We left the hospital with a box.
I went into the hospital when I was 28 weeks pregnant. I was there for monitoring and bedrest. I was there to deliver my baby. She would most likely be early, but I was assured she would be fine.
At 30 weeks pregnant, I found out she was gone. They told me there was no more heartbeat. She was dead–stillborn. So, after my baby left forever they gave me a box. A white box with a green bow containing a few of her belongings.
It wasn’t supposed to be that way.
We were supposed to leave with a baby–a living, breathing, adorable baby. A baby to take home and love and raise. One that we would watch grow up into a toddler and a child and a teenager.
But we left with a box.
A box filled with beautiful keepsakes that I didn’t ask for. They were not what we wanted and they were all we had left. I resented that box. I wanted nothing to do with that box.
Who could ever want a box when they were supposed to have a baby?
It didn’t matter how beautiful the items were or how thoughtful the intention. All that mattered was I entered the hospital expecting to bring home a baby and I left with a box.
