There was a part of Stephanie Madolf Mack's memoir that stirred something inside me that had been suppressed for exactly 25 years...scent. She recounts an incident where her late husband's teenage son took some of his father's clothes out of the house. One of the items was a flannel shirt that still had his father's, Mark's scent on it. Stephanie had worn the shirt too and had noticed her late husband's scent. Although I know nothing of losing a spouse to completed suicide, I do recall having this same experience when I could no longer detect his scent after he died. I think the last place was his pillow. This memory now that I had not thought of in 25 years has no relevance in my life today, except that it happened.
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