” Somehow, I believed her, even on this day.

Oh, my heart…be brave my soul.

I began my second internship at a counseling center, learning about resistance, court-mandated clients and how to let clients own their own problems and outcomes. My heart broke, while sitting face to face with a parent whose child had been removed after the child was hospitalized with a broken arm. The parent was “sure I haven’t done anything wrong.” I was distraught, faced with providing positive, unconditional regard and feeling this childs pain. I was also pregnant with my first child.

I sat across from many during those 6 years, learning as much in the pain as I did in the growth and change. I became a clinician, who has still, so much to learn. I learned to trust myself more, that many things will not be fixed or even made better. Sometimes, all I could do was witness a client’s painful truth and the difficulty it requires to exact lasting change. A boy who’d been in countless foster homes had such a difficult time coming, being vulnerable. Week after week, I asked my supervisor “how to help him.” She reminded me that often counseling takes a long time, which could mean years and most likely, I would not be the one to see it. She gave me the analogy of how one therapist might plant seeds, another watering the same seeds and another, seeing a flower bloom. At the time, I really wanted to be that person to reach my client (I wasn’t), but I have held that analogy close for many years.

I vacillated while becoming a mom of 3, between Hospice work and agency counseling. I met a widowed parent raising multiple teens who had “hoped it would all go away after the funeral.” Two years later, it still hadn’t and we needed to go back before going forward. We went through.

Another parent, in a moment, had to navigate shock, selflessness and courage while shifting very quickly into complex, traumatic grief and loss.

Sometimes, all we can do is howl….

In my life, outside of my career, I experience inspiration through everyone I meet…A young boy named Bill whose smile lit up a room; how he bravely fought a brutal, debilitating disease and his family showed me the meaning of grace in their care for him. Em, allowed me into some of her most vulnerable days and thoughts, taught me that CP was NOT all there was to me and the meaning of “rising above.” Les, who has for over 25 years inspired me by being the very definition of tenacity, fearlessness, loyalty and love. She and her spirited friend, Monica taught me sacrifice and the horror of gun violence in front of my eyes – so much worse than it seems in the movies. Mason and his beloved family, lesson after lesson in beauty, sacrifice and the love of Jesus. J and J, P and T who live out the redemption of dreams deferred and God’s sovereignty unfolding. My dear friend Shelly who teaches me more about the sacrifice of motherhood than I can comprehend. This list is not even the beginning…and there are so many, too many to list.

oh my heart…

In all the journeys, the pain, the beautiful and the in-between, I’ve learned this: the only way through, is through.

We used to read Going on a Bear Hunt to our kids, at least 55 times a day when they were little, until all 5 of us had it memorized.

“You can’t go over it…you can’t go under it, you have to go THROUGH it!” We would yell that refrain! It became a metaphor for both hard things in our family and in my clinical work. I even bought a small board book of Helen Oxenbury’s version and set it on the table for clients. It never failed to evoke an moment of understanding or even tears sometimes as the message became real.

Be brave my soul….

Psalm 13 (my very favorite and an amazing biblical both/and) says:

1 How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?
    How long will you hide your face from me?
2 How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
    and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
    How long will my enemy triumph over me?

3 Look on me and answer, Lord my God.
    Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,
4 and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,”
    and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

5 But I trust in your unfailing love;
    my heart rejoices in your salvation.
6 I will sing the Lord’s praise,
    for he has been good to me.

Both the heartache and the praise, fear and trust. Yes, Lord God, be in, both, with and for us. Loss and hope, agony and trying to find something akin to joy. This is real and true, the purpose in the calling, at least for me. As I teach it in my work, learn it for myself and pray for the grace and mercy we all need, I also know this: holding the both/and is the truest path to peace I have ever come to. Because I know God understands AND loves me in both.

May we take care of ourselves: take a walk, call mom (or dad,) attend a class and learn new skills. Seek counseling. Breathe deep, smell the flowers, blow out the candles. Pray or meditate. Walk slowly, speak only kind words to ourselves. Lean into our people, the ones who know and love the authentic versions of us. And may we allow ourselves to go through.

“Crying releases stress hormones, swearing increases pain tolerance. Anger motivates us to solve problems. Silence and smiles aren’t the only way to respond to pain. Sometimes its good to howl.” Anonymous

I often close sessions with “be kind to yourself” and full disclosure, how my own therapist closes with me. Sometimes, I add this – howl if you need to, cry, and rest. Most often, those are the very paths that lead to the best parts of healing.

Both/And

Psalm 13


The smell of coffee, Gram’s Oil of Olay and Tiffany Rose Gold: oh the memories I have…

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I walked in the door and couldn’t help but inhale deeply. The rich, deep, comforting smell of coffee both assaults and eases into every part of my olfactory system. The funny thing is? I don’t even like DRINKING coffee. But my body, heart and mind are instantly comforted with the smell…

Growing up, the coffee pot was always on at our house. I didn’t even think it then, it just was the smell as you entered our house. Similarly, my dad always had the coffee pot on in his physical therapy office and I remember my mom consistently wrinkling her nose about “how strong you make it!” when we stopped in to visit. I simultaneously connected the smell to home, my dad, hospitality (because somehow, when adults were together, coffee was ALWAYS offered) and also the taste being “too strong.”

In my young adult hood I was privileged to spend a lot of time in the home of my mentor with his family. They had three kids and both Rick and Mariann were instrumental in these hard to understand years in my first job (in ministry), both had counseling backgrounds and were very accepting and authentic; a tremendous comfort to me. And anytime I walked into THEIR house, was the smell of coffee.

It had a slightly different aroma than what I grew up (Perhaps Folgers versus a coffee house blend?) but was still, the smell of coffee. The smell had come to mean safety, care and just being heard. And still, the taste left me wrinkling my nose and sputtering. I am actually a tea kind of girl, but that is for another day, another post for sure.

In those early days of ministry, I spent so many afternoon and sometimes evening hours at a new (at the time, to our corner of Michigan) coffee shop called JP’s. I’m not quite sure how I landed there, to be honest, being that I was NOT a coffee drinker…I think it was effort to be the “cool adult” in youth ministry and JP’s was my inroad to the goal. I spent hours tucked in a booth, munching on bagels, tea (for me) and hearing intense, beautiful unforgettable stories in the lives of so many teens. I went home with the smell of JP’s coffee embedded in my clothes, all the way to my skin, their stories, tears, laughter growth embedded just as deeply in my heart and my prayers. The smell of coffee morphed again to mean ministry, prayer, hope and a sense of awe that I got to be the person to listen to every one of those amazing kids.

Do you have one of those smells? One that brings you back to a time or feeling the second it hits your nostrils? Our olfactory receptors—proteins in the nasal passages that bind to odors and relay a signal to the brain, are a big connection to both the good and the really difficult memories sometimes. For some dealing with trauma, it could be the smell of gasoline that brings back the difficult memories of a car accident or the smell of bleach and sterilizer at the vet’s office that brings back the death of a beloved pet. I have for a long time, helped people process both the good and the hard associated with smell.

My beloved Gram ALWAYS wore Oil of Olay – a blush pink bottle with an abstract logo of a very serene woman, sitting front and center on her bathroom counter. In searching for a description of the scent, the best I read was, “White floral scent with almond, wisteria, cinnamon.

Her house had it’s own distinct smell too (like everyone’s): the smell of baking, sunshine and HER. Somehow, her Oil of Olay was blended in there as well. When she died suddenly when I was 19, within a few days, I panicked about “not smelling her house again.” Even then, the connection to smell was so important to me. My mom gave me a small little bottle of her Oil of Olay and for the longest time, in my missing her, I would open the small worn out bottle whose label had all but worn off and feel her standing right next to me.

I have listened to countless stories of people who are making their way through difficult losses and while in a store, library or some other completely random spot, somehow catch a whiff of “their person.” I think it can be a comfort and a painful thing to be transported this way. And unexpected sometimes, I have normalized it probably 550 times throughout my career…

For me, I love also to attach a scent to good memories, much like my Gram’s lotion.

My daughter has a special affinity for Tiffany jewelry but last year, begged for Tiffany Rose Gold perfume. We wandered through Ulta and I can still see her bouncing with excitement as we waded through the perfume aisles and cloud of competing fragrances. She handed me the tester bottle and as I sprayed it on a small strip of paper, the scent was a little unworldly. The ingredients list is blackcurrant, blue rose and Ambrette seed. I could not tell you what any of those look like or smell like individually, but I can tell you that my daughter and I sniffed that paper all afternoon between giggles and shopping. The aroma became a memory of spending time with her.

I did buy it for her for Christmas, she wears it often and as she recently traveled abroad with school for Spring Break, she quietly left the bottle on my counter to find when we returned from the airport. I wore it nearly everyday while she was gone, a way to hold her close.

Now, before the bottle becomes “ours,” I gave hers back and ordered my own.

You may think, this is silly or even have a hard time understanding such a connection to scents. Maybe that is not how it is for you. But I think if we close our eyes and imagine a smell of comfort, I imagine an image, feeling, place or memory comes to mind….

In 1998 the Parent Trap (re-make) was released. There was a scene where one of the twins, Hallie who “traded places” with her sister, Annie, met her grandpa for the first time. Annie had described him down to the mints he kept in a pocket and the pipe tobacco that clung to his clothes. Hallie buried her face in grandpa’s sweater, hugged him and inhaled deeply.

“What are you doing?” Grandpa asked.

“Making a memory.” Replied Hallie , tears in her eyes.

Of all the ways our bodies hold all the things, trauma, joy, memories, pain and relief, the connection to scents is one of my favorites. From the smell of walking into the Magic Kingdom, to the memories of my babies newborn “smell,” the way roses remind me of our wedding day or my mama’s lemon meringue pie, I am so thankful of the simple ways God allows us to remember…

Both…and

Psalm 13