It began with the scent of lilacs breezing through an open window. I turned, fully expecting to see a lilac bush in full bloom. Instead, I saw the parking lot, the rooftop of the butcher, the first four stories of an apartment building, and the radio-like spire of a church. I refocused on my hymnbook and struggled to sing the familiar tune with the unfamiliar words on the page. I paused to draw a box around "norae" and "Yesu", two words that I recognized as "song" and "Jesus", respectively. The wind carried the scent through the room, capturing my attention and drawing my gaze back to the window. I was vaguely aware of the song ending. I closed my hymnbook and placed it on my lap, my eyes still searching for lilacs in this concrete-laden city.
I miss my mother.
I can get through most days without falling to pieces. The grind of the workday, the distraction of the children, and dealing with all of the things that are Korea serve to distract me from any personal pain. But, once in a while, I will come across something small that pinches my heart and emotionally incapacitates me for the rest of the day. While out on the town with my friend V, the curious and perfectly understandable question of "Hayna Mother?" from the natives will slide like a needle under my skin. The casual reference by coworkers of their mother's upcoming birthday will cause my breath to hitch. The reminder to do something special for mothers on Mother's Day serves as nothing more than a reminder that I may not have done enough for my own mother while I had her here.
My usual reaction to these innocent comments is to smile, nod, and force myself to respond pleasantly.
But, the lilacs - oh, the lilacs! I had no defense against this completely unexpected assault. My eyes flooded and I blinked rapidly to prevent any tears from falling. Memories crept like bright shadows in my mind; Mom placing a lump of bread dough in my childish hands to knead and shape into my own mini-loaf; Mom pinning a seam of my hand-made baptismal dress; Mom handing me her own violin so I could join the seventh grade orchestra; Mom reminding me over and over again to count the beats as I practice the piano; Mom carefully selecting clothing from the sales rack at the store, teaching me that money is better saved than spent; Mom naming my new puppy; Mom listening to me list the pros and cons of going to London for six weeks; Mom at my university graduation, her proud, beaming smile like a beacon; Mom supporting my decision to come to Korea; Mom standing in the carport, the headlights of the car illuminating the myriad of motherly emotions crossing her face as she waved goodbye.
Somewhere, lilacs are blooming right now. This very minute, lilacs are blooming like jewels and releasing their intoxicating smell. And barely a year ago, my mother walked the perimeter of our back yard, pausing at each lilac bush to breathe in their scent. And just like every year, she called Lil' sis and me out to enjoy their beauty. Usually, Lil' Sis would clip a few bouquets and place them in the kitchen and their scent would fill the house.
Now, sitting thousands of miles away in a small church in Suncheon, South Korea, the sweet scent filtered through my skin, seeped into my veins, and knocked on the walls of my heart.
I managed to get through sacrament meeting without breaking down completely. On the way downstairs to the Gospel Doctrines class, I peered out windows, searching for the source. Nothing presented itself as a lilac bush or anything that could pretend to be one, so I hurried into the classroom.
Our topic that day was The Atonement of Jesus Christ. I halfheartedly listened to Elder S's translations as I skimmed the chapter. The teacher began asking our small class how we felt about the Atonement. When he asked me, I thought that I had gained control of myself, but apparently I hadn't.
"How do you feel about the atonement?" Elder S translated.
I swallowed a few times, struggling to find the words to describe the relief, profound gratitude, and the utter joy I felt with the knowledge that Christ has provided a way for me to see my mother again.
I spoke around the lump in my throat. "I'm very grateful for it."
If anyone was surprised at my emotion and relatively short answer, there was no indication. Class continued and I tried to surreptitiously wipe my newly freed tears and quiet my sniffles. When asked, I struggled to read Alma 40:23 aloud in a steady voice, while the thought that Mom will no longer suffer the pain that plagued her through all these years floated in the back of my mind. We ended class by singing I Need Thee Every Hour. I sang the English words quietly, partly because I didn't want to distract anyone, and partly because my eyes were too blurry to read the Korean.
All the while, the scent of lilacs hovered, a painful yet comforting reminder of my mother.
As I walked to the bus station an hour later, it lingered in my hair, in my clothes, and in my thoughts. I could almost see Mom lifting a sprig of lavender blossoms to her nose, inhaling their heavenly perfume, a smile spreading across her face.
"Hannah, come smell the lilacs," she called, turning towards me. "They only bloom for a little while. Come smell the lilacs."
Perhaps she is enjoying the lilacs right now.
