When the universe speaks (Denver edition)

When I drove along Parker Road south of Denver, a familiar smell wafted throughthe car windows. 

The scent of freshly mowed grass filled my nose. I forgot how much I enjoy that odor. Fresh grass carries the scent of spring and accomplishment (I had not used a self-propelled mower in 25 years, preferring the exercise of pushing). It was the smell of something that had once been embedded in my life and had fallen away. 

Then I remembered the date – May 17. It had been four years to the day since I last mowed a lawn. I got up early that Friday and mowed the Crosswood Court lawn one more time. It was my last act as a tenant, leaving the landlord with a nicely trimmed thatch of green for whoever came next. I finished, I showed, I picked my friend up at the airport, we had breakfast, picked up the rental truck and set off closing my life in Nashville. 

I have mowed many lawns. Maybe because that was the last time I mowed, it is wedged more firmly into my mind. But a few whiffs and I was hurtled back to that humid morning. The truck set off the next afternoon. 

May 18 has even more significance, since it was my brother Joe’s birthday. I have changed states and time zones twice right around his birthday – Columbus to Nashville in 2007, then Nashville to Colorado Springs in 2019. 

I try to do something to mark it each year, even if it just ends up being a social media post of one of his good pictures, the Joe I remember before his health began its decline. He would have turned 44. 

Near Parker, I stopped at a chain that sells used media -boost, records, videogames and more. But the store wasn’t as important as who emerged from it. As I stood in the lot, out came a group of middle-aged handicapped men, some with walkers and others with wheelchairs. They were assisted by a group of younger women. As I left, a smaller group of handicapped men entered the store. My brother Joe could have easily slotted into either group, as his own condition seemed relatively similar. 

The timing of these random events seemed curious. I rarely smell freshly mowed grass in Colorado Springs, where desert conditions limit grassy lawns to those with sprinkler systems. Often I go long stretches without encountering people like Joe, let alone two groups of them. 

But sometimes the universe must have its say.