A Warm Embrace

We make our way to our row and find our seats. As we sit down in the worn leather seats, I reach down into my purse for some snacks; I hand the Nerds to my daughter and the Reese’s to my husband.

All of a sudden, the theatre goes black and is filled with the silence of anticipation— the show is about to begin.

Click. A bright spotlight illuminates the scarlet curtains at the front of the room, which open to reveal the most radiant woman I have ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. She immediately captivates the audience with her beauty—elegant, delicate and as rare as a butterfly perched on a rose. There is no denying that this is our host—the Goddess herself: Aphrodite.

When she speaks, it has the power and beauty of waves crashing on a beach and scratches an itch in the back of my mind I never knew I had. It is impossible not to watch, not to listen.

“Good evening, everyone. This is the first show of an eight-part series about the different types of love. Thank you for accompanying me through our show tonight in this glorious theatre. I am your hostess, Aphrodite. Sit back, relax and ignite your senses for our journey this evening.”

I have no idea what to expect; all I’ve heard is that it’s an experience like no other. Even the most famed critics have not been able to articulate their feelings about the show.

“For the first part of our series, we have Storge.”

A motherly figure—with long grey hair and smile lines—walks onto the stage. As she does, a strong scent fills the theatre. It’s a scent I smell every so often out in the world but can never quite place—except for this time I can—it’s the smell of blueberry pie baking. The moments before my grandmother dons her worn patchwork oven mitts and removes her scrumptious steaming fruit pies from the stove.

Aphrodite continues, “Storge is our familiar love, the love we experience with our parents and childhood friends. Fuelled by memories.”

Storge sits down in a white leather chair that must have appeared while I was preoccupied with my nose. She seems indifferent to our presence and turns towards Aphrodite, as she also settles into a chair.

The smell has now shifted to my grandfather’s cardigans, filled with cigarettes, cologne and comfort.

Aphrodite begins, “As Storge speaks, you may feel emotional, or as though a memory is bubbling to the surface. Do not resist this feeling. Embrace it.” She nods towards her guest, “Take it away, Storge.”

The smells disappear as though they were simply a figment of my imagination.

Storge stays sitting, and I wonder how we will be able to hear her. Then, she begins to speak, and even up where we are, high in the multi-levelled balconies, I can hear her. It’s as though she’s in my head, occupying my thoughts. Almost telepathic yet welcoming, her voice feels like a warm hug.

I close my eyes. I feel as though I’m floating below a sea of memories—the surface just out of reach.

I am Storge.

Memories and relationships long ago forged.

Silence with the absence of awkward.

Stories you have told too many times to count.

Smells connected to a time and place.

A welcoming, warm embrace.

As she speaks, I burst through the surface of the water, memories flooding in—each line evoking an individual image.

“Silence with the absence of awkward.”

I am sitting in my elementary school’s office, my feet swinging above the linoleum tiles. I don’t remember why I was there—it probably wasn’t that bad. My mother’s tall, wiry frame enters the doorway. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t look mad, just tired. When we get into the car, I sink into the brown leather seats expecting a lecture.

“I’m glad you stood up for yourself,” is all she says.

Then, we drive to McDonald’s in silence, and she gets me a chicken nugget happy meal before heading home. I don’t remember what I did. But I remember that feeling of being close to my mom at that moment, realizing she understands my feelings.

“Stories you have told too many times to count.”

My siblings—my brother, Ivan and my sister, Maria—and I always wanted a dog. Eventually, our dad gave in, and we got a border collie and named him Caesar because it was our favourite type of salad. My mother was not aware that my dad was purchasing a dog. So, when he brought him home, it was our job to take care of Caesar. One of our responsibilities was to bathe him. Now we always joke that he bathed us.

It's the first time we’re trying to wash our newfound friend, he is a little smaller than me, and we use way too many bubbles. We set up a makeshift bath in a red plastic bin we used for laundry, filled it to the brim with warm water and an entire bottle of bubblegum scented dog shampoo.

That day Ivan, Maria and I were bathed more thoroughly than the dog by the end of the exercise. The adorable little furball didn’t want to get into the tub, so we had to get in with him to prove it was safe. After chasing him around the yard multiple times, covered in bubbles, we finally got him clean. And so were we.

Smelling like bubble gum, I connected with Caesar—my best friend whom I miss every day.

“Smells connected to a time and place.”

This time I’m not transported into my memories; I’m standing in an obsidian space, and in front of me is a large oak bookshelf. Oddly enough, there don’t appear to be any books, but rather dozens of candles, in a wide variety of sizes and colours. I look closer, and each candle has a label on it.

My hand is drawn to a small porcelain-coloured candle marbled with periwinkle. I turn it over in my hand to reveal a name handwritten in elegant font on the label.

Evie. The name of the small girl in the seat beside me, the one with my grey eyes and her father’s dark hair. I unscrew the lid and a smell I haven’t experienced in over 14 years hits me. Soft, warm, and emanating a soft peachy glow. An amalgamation of baby-powder, sweat and skin.

It’s the smell of my newborn daughter as she lays nuzzled in the crook of my elbow. It was during this moment in the hospital where I came to the realization that I would never love anyone or anything more than the tiny bundle in my arms.

I set the candle back on the shelf, reflecting on how that my love has never wavered. I shed a tear, overcome with pride, thinking of the dazzling young woman sitting beside me.

“A welcoming, warm embrace.”

I feel dozens of arms around me all at once, embracing me. My daughter—barely 2 feet tall—squeezing my kneecaps. My mother gently enveloping me just like she did every time I was upset. My father patting me on the back during the rare hugs we shared. My husband and I holding each other after he proposed. My siblings and grandparents, all their arms encircling me with comfort. I slump in my seat with a sense of calm.

But one hug lingers.

I’m in my grandmother’s room in her nursing home. She’s surrounded by ageing photos of her family, not that she recognizes us anymore. Throughout the years, we all watched her memories slip away like dry petals on a dying flower. But we knew she still loved us even if she couldn’t place us. This was the last time we visited her. Surrounded by the smell of hand sanitizer, mashed potatoes and lavender lotion. I give her one last hug. Her frail arms wrap around my torso, a distant stare in her eyes. I tear up recounting those last moments in that nursing home.

As the last memory slips away, I open my eyes. Some people, like me, are crying, others laughing. I take my husband’s and daughter’s hands and give them a squeeze. I have no idea how much time has passed since we have arrived, but it doesn’t matter. Today I was able to go back in time in my mind with brilliant clarity; it was as though I was living the memories again.

We all focus on the stage, waiting for Storge or Aphrodite to say something —although I don’t know what I want to hear.

Storge speaks first, “I hope many of you were able to revisit salient memories this evening. The problem with memories is that you can visit them, but you can’t live in them. Despite this, I hope you were reminded of how many people love you and that you will always have memories with those who are no longer in your life.” Her words somehow perfectly summed up the thoughts and feelings I experienced this evening.

We make our way to the parking lot and find our car. As we sit down in the worn leather seats, I feel lighter. On the drive home, I reflect on my experience this evening; my thoughts are quiet, clear and relaxed. I feel a sense of calm that rushes over me as we turn into the driveway.

Our house seems more welcoming tonight as I unlock the door. Inside I admire the family photos that adorn the wall, the medals hanging in the living room, and our collection of magnets on the fridge—tokens of my memories and reminders of the love that encompasses me.

The warm embrace of Storge.