The hope chest is open and in front of me is the layette I brought you home in. I never told your dad how much money I spent on it. The delicate ruffles are now unraveling and they’re more yellow than they are white. The elastic around the legs have given their best for over 20 years but they have nothing more to give. I thought I would give this to you one day. It’s funny. I still see the rabbits how I saw them back then, they’re still as vibrant as they were the day we brought you home.
When I close my eyes and squeeze the layette, I can go back. I can hold you in my arms and feel the exhaustion. The pride of being your mother has never left me my darling. You’re still safe. When I open the hope chest and hold your layette, I can go back to a time when you were still safe in my arms.
Moving requires us to see, feel and touch everything we own. Stories from the Hope Chest will showcase 7 stories exploring the power of sentimental value. Please share your thoughts or your story with us.