God loves your scent

I flung my arms over my high school chemistry textbook and cried defeatedly, "I'm never going to figure this out! I'm not smart enough!" Thankfully my older sister was home from college and patiently walked me through my homework that night.

Sometimes I treat death like a chemistry problem. When I think about the last moments of Julia's life, the voices of accusation are loud. Why didn't you know she was dying? Any smart mother should've figured that out! But my brain is not wired to comprehend death, not even my mother brain. (And to be fair, I'm not sure it's wired to understand chemistry either).

In therapy yesterday, I focused on those last moments of holding my daughter as she died. As I held her, my mind was unaware of what was occurring, but my body still knew what to do. The last thing Julia experienced before she transitioned to heaven was the warmth of her mother's breasts, the smell of her mother's scent, and the sound of her parents' calm voices. Loving presence didn't require being all-knowing.

In a moment of grief the other day I found myself asking Julia, Will you ever forgive me...for not knowing? For abandoning you to death? I told my friend that this was my thought process and she responded, "I think Julia sees you now the same way Jesus sees you." I took that to heart and asked, Well, Jesus, then how do you see me? That night I used a new shampoo that smelled like delicious honey. I sensed Jesus saying back to me, This is how I see you, Kel. You smell better to me than that honey shampoo.

Julia didn't need a mom who knew everything, not even in those final moments. She needed my scent. And my scent pleased her, as it pleases God. I'll hang onto that.

"For we are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ"

- 2 Corinthians 2:15