It’s weird the stuff grief makes us do, right? The little things we cling to after death rips someone from us? Those of you close to me know all about my quest to duplicate Russ’ laundry smell, and some of you have held me during my meltdowns over the most mundane of things.
But those mundane things are what makes up the bulk of relationships, right? The daily routines and rituals we don’t even think about, usually.
At the store yesterday I bought a tub of this. It’s the brand Russ used on his “magnificent beard,” as I playfully referred to it. I don’t know how many times after he got out of the shower I inhaled this scent when hugging him or cuddling with him. The night of our friends’ wedding just a couple of weeks before he died, I remember when we slow-danced with my head on his shoulder I could smell it. How when we first got together he asked me if it was okay to wear it, because if it aggravated my allergies he’d find a different brand.
My sweet, loving Viking.
I remember the last time I kissed him goodbye in person how his beard and mustache felt against my face, how I always deeply inhaled and how if he’d just applied it to his beard, sometimes hints of it would cling to me and leave me smiling.
And then I opened it today and closed my eyes as I took a long, deep breath.
And I cried. And now it’ll sit on my altar next to his urn.
Miss you, Russ. Love you, baby. Sweet dreams. 🥰💖😘
