Last Sunday evening, Christopher and I watched “The Road” on Netflix. It’s not exactly a “feel-good” movie (like, at all), so when loving peace BURST, then spread through my chest cavity mid-film, I felt momentarily confused. This rare, beautiful feeling literally overtakes. It wholly consumes. And I looked slyly to Christopher, because I always wonder, does anyone else feel this, too?!
But inevitably, it’s just me. This night was no different.
I smiled slightly, enjoying the buzz, wondering who it was. It was either an angel, or–
All of a sudden, I smelled smoke. Quite strong, actually. And it was coming from . . . me? I cupped my hair in my fist and brought it under my nose. Yup. Cigarettes. Strong. Strong. Strong.
“You don’t smell that?” I asked Christopher. (Like, seriously, how could he not? I was practically dizzy with it!)
“Smell what?” he looked at me briefly, then returned to the movie.
“Nothing,” I smiled, completely overwhelmed. This feeling can only be described as melting, cell by cell, molecule by molecule, into a giant vat of well-being. Of peace. Like nothing, and I mean nothing (at least for those few precious moments) is wrong with the planet. Or mankind.
Who are you? I asked silently, though really, I should’ve known.
“Happy Mother’s Day.”
The answer came clear in my brain. Like *ding* on crystal. And I recognized the voice. The cigarette smell strengthened, like the final squeeze of a super long hug. Then disappeared.
I exhaled. My eyes teared up. I cupped my hair again, taking a long whiff.
My body temperature restored to normal. Silent, cool, happy tears mapped down my cheeks.
He was gone.
“The Road?” 4 stars.
A Happy Mother’s Day from my Grandpa in heaven? 5 stars.