Free Three Minus One: Stories of Parents' Love and Loss by Jessica Watson Page B

voluntarily go that dark of a place and try to capture the feeling of losing their child. And so instead, we tell The Big Lie and pretend that the experience is so alien, so beyond our comprehension, that it surpasses our ability to even imagine it. In doing so, we put an emotional distance between ourselves and the tragedy, and we let ourselves feel secure that this horrible thing has happened to
them
, and it can’t happen to
me
.
    Around the time of Norbert’s memorial service, I confronted The Big Lie a couple of times. The first wasn’t by choice. Knowing they would be unable to get out the words, Sean and Kiley asked me to deliver a eulogy for Norbert that they had written. (A greater honor, I will probably never know.) As I read their moving words, I couldn’t help picturing myself trying to write something similar for one of my own kids and, for whatever reason, I thought of having to come up with a eulogy for my son, who was then just three. The second was on the plane ride home after the service. While thinking about Sean and Kiley, my mind raced back to the day my then twenty-two-month-old daughter was born. Minutes after her delivery, she stopped breathing and needed to be resuscitated by the attendant medical staff. I remembered the abject terror of waiting to hear that she would be okay, and began to wonder about the alternate universe in which she didn’t pull through. In both cases I quickly became overwhelmed with emotion and had to purposefully steer my mind away from the thoughts of any harm coming to my children. My imagination was taking me places I didn’t want to go.
    Which brings me back to disappearing friends. While I certainly can’t condone the abandonment of a friend who is grieving the loss of their child, I’d like to think that it’s not because those people are callous or indifferent to the suffering. Rather, I think it’s an extension of The Big Lie. Some must take “I can’t imagine…” to the next step, which I suppose is, “I won’t even deal with this.” It’s human nature to want to dodge pain—be it physical or emotional. By avoiding the situation entirely, these people can live in the phony world they’ve constructed, where terrible things only touch other people’s lives, and can’t invade theirs. To an extent, I can understand the desire to do that. We all want to believe that our children will be safe and that we can protect them from any dangers. But a stillbirth is one of those events that cruelly demonstrates to us that, sometimes, we have zero control over what happens to our loved ones, no matter how careful we are. By avoiding the parents, these former friends can shut out one reminder that tragedy can befall any of us, with or without warning.
    Parents who have lost a child have taken up residence in a town that no one wants to visit. While staying away reveals an astonishing failure of character, I don’t think it makes those people evil. It simply makes them afraid, flawed, and all too human. That’s why it’s so magnificent that a community has built up around
Return To Zero
. That community is a place where parents can share their similar but unique stories; where they can be assured that they are not alone no matter how much they may sometimes feel they are; and because of the shared experience of almost everyone there, where no one ever has to tell them The Big Lie.

Bella’s Story
    Paul De Leon
    T oday is Thursday, or so I’m told. Mommy must have been really busy today, because we were moving nonstop. Right when I would get comfortable, she would take off again. She told someone she was
going to work
earlier. I could hear music and the laughter of other children for most of the day. I wonder what her work is.
    Time has been going by so slow. I just want to meet her. I don’t know how much longer I have to wait, but it seems to be getting closer. I’ve been growing like a weed the last few weeks. I’m pretty sure I put on at least a pound