grief in a box

I keep my grief about Thomas in a box. But I really do mean that in the most literal way possible. When Charlie was born my doula and very close friend (who happens to work at a crisis pregnancy centre) gave me a hand painted small blue box with little shooting stars on it. Inside was a small packet of Kleenex, a super ugly tiny teddy bear, a small beaded bracelet that says "loved" and a little candle. I have almost thrown out the teddy bear multiple times because it's THAT ugly, but the thought of throwing out anything that even remotely has anything to do with me is just so sad. I mean, I already threw him out (my biggest regret) and to add anything else to that list makes me queasy.

I have added to the box. There are the 2 ultrasound pictures with both Thomas and Charlie in it. Charlie, big and healthy and living, Thomas, a visible, fully formed perfect but dead baby. Charlie's head snuggled into Thomas'.

Beside the box is a pair of tiny knitted booties I made: dark brown with little blue buttons. And on top of the box is a small (and very cute) lamb. The box and it's contents and the 2 extras sit on a small corner shelf in Charlie's room. Every now and then I open the box. And I look at those pictures and I both feel joy for having him inside me and deep sadness for having him not be with us. I miss him right now. I should be chasing TWO 11 month old babies away from the Christmas tree. I used to have the ultrasound pictures in my bed side drawer but I found I looked at them too much, I obsessed about them. Having them in Charlie's room makes it harder to obsess and makes me happy that the small bit of Thomas left shares a room with his brother. And maybe one day when he's old enough Charlie will want them to be in there anyways.

On Thomas' day (August 26th) I lit the candle and had it burning as I was putting Charlie to bed. Then I blew it out before I left the room. And I bawled. I think that candle will be saved for every August 26th.

I don't think Matt even knows about those pictures. Or about me lighting the candle. I don't know if he knows what I keep in that box, what it signifies. Maybe he does, but it's one of those things we have never talked about. It's like it's my thing for my missing baby. I know that makes zero sense. But if there is anything I have learnt about grief in the last 16 months is that it rarely makes sense.

And so up until now I have kept my grief in a box. Hidden for people to not see, a secret for me to hold and love. For it to be mine.

And then this week a gift was sent to me in the mail. A small angel Christmas tree ornament. Sent to me in memory of my beautiful Thomas. And I held it and I cried. Alpha saw me holding it and he asked if the beautiful beautiful ornament was very delicate and special. I said it was, and he asked to see it. He held it and told me again how pretty he thought it was and that we should hang it on the tree.

So we did. And now my grief hangs on a sparkly tree covered in glitter and lights and strange child-made ornaments. Not everybody knows what it is, but it's there for all who notice it to see.

Knowing that somebody thought of Thomas at the holidays both breaks and warms my heart. It brings a bit of peace and a bit of healing. I am not the only one who thinks of him. Somebody else thought of him and me enough to lovingly buy and send this angel. And that I think is one of the best gifts I could have received.

And so my grief will hang on the tree. And when we take the tree down I am not sure that I will place the ornament in the decoration box. I think perhaps it will hang in Charlie's window. Because I put enough things in boxes and perhaps it's time Thomas isn't one of them.