Lilacs Will Lead You Home

Memorial Day weekend is upon us and with it comes long summer nights. A night like tonight, where the air is warm long after the sun has set. Warm enough to leave my bedroom window open, inviting the wind to exhale past my windowpane. In the air travels the scent of a fresh cut grass, blowing from the outside in. In the air travels the scent of fresh cut lilacs, blowing from the inside out. It was literally days ago that I spotted the lilacs growing in the wild. They fill the path I run on everyday. Now they are filling a clear glass vase on top my dresser. I've always felt that flowers picked by my own two hands, rather than a florist's, were always much more meaningful. There is something so beautiful about a flower that plants itself by nature, rather than a tiny gardening trowel. A wild flower is like an unplanned pregnancy. An unscripted life.

Amongst green maple trees and several berry bushes, the vivid purple caught my eye. It wasn't the running that took my breath away, it was that familiar scent. A scent I grew up on. A scent that took me home, literally. Every year just as school was finishing up, I picked the lilacs that grew between the Fitzpatrick's and our house. I did it quickly as to not draw attention to myself. I didn't want my friends to see. I didn't want them to think I was being a sissy for picking flowers for my Mom. For surprising her, just to see her smile.

I would grab them by the fistful. Shove them into my backpack and fling it over my right shoulder like I was just re-adjusting my books. They knew no different, until they caught a whiff of the sweet scent and questioned. I denied it and quickly changed the subject. After that mistake, I learned to walk two steps behind the guys. Allowing the wind to act as my shield. A nose barrier that would cause the sweet scent to trail behind me, casting away from them.

My Mom would fill the house with vases of overflowing lilacs. I remember lying on her bed one Saturday morning and feeling a deep sense of comfort. Back then I would of associated it with the fact that it was a safe place for me to be. Today, I think it had a little something to do with the lilac smell. It did something to me. It calmed me. It made feel like there was no other place I wanted to be. But right there. At home. With the people I loved. My family. I can still close my eyes and see my Mom's eyes light up in delight. She watched as tiny purple pedals would begin to fall from a beaten brown canvas backpack. She knew what awaited her.

California awaited my sister. It was time for her to leave. A week long visit is all she had with us. Prior to her leaving for the airport, I wanted to give her a little departing gift - the lilacs I picked an hour before. Just like when I was a kid, I went overboard and picked too many. So many that I had to put half in that clear glass vase on my dresser. "They won't let me take those on the plane" she said with a heavy heart. "That's probably true", I told her. "However, nobody needs to know if you put some in your backpack." I couldn't promise her the lilacs would survive the long flight, but I am pretty sure anytime she is homesick, the smell will lead her back home...just like it did me.