Home smell

I would like to ask where does that smell come from. The smell of the sweatshirt I took out clean from the cabinet, that one I did not wear in a while. Putting it on, a rare but familiar smell reached my nose. The washing powder that my mum uses, 800 km away and in another country.

I probably wore that pullover last time I went to visit her and she washed it while I was still there.
I don't know why the smell is so peculiar to her home, to her laundry, as she buys that soap in a normal supermarket. But, still, although we are in the time of multinational companies, there are smells you can not reproduce wherever. Even if I would use the same soap, the sweatshirt would not smell the same. That smell is a mixture of the soap, the water, the washing machine of that place. And of the sun drying it in that air, which also englobes the smells of the streets, of the food, of the buildings nearby, which I can not have here. And the smell of the house, of the dwars, of the wooden furniture also impregnated with particular parfumes during the time.
I call it "home smell". It is one of the very few things that make me feel homesick or nostalgic, and my head gets filled with memories. Then, I try to remind myself what is the still real, current part of these memories. Trying to separe it from what became pure memory and will be kept safe somewhere inside me but can not be found anymore anywhere. This is the biggest part and makes me switch from homesick to sad, because it will not come back, then angry, for how things went, then impotent, because I can not change it, then disappointed, because sometimes people are banally mean and make others suffer for nothing, or their pleasure and gratification for such power, and then...
...then I just close the sweatshirt with the zipper in the front with a sigh, I just imagine my mum is giving me a hug, tell me everything will be fine, everything will go well, and, patting on my shoulder, letting me go.