Today, I was at the local chidlren's hospital to support my brother and sis-in-law while my nephew had a small outpatient procedure (which didn't end up happening...too bad they had to knock him out to do nothing, but we are glad because nothing was much better than knocking him out to do more). I digress.
I was at the hospital and used the bathroom. I know, newsorthy or blogworthy right? Or not. I washed my hands. Yes, I know, even better information to be sharing.
A few minutes later, my hands were cold and I brought them up to my face to blow into them. The smell hit me. That familiar-yank-me-back-in-time scent of the soap used at each public hand washing sink in the entire hospital. That smell floods me with a tornado of emotions that whip around one another and settle when the tears come to my eyes. The tears come because of the fear, memories, and thankfulness of the week we spent there with Kale. There is a link to Kale's story somewhere over there -----------------> in the right gutter of this blog. I know that I will never forget our days spend there. I allow those memories to flutter away the the back of my mind. Its only in moments of fear or soap smelling that those memories seem to come careening forward with such force that my emotions are completely overwhelmed and I end up looking all teary eyed for no obvious reason. Let's just say I have a true love/hate relationship with that soap scent.