My Boxes
I've learned that every mother who's lost a child has a shelf similar to the one in my closet. One or two boxes that contain items associated with their baby. Mine is three boxes: a large hat box, emblazoned with a stenciled pink "E" decal, a small striped hatbox - too small to reasonably hold any hat and a plain square box.
Inside the square box is an unglazed ceramic plate with Eleanor's footprints on it. A gift from the hospital and part of a program to comfort grieving mothers by making sure they have a memento of their baby when they do the nightmarish walk from the hospital on discharge day with no newborn in their arms. As part of the charitable program, you can take it back to the organization and they will decorate it with your child's name, glaze it and return something far prettier to display. But I never got mine decorated or glazed because I love being able to touch the paint that touched her feet and I don't want the separation of a layer of glaze between me and her.
Inside the small, striped hatbox is an unbearably tiny pink tutu. A gift from a friend who had pledged to make it her mission to get Eleanor into all things pink and lacey in case I didn't rise to the challenge. And she was right. Of all the adorable clothes I had collected for Eleanor, I had not made it any priority to get the frilly stuff. And, had I been able to keep her, I know I never would have craved this kind of "girl" fare unless she had asked for it herself. But somehow that makes that little lone tutu all the more precious, so it's on the shelf.
The final and largest box - the big hatbox - is so full of things it doesn't even close properly. Its contents are the items I spend the most time with when I get these boxes off the shelf at least once a year, on her birthday. I usually get them down late at night and often don't bother leaving my closet. I just sit on the floor and look at each thing. I cry but it's also the moment every year I feel most close by her again. Here's some of what's in the box:
Every sympathy card I received when she died. I read every one, every year.
The hymnal they sent home with me when we had to meet with the church to plan her services. I was supposed to select my songs and I'm sure I was supposed to return it but as soon as they handed it to me, I knew I was going to steal it. I pressed a few of the flowers from the arrangements people sent to me.
Programs from her services. These programs also have her obituary printed on the back - beautifully written by her grandfather.
The few pictures of her that I could stand to have taken at the hospital. One of her face, one of her hands, her feet, her hair and one of her tiny body dressed in a little white dress.
A little papier-mâché box of a pressing of her handprint and a white bonnet and dress - the dress they put her in to take the pictures. Another automatic gift to grieving mothers. Sometimes I think about the cabinet or drawer they must have to keep stacks of these boxes in. What a terrible task for the staff member who has to retrieve these when the worst has happened.
Her medallion from ARORA commending her for being an organ donor. She donated her heart valves.
A series of little paintings her Aunt Emily did to decorate her room, depicting a little girl and her elephant friend. They had hung over the crib she never slept in.
Ribbons that her Aunt Lisa made and handed out to friends, family to wear on the day we buried Eleanor. I found out much later that she had even taken several to my work where co-workers wore them around the office and even on air. I have loved hearing from the many friends and family who kept their ribbons.
A welcome home Eleanor banner that had been hung on our house as a surprise when we went into labor and then quietly removed before we were discharged.
A onesie I made for her at my baby shower's make-your-own onesie station. I actually kept all the onesies my friends made that day but the one I decorated with a little felt elephant and a puff paint "E" is in the box.
Her hospital bracelets and mine.
These are not all my keepsakes. I've got items made or purchased in her honor hanging on my walls and in my jewelry box, a Rubbermaid box of clothes and shoes that I don't know what I'm going to do with but can't get rid of and many other things tucked into drawers. But these shelved items are the things that the hardest to look at and make me feel closest to her memory when I do.
