Sad White Box
It felt like a bad dream, but I hadn’t even gone to sleep. Despite an exhaustion that had settled into my bones, I felt wired. Less than 12 hours earlier I gave birth to a perfect 9 pound, 22 inch little girl. Her name was Grace, and we had anticipated her arrival for all of the 38 weeks and 5 days that I held her inside of me. The doctors and nurses told me that there was nothing I could have done to prevent it, that I would likely never have a real answer, but her umbilical cord was wound so tightly around her neck that it provided a logical enough explanation for why our precious daughter went lifeless at what should have been the beginning of her journey to a lifetime with us.
I refused to use a wheelchair, both on the way up to our delivery room from triage, and again leaving the hospital. For whatever reason, I needed to know that I could stand on my own two feet. As John went to get the car, my mom and I made our way to the lobby. As we waited, I didn’t think to anticipate the other moms and the other babies who were born, healthy and thriving. But there they were. The front desk staff gushed over the babies, nestled safely into their carseats. I, sat on a bench, with nothing but a sad white box. I crumpled into my mom’s arms and let the tears fall. It wasn’t fair. I didn’t get to leave with my baby.
That sad white box has become a bit of joke. It’s far from funny, but if we cannot find the humor in our tragedy then it’s not survivable. That white box contained everything we had left of our daughter. Plaster molds of her hands, feet, and face, a disk drive full of photos, a dress and hat she wore, a lock of hair… tiny tokens to memorialize a life cut short, but a life that we loved, cherished, and would miss for the rest of our lives. The box also contained a bear, a bear that Grace was photographed with, one of the few possessions she touched. That bear lives in our bedroom now, we hold it, use it as a pillow… it is precious to us, and it is already falling apart.
Grace died almost 17 months ago. It has been the hardest and most eye opening 17 months of our lives. We view the world differently now, open to all of the emotions that life has to offer, knowing we can feel so much of them all at one time. When Grace’s first birthday month rolled around, we longed for signs from her, signs that she was with us. You can chalk it up to spring, but every time we needed her, a bunny would show up, as if to say, “Hi! I’m here!”. So many nights I held that silly stuffed bear and wished it was my baby, especially then, especially May.
I had hopes of doing something in Grace’s honor for her birthday, but grief and exhaustion swept me up and didn’t let go in time. I gave myself grace (Oh, the joy of naming your baby Grace and then learning through her death just how much GRACE you need) and waited for the right time, the right idea. Believe it or not, it was the bunnies, and the bear.
The With Grace Project is an idea, an inspiration, that I hope will grow to mean more than just a REALLY soft stuffed animal being placed in the arms of a broken hearted parent. Every small piece of comfort is priceless to a grieving parent, but that alone is not enough. My hope, my prayer, is that these bunnies form connections and community between loss parents. Maybe then, the loss of Grace won’t feel so hopeless. It may seem small, but it could be the start of something bigger - giving for Grace, giving with grace… keeping our baby alive.
