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The Memory Box

                    I sat alone in a cold, dark room. It was late January and we just had the first snow fall of the year the night before. The sky was gray and overcast with clouds. I sat in a hospital robe looking out at the frozen Susquehanna River from my bed.

                    There was a small knock at the door. It was a woman. I could no longer tell you her name. She was a grief counselor for the hospital. She had come to talk to me about the loss of my baby, Grace. Grace was born too early and passed away while I was giving birth to her. I was recovering from the night before. I was given support information, numbers to call, packets and pamphlets to read, but what I remember most of the counselor's visit was when she handed me a box.

                    The woman left after she gave me her presentation. I know it must not have been an easy job trying to console women who had just lost a child. Now that I was alone again I began looking over the box. It had six sides, it was hand-painted lavender, with flecks of white and silver. There was a bright gold dragonfly painted on the lid. Holding the box in my lap, I ran my hand over the lid. Tracing the dragonfly with my finger, I could feel the paint where it rose and fell. The box had a great deal of texture to it. It was slightly rough and chalky feeling. I opened the box to find a single yellow paper inside that read:

"Memory Box Artist Program

Touching lives through Creativity

This box is donated and created by Pat Sheely, a decorative artist. The pattern on the box is based on an original design by artist Same

The Memory Box Program (http://www.teraleigh.com/memoryboxes/ ) is comprised of a group of artists that donate their time and money to create boxes for grieving families. Each box is created with great love and a sincere wish to reach out in support and understanding. As artists, we hope that this box brings you some small comfort, and the knowledge that we know that your child was special and very, very loved.

Signed Pat Sheely

Member of the Penns Woods Chapter of the Society of Decorative Painters"

                    The underlined areas were filled in, by hand, with blue pen. Once I finished reading I placed the paper back in the box.

                    Still with the box in my lap, I turned my attention to the neat pile of things stacked at my bedside. I started by placing a small double-quilted blanket, which we had used to wrap around Grace, in the box. It was white with green squares, thick, soft, and had little bears printed on it. I held it to my nose and breathed deep. Its scent was of her, of that night. I folded it in quarters and placed it in the bottom of the box, laying it on top of the yellow note. It made a nest in the bottom of the box for the other things to rest upon. Next came a tiny pink hat. The hat was much smaller than a normal newborn hat, because this hat was made for premature babies. It was knit, but not by hand; it was machined. Grace had worn the hat the night before. It was still very big on her head, despite the fact it was made for a preemie. There was also a small white cloth bib with a lace edge and magenta-pink roses on each corner. She wore it in the picture the hospital took for us. Next came a handful of pictures that were taken by the nurses of my husband and I holding Grace and of my husband bathing her. I then tucked in a set of cards reading, “Girl Shives,” with her weight and length on the front, her foot and hand prints on the back. I placed the lid back on the box and sat with it in my lap, looking back out over the river.

                    This memory box was full of tiny items that belonged to my tiny little girl. The box had a profound impact on how I grieved. I kept the box close, taking it with me when going to see family and friends, so I could share the things we had left. The box collected a few more precious things along the way, the card from some flowers, my bracelet from the hospital, a tiny pair of pink socks my mother had set aside for the baby, and the few ultrasound pictures we had of Grace from earlier in the pregnancy. Even later still, we added her ashes to the box. We had her cremated and could not decide where she should be buried. Therefore, she now sits with her things in the small lavender box, wrapped in a pink blanket with lace trim. I developed a strong love for dragonflies because of the box. They reminded me of Grace. Still, when I think of her, or miss her, I open the box, and find the blanket she wore that night she came and went. I deeply breathe in the scents still stored on the blanket. It brings back the moments we had with her. Then I tuck it all neatly away, until the next time the lavender box catches my eye.