Secondhand Smoke

Sometimes I walk into the garage where I work after my boss has just finished smoking and it is like a punch directly to my gut. I have to quickly do what I am there to do and rush back inside, all the while struggling to gain my composure.

Why?

Because the smell of a freshly lit cigarettes reminds me of my grandma. Makes me miss her so desperately that it makes my chest ache and my eyes water.

Here is what I didn't tell you on this blog: My grandma died at the end of July.

I miss her.

It was several months before I could wear the ring she gave me.

And then it took me several wears before I could put it on without crying.

The other day I knew I had been wearing my ring. I knew I had taken it off in my bathroom, but I thought I had put it back on. Several hours later, I noticed I did not have it on. My heart stopped. My throat closed. I had to drop everything and race home to see if it was in my bathroom. It was. Thank goodness.

I think my grandma would be dismayed by such emotional displays.  She would rather I did crosswords, read biographies, played dominoes as if it were bloodsport, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed.