Lawn Care and the Smell of Memories

Memories, in fact, make us who we are. We have no idea who God is, who we are, and what life can and should be without the woven stories of our recollection.

As I smell motor oil, I remember my uncle. I remember the things I learned since being a child around all the carcasses of cars yet to start again. The hurts, the disorientation that came as I lived longer in the Midwest than in my native South, I remember them.

The parting of my parents.
I remember my and Holley’s wedding.
When our daughter came crashing into the world after a brief and petrifying medical intervention.

It is all part of me, it makes me who I am.