10 Years Later

10 Years Later
by Vicki Kennedy

Today 1-26-05, ten years to the day that Lauren was cremated.

I don't really remember that, but the little white box her ashes came in says so.

I have let everything else go in the house today. Once Nolan was on the bus on his way to preschool, I headed, with a kind of dread, to my bedroom to open Lauren's box. The box is a pretty painted wooden box, yellow, with white hydranges. I nailed a lock set on it when I bought it two years ago, keep the keys in a little glass heart shaped box on my dresser. Inside, on top, is the certificate from the hospital, recognizing her birth, with her footprints on the back. I think when I see them, what a good job the nurse did who printed them, it isn't so easy to do. I know that now that I work in a special care nursery and attend deliveries of live and stillborn infants.

I can't help but cry when I open the box, the tears run down my face in a kind of automatic response, I don't mind. Underneath her footprints is the pink blanket my mom crocheted for Lauren. I have it layed in the box like tissue paper, it surrounds everything else that is there. Three polaroids that a nurse took, one of our son Brian holding Lauren, one of me holding her and one of Dave, Lauren, and I. They sure do darken with age, yet our red, tear streaked faces are still easily seen. It is easy to tell that these are not happy new baby pictures. A little doll dressed in pink with blue eyes and a smiling face, bought by my mom for Lauren, the Christmas we knew she was coming, her first and only doll. The memory box, provided by the hospital, Lauren's baby braclets, a few tiny snips of her hair, the comb I used to comb it with after her only bath. Two outfits I bought new for Lauren, the day of the ultasound that pronounced her a girl. I am still sady that I didn't dress her in one of these, send her with them. Oh, the white dress, I did dress her in. It is so small, so soft, so perfect. Pictures taken by the camera used for all the live babies. They are the worst. They waited too long to take them. They are the hardest to look at, seeing what death did to my sweet baby girl. All the cards from so many people. I am not looking at them today, not enough time. I am still amazed at the number of them and all the kind words, wishes, and prayers sent to us. Lauren's ashes, in a white plastic box, "Kennedy, baby girl" printed on the side. I have hated that box all these years. They couldn't even type her full name? I suppose they didn't know it. It broke my heart years ago, it makes me physically ache even now to look at it and read the words. It also says, "cremated on 1-6-95." I don't remember ever reading that before. I couldn't transfer Lauren's ashes on her day. The other kids were home from school, records day. I needed to be alone to do this. So, today was a fitting day after all. 10 years to the day that she was cremated. The urn is small and so cold in my hand. The company that sent it, sent it in a blue velvet box, I will keep it in there also.

I meant to do this in my bedroom, but it isn't practical. I don't want to accidentally spill the ashes. So, to the kitchen. I layed out wax paper on the kitchen counter, to catch any ashes as I poured them. I opened the plastic box, inside in a little, clear, plastic baggie tied closed with a white plastic twistie tie, are Lauren's ashes. It is such a tiny amount, no more than 1/2 a cup. They should fit easily, I think. The urn unscrews like a medicine bottle, I like that, it will go back on tight, none will spill out. I made a paper funnel, and carefully started pouring the ashes in. Some did spill onto the wax paper. Not all of the ashes fit into the urn. I have to tap it on the counter to make room for more, still they don't all fit. Oh no, they have to all be together. God, I don't want to put that damn plastic box back in Lauren's box. But, they won't all fit. Some of the ashes puff up like smoke in the air. I really don't like that, I want them all together, some of them are on my hands, I rub them in. I can't think of anything else to put the rest of the ashes in. I remember Lauren's bush in the front yard. A pink magnolia, beautiful in the spring. I tightened the lid on Lauren's urn, put it back in the blue velvet box and place it all back in her box with all of her things, put the lock on and put the keys away. Put on my boots, coat, and mittens, got a small sharp spade. I dug a small hole under the 12 inches of snow, I went no deeper than three inches, but it's enough. I filled it back in, covered the snow back over. The snow will melt Lauren's ashes down into the ground, she will always be here too, a part of her, here with her magnolia in my front yard. I think I like that too. Definitely better than that white plastic box, now in the garbage. I am glad I will never look at it again.

Well, I am done. Another year has gone by without my little girl here. I think of what she would be like at 10, it makes me smile with tears in my eyes and running down my face. Rest little girl, wait for me, I love you.

Vicki,
Lauren's mom

You may reach Vicki at email for comments.

© 2005 by Vicki Kennedy. This work is protected by copyright and may be distributed or published only with the express written permission from its author. You may, without permission, publish or otherwise provide the URL (web address) of this page.

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