Scent of a Woman

 I found myself at the perfume counter last week buying my favorite scented cream which I haven't bought for quite some time.  Usually I wait for Marty to give it to me as a gift around the holidays, but I've been totally without perfume except for some cheap brand that I probably found at Walgreens just to hold me over.  There I was smelling some of my favorite scents when I happened to catch a glimpse of the perfume brand that my mom used to wear, and the memories permeated my being. 

I immediately remembered her taking a bath, and she would pour it into her bath water, and the bathroom would be embalmed with my mom's familiar scent.  The younger generation might refer to her scent as an old lady's perfume.  Hmmm, come to think of it,  they might refer to my scent as old lady's perfume!  My own family has said that my perfume smells like "Aunt Barbie."  So there I was waiting for the sales lady to pack my product when I started enhaling that familiar smell of my mom.  It brought back so many wonderful memories!  I imagined her in all the familiar earthly places of my childhood:  up at school working, the PTO, the evenings out with my dad, her cooking over the stove and her loving embrace.  How I miss that motherly embrace, her unconditional love, her laugh, her spark, her laugh.  Hell, I miss it all!  Here I am 25 years after her death, and I still tear up thinking about my mom.  Perhaps it's the approaching holidays or hearing the Christmas carols, and my whole being is brought back to the fading time of my childhood.  I thank God for  those memories and yet; I curse them at the same time.  I wonder where it all went?  I don't feel the joy of the season when I know that I should.  Trust me when I say that I am trying to work through those negative feelings.  My Catholic faith tells me that I should.  I should feel God's blessing upon me, and all I seem to think of is what I don't have and how much I want it back. 

I loved watching every detail of my mom getting ready back in the day.  My minds eye can recall every facet of her applying her make-up, getting dressed, selecting the shoes and clothes, feeling her face next to mine when she kissed me goodbye, usually leaving remnants of her lipstick on my cheek.  Watching her get ready gave me the opportunity to chat with her and figure out how I would wear my make-up or choose my own clothes as I got older.  She took pride in her appearance, and growing into my own adulthood I have clung onto that familiar scent of hers.   I can envision  her particular walk as she strutted down our hallway in the house where we grew up.   As a little girl I remember watching her fade into the distance as she left for her social gathering, strolling out to the car and leaving me.  She actually left me!  What was she thinking?! 

As these holidays approach, I find myself drifting back, wanting to know more, and I realize that there's never enough.  I always want to know and learn more about her, but it's been awhile since anything new has been brought to my attention.  I still don't know why she named me, "Barbara".  It seems to be a mystery in my family, and perhaps she never shared that choice with anyone.  Who am I kidding?  Someone knows.  All of us women have a reason for selecting a name.  My own children at a young age have asked me why I named them who they are.  Maybe my mom just liked the name Barbara.  Perhaps it sounds trivial to some people wanting to know these answers, but I bet many of you can relate to what I'm saying, especially if you were adopted.   I'm not adopted myself.  Well, at least I don't think so?  My brothers and sisters used to tease me about being brought home from the Shell Gas Station......I was the free gift.   While I still don't know all the answers of my past;  I long for the scent of my mother; a scent of a woman whom touched me with many warm memories.