The Box

Every so often I go into Wyatt’s box. This box holds some extremely important pieces of my son. I have the first hospital hat that was put on him, the comb that was used on him after Dorothy bathed him, the beautiful crocheted blanket and the sweet gown made for babies like him by amazing volunteers, a few locks of his jet-black hair, the blanket I had monogrammed for him, and many other pieces that I received from the funeral home. I opened it the other day to place two little hats inside that one of his great-grandfathers had made just for him. These items remind me of how much people really do care, even for those they don’t know.
    Wyatt occupies our home and is definitely present in it, but some of the most precious things to me are those that can’t be held. Though the box holds dear pieces of my child, it is the smell on his hat, the memory my arms have of holding him, and my imagination of how he would have looked bundled in his blanket that I treasure the most.
   I have my memories because of those who care and go beyond what they have to do in their daily lives. I have said from the beginning that Dorothy, our nurse, was our angel that day. Jill Meyer, our photographer, captured our sweet Wyatt beautifully, on her own time. The nurse that made the plaster castings of his feet and hands got every crease and little wrinkle.
    We all have a “box” for our children, living on Earth or in heaven. Take a moment to open it every now and then so not to take for granted what we have and had. With love-Heather

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *