The Box

There's a memory box that sits in a virtually empty room. The room used to be filled with storage boxes, a futon and two dog kennels that really made the room smell quite stale. Worse than stale actually. Ok, it stank. Early of last year my man and I got the thrilling news we were expecting. Soon that room was no longer just a room. We had plans for that room. We had dreams for that room. We pictured it being painted blue or pink, or maybe just yellow. A crib would go on the right wall and a chair in the opposite corner. I posted online magazine articles to Pintrest. We went dream shopping at Babies-R-Us.

Now the room is empty. Virtually empty. To be fair there are things in there. The futon is still there. The closet is still filled with storage. There is a bookshelf. And on the bookshelf sits a box of memories. Memories that should have overflowed from that room. Memories that should have permeated the rest of my life. Memories that only got the chance to form for a couple of months. Memories that now sit in a box.

Don't get me wrong. They flood my head every single day. Nothing I do can get them out. Not that I want them out. I don't. Not ever. But they can be exhausting. I haven't visited the box in a while. I didn't even visit the box when the due date came. I wanted to. My parents got me a cute yellow and green onesie set. It was complete with little hats. One was white and had tiny frogs all over it. But you see...I didn't want to just visit the box with the empty onesie. I want to hold my baby wearing the tiny froggy onesie. But I can't.

I miss my baby. It's especially hard these days. I wake up in the morning and my house is silent. Silence is deafening. Oh, what I would give to wake up to a screaming new born. Oh what I would give to be sleep deprived from a crying baby and not from crying for my lost baby. Oh what I would give.

But all I have is my box.