As a child growing up in Detroit, the strongest sensory memory I have about my dad the police officer is a smell.
Dad made the coffee every morning, or at least he did after he complained to Mom that it wasn’t ever quite strong enough. The smell of his coffee woke me up before anyone or anything else in the family.
My mom, who is now 92 years old, has lost her “smeller,” and so the very thing we both treasure drifts right by her unnoticed.