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Give a Cheer
Give cheer Give a Cheer

For a scrap a memory challenge during the Cybercrop at this weekend. Also for a shaped layout challenge with more than one photo.
And finally, also for Fablady's March Journaling Challenge.

The scent of a man. Not just any man. The scent of a great, hard-working, family man. It's the scent of my father. They say that our sense of smell is a powerful evoker of memories. That is definitely true for me. I will remember the scent of my father for all my days. I will have to keep that memory safely locked away because I know that I will never actually smell it the same way again. Dad always had the aroma about him of tobacco, cigars, and aftershave. I don't mean smoke. I mean the lingering aroma of fine tobacco, expensive cigars, and the same aftershave he's worn for years. Since dad's heart attack in January of 2007, he can't smoke anymore. Mom hid his pipes and humidors. She threw away his opened tobacco, and returned the rest of it to the store, along with unopened boxes of cigars. But, not until after these items played their part in rousing him from a coma. At the doctors' urging, we all spoke to him, and waved a cigar and a baggie of his tobacco under his nose. We got responses from him! They worked like a magic charm! Now, he didn't wake up right then and there, but these things were important to him, and they served a purpose one last time. Dad has suffered trememdous memory loss from his heart attack and coma. But after three months in hospitals, once he finally was home, we timed it. He asked where his cigars were. It only took forty-five minutes! Everyone loved the smell of Mom and Dad's house. You couldn't stop by for five minutes and walk out of there without the scent clinging to you. Mom made a quilt for Allie's bed a couple of weeks before dad's heart attack. Every time I tucked her in, I'd kiss her, hug her, and sniff her quilt deeply because it had been in her grandparent's house and had that smell. Finally washing that quilt was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I felt like I was washing away the father I had before, and I just didn't want to let go. Today, Dad is a physically health man, and works hard at his recovery by exercising. His memory is inconsistent, except for things of great importance to him. He's critical of Mom's driving, but has a marvelous sense of humor that is uniquely his. He enjoys his grandchildren and is just as addicted to watching hockey as he always was. He is not just any man. He is a great, hard-working, family man. He is my father. I love you, Dad!