When I was a little girl, my mother was killed in a car accident. I was only four years old, but I remember loving my mother dearly and always being at her side from the moment I woke up to when she was putting me in bed at night. I remember that she was a kind woman, and had a very soft nature about her. My father worked hard to support us, he was a steel mill worker, and was hardly home during the days. So, I remember spending most of my days with my mom, learning from her and acting just like her. She was my favorite person and even though I was little, I knew that she meant the world to me and my family. And the thing I will never forget about her is how she always smelled of roses.
It was horrible the night she died. It was the first time I ever saw my dad cry and it changed him. He became a very sad person and a depressed person without my mom there to support him. He still worked just as much and even more to make sure that my siblings and I would be taken care of. But he always just seemed tired without her. Since I was the baby, I took her death probably just as hard as he did. We all missed her, but the two of us had the closest connection to her when she died. Accidents like that are the worst ways for someone to go because you never have any closure; you never get a chance to say goodbye to them. They are torn from your life and you have to live with the last memories of them as fresh in your mind without preparation. I was too young to really remember anything specific, except for that she always smelled of roses.
Any time I smell a rose, I think of my mother and how kind and soft she was. She was a perfect mother and loved her family without any question. My story involves her and the smell of roses. I remember the night she died; she was on the way home from a church event with a friend of hers from the neighborhood. My eldest sister was in charge of watching the smaller kids and since Mom didn’t get home before it was time for us to go bed, my sister made us all change and get to sleep. I was not old enough to really worry about why Mom wasn’t home, so I fell asleep pretty quickly. But not long after I was asleep, I awoke suddenly. Being a little kid, I would generally wear myself out during the day and sleep throughout the night. But that night, I woke up to the smell of roses in my room. I thought Mom was home, so I didn’t think much of it. I figured she must have come in to my room just before I awoke, because after all, she always smelled of roses.
It was not until the next day that my father and older sister gathered the rest of the family around in the living room to tell us that horrible news. Mom was killed in a car crash the night before and was rushed to the hospital where she later died. I, naturally, was as upset as everyone else. But I do remember saying that it could not be true. Mom couldn’t have been killed last night, because she was in my room in the middle of the night. I knew she was because I recognized the smell of roses in my room. But Dad said he was at the hospital all night with Mom before she passed. I ran off to my room in tears, beside myself, but she was gone. My room no longer smelled of roses.
As the years went by, my memories of my mother faded in strength, but she was always talked about by the family. I have grown into a woman and am now also a mother, but I still remember my mom and how much I loved her. I always wanted to be just like her and love as though she loved. And I feel like she has always been there for me in the tough times and the special times. The day my daughter was born, though there were none to be seen, the delivery room smelled of roses.