Break the Silence

(This is a guest blog from Mike Monday about his experience knowing Sean & Kiley before, during and after the loss of their son and his subsequent visit to the set of “Return to Zero” during filming. Thanks for sharing this with us, Mike.)

Break the silence.

That’s the stated goal of ‘Return To Zero”, to break the silence that surrounds stillbirth and to let those that are going through the associated grief know that they are not alone. I know that silence all too well. When Sean, the movie’s writer and director, called me one morning in July 2005 with the news that his son Norbert had been stillborn, silence was about the only response I could muster. I know I managed a few “I’m so sorry”s and other feeble attempts at comfort, but what I recall most is the silence - long gaps when I couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t seem wholly inadequate.

A little background. I’ve known Sean since the first day of first grade. We met on September 4, 1974 and he’s been my best friend since. We grew up together and have gone through just about every major life event imaginable together. We’ve shared both the best and worst times in our lives. We acted at the Best Man at each other’s wedding. We’ve talked each other through some difficult times - often with humor that would probably seem inappropriate to most other people. I would have said that there was nothing that we couldn’t talk about.

But that phone call left me mostly mute. Before we hung up, I remember saying something like “Let’s pretend that there’s a perfect thing to say in this situation, and that I said it.” It was the best I could do at the time. We spoke several times over the next few weeks, and I could offer a sympathetic ear, but still couldn’t find the words that could either adequately express my sympathy or make any kind of dent in the pain. But my silence wasn’t just because I couldn’t find the right thing to say, I was also terrified of saying the wrong thing and, if such a thing were possible, making matters worse.

I did feel deeply sorry for Sean and Kiley’s loss, but as much wanted to empathize with what they were experiencing, I really couldn’t. You see, unlike the other posters on the “Return To Zero” blog, I haven’t lost a child. During each of my wife’s two pregnancies we had scares - she had pre-term labor and heavy bleeding right after 9/11 while she was pregnant with my son and we spent several days in the hospital hoping he’d make it. But today, I’m the father of a wonderful son and a beautiful daughter. I don’t know, can’t know, the pain of the loss that Sean and Kiley, and others like them, have experienced. And so I when I would talk to Sean in the weeks after Norbert’s loss, my sympathy was genuine, but I couldn’t help feeling like I had no place trying to offer any comfort. I was fraud who couldn’t possibly understand. I was a tourist in the pain, because when I hung up the phone, my kids were there to play with, give hugs to, and tuck in at night.

But then came Norbert’s memorial service - a ceremony much like the one for Arthur in the movie. People gathered to show their support for Sean and Kiley, who literally leaned on each other in front of everyone. At one point, the minister asked if anyone had anything to say. I feared more silence. But one by one, people spoke up. They expressed their own grief, they offered condolences to Sean and Kiley, and they told them that they were loved. Many, including me, were not terribly eloquent, but all were genuine. Lots of grown men, again including me, were frequently reduced to tears. I told Sean later that night, and have said many time since, that Norbert’s memorial service was simultaneously one of the most horrible and most wonderful things I’ve ever experienced.

I stayed up late talking with Sean after the service, long after Kiley had gone to bed and everyone else had gone home. We sat outside and raised a few glasses to Norbert. At some point, I came to realize that I wasn’t going to find the right words. I couldn’t say the right thing. No such “right thing” exists in this circumstance. All I had to do, and all I could do, was be there. My silence was OK, because it meant I could listen. That night, Sean needed to talk. He needed to talk about Norbert, and how he and Kiley were reacting differently to their loss, and about the plans they’d made that would not be realized, and how he knew he was a father now even if Norbert wasn’t physically with him every day. It was one of the best talks we’d ever had, and my part was mostly silence.

A couple of years ago, Sean sent me his “Return To Zero” script. I could tell from the first few pages that this was a story he had to tell, and I was simply amazed when I visited the set and got to see the vision made real. While there, I met Brent, an amazing guy from Seattle who had heard about the movie and had come down to the set to offer to help, all in tribute to his daughter Emily, whom he and his wife lost 10 years ago. I asked about Emily, and he told me her story, ending it with “Thanks for asking about her.”

I hope this movie can help create more encounters like the one I had with Brent. People who experience the loss of the child should be able to talk about it, and their friends and family should be unafraid to be there to listen. I’ve learned that while saying “I’m sorry for your loss” isn’t going to magically make a grieving parent feel better, it does carry meaning. The role for those of us who haven’t gone through this unimaginable pain should be to simply show that we care, to be present and available, and to let the ones that need us talk as much or as little about it as they want to. I hope this movie can be a big step in accomplishing its goal.

Break the silence.