My Little Box of Memories

A Sentimental Look Back at Times Past

I am not what you would call a hoarder but like many people I keep treasured little things. I recently had a reason to go through a box of things I’d kept for James. I say kept for James because many years ago when I put them away, I assumed that one day he would have them. I didn’t know then that he never would because he doesn’t understand what they are, they won’t mean anything to him and that makes me sad. I don’t know what will happen to them but for now they are safely tucked away in a box for me to look at if I want to.  

That little box holds some reminders of the first few years of James’ life. I’ve not forgotten any of it of course, I lived through it, I was there for every moment but what I’d forgotten was just quite how difficult it had been. 

There are the obvious things in that box, the scan pictures and the name tag attached to his cot after he was born. There’s lots of James’ hospital name bands as he was in and out of hospital so often in those first three years, his first weight chart from the special care unit and a tiny blood pressure cuff too.

I went through the box all neatly stacked and there were many many cards, all labelled and organised in chronological order. My need to be so organised can be annoying sometimes but I’ve been glad of this trait many times when I’ve had to find something. It’s pretty rare that I can’t find something in my house. I don’t know where I get it from as my mum has many a photo without a date on and I know she’ll be smiling and agree as she reads this 😉.

The first of the cards were when James was born, the usual congratulatory kind of thing. A card from my mum and dad excited at the arrival of their first grandchild. These were soon followed by cards and letters from friends and family as they became aware that James wasn’t at all well and had been admitted to the special care unit the morning after his birth. These cards were very touching, expressing concern for James, Darryl and myself. Many were from my colleagues at work too.

It seems crazy now to think, but when James was born in 1996, it was a time before we all had mobile phones. Being in hospital myself for almost 3 weeks I was totally isolated from everyone and the only contact I had directly with anyone was via the payphone on the maternity ward and our visitors. The news of James’ birth was spread via my own family and Darryl. I was far too preoccupied with James and wouldn’t have had time (or enough change for the payphone) to contact everybody anyway.

There’s a polaroid photo of James in my box. He’s in an incubator and it was taken the day after he was born, most likely when he was admitted to the special care unit. I don’t remember it being taken but by the details written on it I think it may have been taken by staff for me to keep with me as I wasn’t able to stay with James on the unit, instead having to return to the maternity ward myself and then later, staying in a parents room along the corridor. I hated being in that room though obviously relieved I could stay nearby to James. It was next to the lift and all hours of the day and night I could hear the distinctive sound of the lift. To this day when I hear the familiar beep of a lift arriving and the doors opening it takes me right back to that room and the loneliness and uncertainty we were facing.

James was Christened in March 1997 and there are invitation acceptance cards along with his Baptism card and candle and a gold St Christopher given to James by my sister for his christening. There’s also Darryl’s first birthday card ‘To Daddy’ and a set of memorabilia football coins from the year of James’ birth and lots of First Birthday cards to James too.

In July 1997 James was in Southampton Hospital to have open heart surgery. He had a large atrial septal defect that needed closing. I stayed there with him as I always did when he was in hospital. There are lots of get-well letters in my memory box from that time, and cards and letters from my mum and dad and my sister to James. Even now all these years on reading the cards written to James from my mum and dad brought me to tears, telling him ‘what a brave little boy he was.’

My sister, Joan, lived away in Northampton at the time on a canal boat and so contact between us was extremely limited when I was in hospital. She used to rely on my parents to get updates regarding James and she would write to me and James regularly as it was the only form of contact we really had. In one letter she wrote that she had “the worst day of her life” waiting for news and was so relieved to speak to Grandad and hear that James had come through the operation ok.  

There was only a small shop where Joan lived and so the choice of cards she could find to send was very limited. James would get pictures of horses or penguins or she would make a picture card herself to send him.  Joan would write with any news and she had and would talk about when she was next planning to visit. It was always nice when hospital staff appeared with a letter. I spent many very long lonely days in hospital.

There are many more cards and letters in my memory box in a similar vein received during other spells in hospital. Friends and family offering support and just wanting us to know they were thinking of us. There’s a letter from my mum’s employers, a lovely couple, June and Geoff and they gave mum lots of time off so she was able to come and spend time at the hospital with me and James. Its funny the things you remember, Mum used to bring me lunch sometimes and used to bring crème caramels. The hospital food got so monotonous and expensive too when you were in for long periods of time, and I also wasn’t able to leave James for long to go to the canteen. June and Geoff have long since retired and mum stopped working for them many years ago but we are still in contact and June always asks after James.

Strange really, looking through these little mementos, it’s almost like it’s someone else’s life but it wasn’t, it was ours. I cried reading the cards and letters but it reminds me how far we have come, how far James has come. When I see the 26 year old before me now it’s hard to remember he was so tiny and so frail. The worry never goes away. We are still facing some ongoing health issues now and I worry more than I ever knew possible, but 26 years ago I couldn’t have dreamed we would be where we are today.