Your Name on the Big Screen

Dearest Leo,

Return to Zero movie poster

A few months ago, I contributed some funds for the making of a movie titled "Return to Zero". It's a movie about a couple that have a stillborn son. It's a movie that is meant to break the silence, to help parents who have lost a baby and to help others understand what we all went through. The movie played on Lifetime TV a few times, but I was not able to watch it. Two weeks ago I received the DVD in the mail. I was so excited. I had been waiting a long time for it and it felt surreal to finally have it with me. There it was. I held it for a long time, wondering when I would have the courage to finally watch it. I had seen many previews, I knew this was a story that I would identify myself with...unfortunately. But I also knew that the message was powerful and that I had to watch it.

Well, I finally did. Today was the day. I sat in front of my screen, with a box of tissues by my side, ready to cry. Don't get my wrong, crying is not a bad thing. Sometimes, I need something to help me cry, something that will encourage me to let those feelings out...the feelings of pain, of suffering, of anger. And the movie did that, but it also made me laugh and it made me think. But mostly, it made me feel grateful. When I lost you Leo, I looked online for videos, movies, music that could help me. I looked for ways that could validate my feelings and comfort me...and found very little out there. I'm grateful that this movie came out, that it will help many bereaved parents and their families.

Obviously, I knew how the movie was going to end. I knew their baby would die. It's a little bit like watching the Titanic. You know there will be a catastrophe, and you're watching mostly to see how the events unfold, what happens after, how people get through the tragedy. While my story is different from that of Aaron and Maggie in the movie, our endings are the same: dead baby, suffering, confusion, anger.

It might be strange for me to say this but I loved the movie. I am thankful for the director and actors for having the courage to produce such a beautiful and raw film. But I have to say, that to me, the most beautiful part was at the end...when the credits rolled. There it was, in white on a completely black screen: your name! Because I helped fund the movie, I was blessed to have the opportunity to put your name in the credits. It is so rare to hear your name, and even more rare to see it in writing. I was reading all the names of dead babies on the screen - gosh there were so many and that is so horrible! But I imagine that those babies' parents feel like I feel: really moved, grateful and happy to see our baby's name very clearly written in black and white on the big screen. It's a wonderful feeling.

This movie is for you Leo. 

Return to Zero credits. In memory of...

Getting to know grief

My sweet darling Leo,

I have been reading so many articles written by and for the baby loss community, trying to understand and validate my own feelings and somewhat crazy thoughts. And thank God, I know that most of what is going through my head and heart is normal. 

But there's something new that I'm learning now, something that I haven't read about yet. I'm slowly getting to know grief, but most importantly, I'm getting reacquainted with the bereaved me, the me with grief. You know how 2 people in a relationship tend to change? Either through influence or through an active effort to become better or to please one another? Well, Grief is now my daily companion and she is changing me. 

Last night I went to a party where someone said "I've heard what happened. I'm sorry. You'll have another one soon." A few months ago, that comment would have upsetted me, but I've grown past that. I've always understood that people don't really know what to say because they can't comprehend the suffering that comes with losing a child, even if the child was in this world for a brief moment. But even though I understood that, it would hurt me deeply to hear others say that I could make everything better by replacing you Leo, with another baby.  It would sting and aggregate me. Yesterday though, it didn't affect me at all. I genuinely smiled, grateful that someone had said something to me about you that night. I know it came from a good place and that it must have been hard for her to approach me and say those words. 

 

One of my friends brought her 2-month old baby to the party. I couldn't wait to hold him. While I was playing and taking to that sweet baby, I also realized that I didn't feel any sadness. I didn't wish he was you. I was fully in the moment, enjoying that little boy. No negative feelings or thoughts came to me. It might seem trivial, but this is a huge step for me. 

I have had 30+ years to mature, but with grief in my life, I need to go through that process of growth and maturity again. I am making baby steps, but at least, those steps are going forward. I feel somewhat pround of myself for this growth.

Feeling happiness for others

Dear Leo,

I'm a little ashamed to say this because I'm your mother and mothers should be mature and strong...but here goes: I have a hard time feeling happy for all my friends who are announcing pregnancies or who are bringing perfect little babies into this world. It's horrible, I know. It's such a happy moment for them. I should know...I was happy too not too long ago. 

It's a weird feeling. In a way, I'm relieved that things are going well and that they don't have to experience the gut- wrenching pain of losing a child. But at the same time, I wonder why it's so easy for others. Why wasn't it this simple for me? Why? I'm still struggling with this one.

I got a call this week from a friend announcing a pregnancy. I said all the right things and asked the usual questions: "congratulations! How far along are you? When is the due date? How are you feeling? Do you know the sex? Will you find out? Etc. etc." I think I was able to hide the fact that deep down my heart was aching and my entire being was screaming "why!?!". 

This grief is complex to say the least. It brings out the worst in me, but occasionally brings out the best in me. Last week at my monthly parent support group meeting, one of the ladies who suffered a series of baby losses told me she was pregnant. I was genuinely happy for her! After all that she went through she deserves this and I hope that this time, things go right. I'm praying for her, her husband, and this new baby.  But why is it that I have no problem being happy for her but struggle to be happy for others? For those who haven't suffered what I suffered? Most of them are deserving of a child too. (Most of them). 

If I'm being honest with myself, I think I'm a little jealous. Jealousy is such and ugly and useless feeling. It doesn't amount to anything. But here I am, jealous of all the little perfect families out there. Jealous of those who get to take their babies home, jealous of those complaining about sleepless nights and the terrible twos. 

I'm not proud of it. I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to get over this ugly feeling.