Little boxes....

I pulled the little ceramic box down from it's hiding place on the shelf. Dust had collected on it's simple and sweetly carved lid. I hesitated for a minute and set it down carefully on the antique sewing table Jason just brought home for me.

I didn't want that table.....the sewing machine it houses is old and broken and will most likely stay that way, but the table itself is actually beautiful. Simple and sturdy..... Still, I didn't want it. It belonged to his beloved Granny who died just a few months ago at the age of 82. It's not that I didn't like her....I loved her. And it's not that I really don't have room for another table. It's just that....and this will make me sound like an asshole...it belonged to someone who just died.

A dead person's things.....Maybe I don't understand the inclination to hold on to something that belonged to someone who no longer walks this earth. I've lost grandparents and other relatives....but no one from my immediate family. Okay, I don't understand. Or maybe, in my own way, I do.....

I glanced at that little box all day, every time I walked by it. It was after midnight when I finally allowed myself to open it. The little booties fit perfectly over the tip of my finger. The tiny cap that would have swallowed her even then...

I didn't know I had the option of burying her. I didn't know that people can and do bury their unborn babies. So much I didn't know.....so much I maybe just didn't want to know.....like it didn't really happen. But it did. And maybe I hold on to the little box so I know I didn't just imagine it all.