The Market and Death

In short: The Super Bowl is known for cool ads--ads that make us laugh; ads that are irreverent; ads that stick; and ads that we'll talk about and share.

This super bowl ad season did not disappoint. Well not the advertisers anyway--they got the attention they wanted. But it did disappoint this bereaved mom. In particular the ad that used child death to sell it's product to get people to link to it's pages and to remember it's name. I'm not linking the ad and I'm not naming it. You can figure it out if you desire. But I am sharing my thoughts about it, because many in my community are conflicted about it.

The ad shows a boy who is unable to do what all the other children are doing. Then after a few examples he explains that he's dead. And then the company shows images of preventable, but all to common household accidents that result in a child's death.

And, I've been thinking about this one. Some liked it because finally someone was talking about child death. But, I didn't like it. Not because it reminded me my child is dead--like I ever forget she's gone.
Not because it was an inappropriate venue to discuss child death--for me everything's on the table for discussion. I'm not afraid to talk death.

It's because they didn't start with "we care about your kids." Instead they drew folks in with light music, heartwarming images, and manipulated the expectations of the market. The market--you know--us. And the market research told them that this approach would ge a strong emotional reaction and the stronger the emotional reaction, the more likely consumers (again us) will remember the brand. They used the element of surprise like a M. Night Shyamalan movie, and this I believe, was purposeful. I suspect the company knew there would be outrage and controversy because that very outrage translates to free social media marketing. I don't believe for an instant that they aimed to diminish the viewer's shock and horror at realizing that they were staring at a dead child. Rather, that emotion was their aim. And they succeeded.

Nope, I didn't like it. I didn't like what I perceived as a "sucker punch" to parents of living children, hopeful parents to be, and bereaved parents with or without living children.

I am sorry children die. I'm sorry my child died. I'm not afraid to include my child in casual or formal conversations. I'm no longer so fragile to avoid or be destroyed for days after viewing a storyline about children dying.

The "mad men" succeeded in starting a conversation as they claimed was their goal, but I can't award any kudos for their efforts. They'll get those in website hits and $$$.

Rabbit Hole

Rabbit Hole is a movie getting some press lately about a couple whose son dies. I thought I might go see it, but didn't want to sit and watch another mis-informed stupid story about how the death of a child results in some happy ending--a happy ending that "normals" write, because they don't understand this life. You know, the one where some event or gift of life "fixes" them.

I saw an interview with Nicole Kidman, who said she didn't talk to bereaved parents because as a parent she could use her own emotions. Well, OK, but you can't know these emotions through the fear of the worst possible event in your life--ask a bereaved parent. Rumors swirl that she may understand because she had some miscarriages. Ah, well, I wonder at whether that should matter to me if it's a useful story.

I watched the trailers and thought, well, maybe it will be a comforting depiction. It was snippets of echos of some of my experiences. Especially the first group meeting I went too, when parents 8, 12, and more years out than me were sobbing.

Then I found the screen play, and read from beginning to end. It's good. It makes sense. So, I tried to find a theatre "near me," and well, although the horror movies and the violent sex thrillers are easy to find--a drama about the death of a child without blood or intrigue or the devil's spawn, just wasn't to be found near me.

God, we are all too afraid to feel anything real, and so we see movies to feel the extremes of what isn't real. I think it's like an anesthesia.

Don't Panic Take Two

I'm re-reading the third in the series of "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" and given my last post, smiled when I read these words.

There is an art, it says, or rather, a knack to flying. The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss.

So, that's my plan, will take a leap and forget to land. New motto:

Have Risk: Will Fly

Don't Panic

are the words written in friendly letters on "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy." Wish the "Book 'O Life" came with this friendly suggestion. As I get closer to my new job, I find that panic is a occurring far to frequently. Perhaps I will find that the answer is 42 and that even though the new job won't be the life I had hoped for it may be "not entirely unlike" fulfilling.

He's Grommit to My Wallace

With all this lack of sleep and restless sleep and grief-infused sleep, I've been feeling exhausted during the day. DH and I watched Wallace and Grommit shorts last night. The DVD included additional segments of "Cracking Contraptions."


The snoozatron had me in stitches. Perhaps I need a snoozatron and an understanding dog or . . . a loyal companion or . . . a loving husband?! Heh heh, sometimes DH must feel like Grommit when I have these tossoturn nights.


You can see the flick here. I highly recommend buying or renting these highly creative and funny videos. It gets my safe for babyloss mamas stamp-o-'pproval!

Even Old Movies

DH and decided that we ought to see some of the classic movies and so put a few Academy Award-winning flicks on our Netflicks queue. Two of those films were Spartacus and Lawrence of Arabia. Well, even in the old movies, I couldn't help but watch with my bereaved eyes.

Spartacus has been aired on TV in the past with cuts from the original, and I had seen it some times ago. We rented the restored version, which means I would be able to see the whole movie unedited for TV and we could see added scenes that were left on the cutting room floor. One of those scenes that was restored was a long trek the escaped slaves made across the land to the sea. On that trek we see many struggles, and at one point the group moves on in the background and a mother and father dig a hole in the ground and bury their baby. The mother lays some barely bloomed flowers on the body in the dirt and then with barely a motion seeps dirt over the child. DH looks at me and says, "I'm sorry dear." I thought about how many parents lost children, but in the historical period of this movie mothers and fathers lost children at rates I could not bear in these modern times. The scene threatened to overwhelm me, but since the acting was stylized to the period, I was OK. I was more interested in the later commentary that the "burying the baby scene" had been restored and wondered if it was deleted because nobody would want to see them bury a child. They were all moving toward freedom after all, and it would be better to show them in their hopeful and successful state.

We haven't finished Lawrence of Arabia, but one line in the first half stuck with me. "Nothing is written." This is what Lawrence says to his Arab companion who tells him not to go back to save a man who fell off his camel as they trekked across the desert to the sea (I know trekking to the sea seems to be required in old movies--heh heh.). "It is written," he says. This statement is made frequently in the movie that when someone dies or something bad happens, it seems dismissed with the belief that God/Allah has already written it to be so. Lawrence declaims that nothing is written until you "write it in here" and he points to his mind. He suggests that one can determine one's own fate. But we later see that he is not correct about that either. A child dies, a teenager, and Lawrence is helpless to save him. The child falls into quick sand as the three of them (yes) trek across the desert to Cairo. Lawrence says nothing about what is written, and collapses in the sand with the child's friend/brother. Although not a parent of the child, he parented these orphan teens in their travels and like a bereaved parent he claimed to have "killed the boy" because he was unable to save him. That line brought about familiar emotions of feeling responsible for the deaths of our children. If we had only . . . .

Short Movie Review: The UGH Rating

I should like to note that all birth scenes, particularly dramatic ones, should be avoided or there ought to be a warning label provided for bereaved mothers who experienced traumatic birth and subsequent death of their children. We have "gratuitous violence," "sex," and "mature language" (that one makes me laugh as there are plenty of mature people out there who wouldn't think of using that kind of language). 

After seeing Star Trek, I must give it three out of four "UGHS". The baby lives, but seriously, it was the crappiest part of the movie for me. I survived it--with eyes closed--and managed to enjoy (yes, I did enjoy the movie) the rest of the story. 

Anyone else want to weigh in? Any other movies that require an UGH rating? 

To Those Who See Thestrals in Real Life

I'm veering onto a path of popular culture to share one of the ways I try to explain to others this phenomenon of recognizing death. The lens I use since Caitlin's death, and what I see when I look at the world through my eyes--the eyes of a bereaved parent. It's a little like Harry and Luna in "The Order of the Phoenix," one of the Harry Potter movies.

There's a scene where Harry is on his way to Hogwarts with his friends and he turns around and looks behind him.


HIs friends remain fixated at what lies ahead, but Harry turns around and sees what was and what is. Thestrals. Ugly creatures and yet gentle, because they know what they are. Visible reminders that death is real.



He asks, "Don't you see them? What's pulling the carriage." And his friend answers, "Nothing's pulling the carriage, Harry. It's pulling itself just like it always does." Ah, the luxury of ignorance.



He meets Luna, who assures him that he sees what he sees. She's quite calm about it as she can see them too. We find out later in the film that Harry and Luna see the Thestrals because they have witnessed death. And that's a bit what it's like seeing through bereaved eyes--We recognize each other. We know the look of seeing death. Other's will look past it, but we will see it in the eyes of our fellow bereaved. We will hear it in the careful words they choose to use in answering "How many children do you have?"

Other's who without this death experience believe that life gets pulled by itself "just like it always does," and those who have seen death know that sometimes what pulls us through life is the knowing that it (death) does and can happen. We need the Thestrals to pull the carriage, because left to ourselves we would melt in despair on the forest floor.



To those who see Thestrals, I echo what Luna says, "It's OK, you're not crazy. I see them too."