In the basement, there was a box hidden behind old Christmas decorations and dusty photo albums. To anyone else, it was just a random box covered in dust. But to Stacey and her husband, it meant the world to them. It held a hope that was once their happiest moment, but they could not hold on to it. It was gone just as quickly as another season.
Five years ago, happiness was dancing in their house. They got to know they were becoming parents to not only one but triplets—two girls and a boy. They had been hoping for this for years, seeing one doctor after another, a vicious cycle. When they got the news, they were on cloud nine. They spent hours preparing the nursery, shopping for the tiny clothes, and picking out names. They laughed at how little sleep they’d get. They got three of everything, three cribs lined up side by side. Three car seats are ready. More diapers than they could count. Friends and family were excited, making the house filled with the kind of chaos that comes with big plans.
Little did they know that not everything was in their favour, as by 22 weeks, Stacey went into labor. The babies came too early. They were so small it was hard to believe they could survive. For a brief moment, Stacey and her husband held all three of their angels. But the nightmare was waiting for them as they lost their two babies within a week, and only one survived. This incident grew quiet. The nursery stayed locked. Seeing the tiny clothes and empty cribs made her chest tighten with grief.
What do parents do with all the baby things when their children are gone? Stacey could ask herself. The once joyful room now carried too much pain. She avoided the room for months. What had been meant for three was now only for one. The pain stayed with her, every time heavier than the previous and constant. Slowly, with the help of her family, she began to sort things. Some were returned. Some were given away. The nursery was adjusted for the only surviving baby. But one box remained closed. Stacey carried it to the basement. She never opened it. She never dared to open it.
Nearly two years later, she found herself in the basement again as if something was calling her in there; she never planned it. She sat on the floor and pulled the box close. When she opened it, the smell of baby detergent hit her first. Inside were three tiny outfits—two pink, one blue. Blankets, burp cloths, and towels, all folded neatly. Her hands shook, her eyes filled with tears as she thought of the babies who never got a chance to live and all the little moments she had imagined with them. She and all three of her babies together.
She kept a few things. The matching outfits she had bought while pregnant. A baby shower card. A small hospital bracelet. The rest she gave to other families who actually needed them. When she closed the box, it felt lighter. She wasn’t “over it” and the sadness was still there, but it didn’t weigh on her as heavily. Although only three of them were there but, her family would always be five, the other two being part of her life. She thought about them often and how they had changed everything. Standing in the quiet basement, she felt a calmness settle over her. A peaceful kind of remembering. It wasn’t the end. It was her way of keeping their memory close without letting it break her.
