Lily's Cedar Memory Chest

I really wanted a cedar memory chest for Lily Katherine's things for a long time, but didn't know where to find one and how much it would cost.

Then, a couple years ago (I've been meaning to share this since then), my mom and I stopped at a random little gas station on the way home from being out of town. That is where I found it, just outside of Greensboro, NC. I didn't get it when I first saw it, but went home and decided it was perfect.

My mom remembered the exit where we saw it, so I looked up the gas station number online and got in contact with the elderly man who handcrafts the chests. He said he would hold it for me.

So, I went back the next day and purchased it for $100. I have seen cedar chests online that look quite similar to mine, going for $500-$600! I truly believe God cares about the small details of our lives. He knew I wanted a cedar chest to hold the memories of my baby girl and had it picked out for me, prompting us to stop at that gas station and giving me a price I could afford. It is exactly what I dreamed of to hold the most sacred keepsakes I have.

the inside of Lily's memory chest

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It's all I'll ever have

Hesitantly, I ventured into the space that belongs to her. Everywhere I look, there are screaming reminders of what could have been, the dreams that died that stormy March day. Today was the second time since Lily left this world that I was brave enough to go in there. And the only reason I did was because I wanted to find the little outfit she wore at the hospital and the matching blanket she was swaddled in, to add to my Lily chest. I've been desperately wanting a place to keep all my sacred keepsakes, all the things that remind me of her. And today I found it. I found the most perfect memory chest to house all my most beloved possessions. If there were a fire, it would be the first thing I would grab. I've wanted a concrete place to keep these things, but didn't quite know where to find it or how much it would cost. At GoodWill, of all places, there it awaited me. $23.71. That's what I paid for something so precious. It is exactly the way I envisioned it (pictures to come) and her things fit in there like a glove. The chest was just made for me.


I have everything in there that I want, everything that is, except for her hospital outfit and blanket. I know I must go upstairs to search for it, but I've been too afraid to go in there. 


The instant I walk in, my entire mood shifts. Gloomy, sad, lonely. My heart is heavy as I look around at all the decorations my mom and I had so meticulously figured out the placement of. The bright color scheme no longer seems exciting and cheery, but dark and somber. The paintings on the wall of a child and her mother, the crib, the dresser. I peek in each drawer and recognize all the tiny outfits that we had so enjoyed picking out and it rips my heart out knowing she never got to wear those tiny clothes that she would have already outgrown. I couldn't bear to take those outfits out and look at them. I'm not quite ready to face that dream that was snatched away so soon. I look in the closet where mom had created the "changing station." The pink walls surround the fully stocked changing table, with everything from Burt's Bees diaper cream and diapers, to kitten baby towels. It was all ready to go, now it just sits untouched, unused, unnoticed. Time seems to be frozen to a time before March 16th, when life was happy and I was full of hope. My green diaper bag that I got for free at LifeCare and matches perfectly with Lily's Moses basket sits at the foot of the changing table. Slowly, I unzip it, not knowing what I'll find. It's full of the things we packed to go to the hospital with. We had packed her bag and had it ready long before my own bag. After carefully examining which outfits Lily would look her best in, we made our selections. The only outfit left in there is pink. One of the other outfits that had been in there Lily had worn at the hospital and the other, she now wears buried beneath the earth. There are wipes, and newborn diapers, and coupons for baby items in that bag. Hanging in the closet is that darling pink dress, the one we picked out specifically for her to wear on my 21st birthday, this August 12th. And oh, it just hurts. I must get out of this room.


Then, it hit me. All the memories I will ever have of Lily can be stored in that tiny chest. Instead of a lifetime of memories, scrapbooks and clothes outgrown, what rests in that box is all I have. Instead of bins of barbie dolls and magazines from American Girl, I have a baby doll that waits in a crib for a little girl that will never come. Instead of a future of stories and laughter, I have merely memories of stories and laughter. Instead of hair cuts and braids, I have a small strand of her hair. Instead of scribbled papers that are priceless pieces of art in my eyes, I have papers that the hospital gave on how to deal with grief. Instead of a little girl presenting the news like her mommy did, saying things like, "George Washington had a very bad day today," I have an imagination that I use to try to picture how my little girl might have been. 


A lifetime of memories has to fit into that little chest. And it's not enough...it'll never be enough. But, it's all I have. And I cling to it.

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