Mitzi and I welcomed our 5th grandchild into the world on the 10th of July this year. Thomas James Powell, the first offspring of Mitzi's son Tom and his wife Carrie, arrived with a handsome face, a roaring appetite and the biggest hands and feet I've ever seen on a baby. Each of these attributes will no doubt serve him well. As young Tommy completes his second month on this side of his mother's womb he has already successfully wrapped his paternal grandmother around his substantial finger. Although Tom and Carrie live in Irvine, a couple of hours away, Mitzi has made a number of pilgrimages to spend time with the youngest Powell as often as she has been able. Mitzi's love of her grandchildren that are progeny of my daughters, Carri and Candi is without doubt, but this is her first opportunity to bond with a "blood" grandchild. "I can't believe how long the baby smell stays with me" she reconnoiters long after she has last spent time with young Tommy proving olfactory sensory theories that have long been proffered. Its amazing to think what incredible things our brains do to preserve that which we hold dear.
The CBS television network ran a documentary on this the 10th anniversary of the terrorist attack on New York's World Trade Center and the Pentagon. The film had originally been commissioned as a simple observation of the matriculation of one probationary fireman that joined the FDNY just prior to the senseless attack but following the law of unintended consequences became the only window most of us had to what exactly transpired inside the massive World Trade Center Towers that came crashing to earth that day along with our national sense of well being. The incredible devastation and loss of life is indisputable. The continuing negative impact on all our lives is not in question. The ongoing collateral damage to those closest to Ground Zero is becoming clearer and clearer every day; psychological and physiological wounds fester and multiply even after 10 years have passed. The loss of innocence and sense of security radiates throughout the free world. The hauntingly beautiful memorial that has been erected in place of the footprint of those iconic structures that came tumbling down on that infamous day calls to all of us to visit, and pay our respects.
The incongruity of the thought of Mitzi and her attachment to the baby smell and the haunting memories of those closest to Ground Zero stimulates my own ever present conscious thoughts about the death of my son, Geoffrey, gone now nearly a year. Can I remember the sweet smell of his presence when he was just a baby? I think I can. I can certainly hear him laugh; watch him run the bases on the baseball diamond; dance shamelessly without clothing in the backyard faucet on a hot summers day; stand in the doorway of the Four Points at Darling Harbour anticipating our embrace; hammer away relentlessly at whatever villain he was defeating on his Nintendo; pridefully order from the menu at his favorite Thai restaurant to make sure those closest to him shared his passion for ethnic foods. Can't I?
Next to my bedside stands at attention a large green candle from the service we held in celebration of Geoff's life at Our Lady of Fatima Church in Kingsgrove, New South Wales on Wednesday, October 13, 2010. Draped around the candle in a red velveteen bag is a lock of Geoff's hair. I can't bring myself to open the bag to validate that, in fact, the mostly protein relic is still in tack but my heart tells me that if I did open the bag, the beautiful scent of my son would wash over me like the sweet essence of a newborn child. Dare I?
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