Do you see this box?
It sits beside my bed.
Inside live all the earthly possessions of my child.

Come open it with me and think of him.

Inside you’ll find the soft, hand knit cap
which covered his small head that cold December night.

There, see… the smocked, blue gown
still smelling of iodine and medicine
which clothed his war torn body.
Hold it close and get a sense of him.

The receiving blanket,
pink and blue teddy bears dancing,
They swaddled him up as if to imitate my womb.
How soft it is, do you wonder about the softness of his skin?
Do you smell the scent of him?
It still lives through the scent of all my tears.

A rattle which was never shaken, 3 pairs of unworn socks, cards with
words of sorrow, encouragement and love.
Autopsy reports, birth and death certificates.
The tiny wristband identical to mine.

At least I have the pictures, do you see his
sweet, sweet face.
Oh how I wish I had seen him smile.
Look at what death did to him, the cold, the blue.
No rushing newborn photographer here.

Look at all of this within this one foot box.
There is no nursery here, no musical mobiles, no Dr. Seuss or Big Bird.
You see here only these few precious grains of sand I desperately
caught as the rest went slipping through my fingers.
Look here and think of him.

By Cybele Eckles Ryan in loving memory of her son Lucas.

Born with Polycystic Kidney Disease on 12/20/94

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