A 35 year old imprint...

What we remember from childhood
We remember forever –
Permanent ghosts,
Stamped, inked, imprinted,
Eternally seen.
Cynthia Ozick

It’s amazing how memories are imprinted.  Until Christopher was born, I never slept with the bedroom door open.

When I was in the first grade I believe I was fully awake seeing a man standing in my doorway smoking a cigarette. I could only see the silhouette of the man, and the orange tip of a burning cigarette. I assumed it was my grandfather because I was at my grandparents house and he smoked. In a tiny voice I said, “Pop Pop?” The silhouette nor the cigarette moved. I was paralyzed with fear and my voice couldn’t call out more than a whisper as I was trying to shout, “Grammy!” I got up enough nerve to bust through the silhouette and run into my grandparents room. Pop-Pop was there sleep; the cigarette man wasn’t him - but the cigarette man was forever real. I never wanted to sleep with the bedroom door open again and I didn’t for 31 years. 

Do you have flashback memories brought on by sound and smells?

When I hear and smell grass being cut, I am instantly reminded of my grandfather. At home we lived in an apartment so I never smelled grass being cut. My grandfather cut grass on Saturdays mornings. I would wake up to a sunlit room, the curtains blowing in the breeze and the room permeated with the smell of cut grass.

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Here's the thing... I am still not fond of an opened bedroom door at night because I will still imagine that I might see him again.

But I love to wake up to the sound and sweet nostalgic aroma of cut grass, imagine that it's Pop Pop behind the lawnmower and I am six years old again. 

This is a post was inspired by Sharing a Childhood Memory - a prompt via Friendship Friday at Create with Joy.

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