The Box – a poem by Jude Davies
There’s a box
It’s a memory box but we don’t have many memories.
The box feels cavernous.
In the box are…
Our first pregnancy test, our second pregnancy test. Your scan picture. Another scan picture.
![Scan image of a baby](https://usercontent.one/wp/miscarriagematters.morgans-wings.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2021/10/Bee-scan.jpg)
And then…
A baby-grow that you never got to wear
A dummy, a bottle, never used.
A teddy, the matching one got cremated with you.
The scatter tube from your ashes.
Your cremation certificate.
![a memory box](https://usercontent.one/wp/miscarriagematters.morgans-wings.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2022/11/memory-box-2-768x1024.jpg)
There are memories I have that can’t go in a box.
The day we found out we were expecting you – so much joy, the tears of happiness
The day I bled – so frightening, the tears of fear
The scan with a heartbeat – so much relief, the tears of relief
The second scan where we not only saw your heart beat, we heard it too – the tears of joy
The third scan where we heard those devastating words – There’s no heartbeat – the tears of raw, uncontrollable grief.
Your birth, just us – numb with shock
Your funeral – tears of sorrow
![a couple standing together](https://usercontent.one/wp/miscarriagematters.morgans-wings.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/JG_Engagement044-1024x683.jpg)
If my tears could be captured there wouldn’t be a box big enough to hold those.
That’s all I have of you. 14 weeks of memories and a lifetime of sorrow.
by Jude Davies