scarf unwashed for months, breathing in the lingering perfume as a source of comfort. It’s why the smell of hospital disinfectant can bring a mourner to tears, as it recalls the painful last moments in a sterile ICU.
Grief counselors note that these “olfactory keepsakes” are a form of continuing bond. Some people even spray their loved one’s cologne in the house when they desperately want to feel close to them again. This can be grounding: Smell and emotion are stored as one memory.
Taste: A Flavor of Memory
Grief has a taste. Sometimes it’s the salt of tears, other times it’s the sweetness of a memory that washes over you when you eat something once shared. Our sense of taste is intricately linked with smell, and together they create flavor—a powerful trigger for recollection. Though taste might be the least commonly cited sense in formal grief studies, it can still unlock a trove of remembrance. Think of family recipes passed down through generations, and how cooking or eating those dishes can summon the presence of those who first shared them. “I decided to cook some of his favorite dishes… It was a sad-sweet time for me, but one full of memories of him,” wrote one of our community members about honoring her late father on his birthday. In the simple act of preparing his beloved meal, she found a “living” way to pay tribute, with each bite echoing his love and personality. The concept of “comfort food” takes on new meaning in grief. When we crave the chicken soup that Dad always made when we were sick, or the chocolate chip cookies that Grandma baked every holiday, it’s often because those flavors carry attachments to care, security, and love. A recent psychological study comparing music-evoked and food-evoked memories found that while both can be vivid, music memories tied more to identity, whereas food memories often brought warmth and specific family moments to mind. In other words, tasting a particular food might not make us reflect on our life’s path in the way a poignant song can, but it can instantly reconnect us to a certain place, time, and person—like being 10 years old in Grandma’s kitchen again, dunking a cookie in milk as she smiles. Marcel Proust famously described a madeleine cake dipped in tea that unlocked a flood of childhood memories; ever since, psychologists have used the term “Proustian memory” to describe how taste and smell can cue deeply buried recollections. In grief, these Proustian moments are bittersweet gifts. A sip of warm chamomile might bring back your late wife humming in the evening, or a spicy curry might remind you of that friend who taught you the recipe one summer night.
Touch: Holding On and Letting Go
A soft sweater once worn by your partner, a well-worn book with notes in the margins, the cool smoothness of your mother’s wedding ring now on your finger—touch is the most tangible of the senses, and in grief it can be profoundly consoling. After a loss, people often cling (sometimes literally) to what their loved one has left behind. Psychiatrists refer to these items as “linking objects,” the physical things that link us to someone who has died. It might be a piece of clothing, a tool, a favorite mug—anything infused with their presence. Holding these objects can spark memory through texture and weight, invoking what it felt like to hold them. For example, cuddling a teddy bear made from a late father’s flannel shirts can evoke the feeling of his embrace. Science supports the power of such tactile connections: a University of Iowa study found that touch can aid memory far more than sound, which may explain why handling a loved one’s belongings brings back vivid recollections.
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