How My Senses Grieve

Photo by Jacqueline Dooley

In the first few months after my daughter died, I could still smell her. I’d walk into Ana’s bedroom and inhale deeply, immersing myself in the rapidly fading traces of her scent — rose candles, champa body oil, the floral soap she’d loved. I also smelled her lingering sickness, a painful reminder of her last few weeks of life.

In those early days of “after,” my senses ached for her as much as my heart and mind did. It was a…