Director's Story

Written by Sheona McDonald

In August of 2003, when I was pregnant with my first child, a friend of mine had a son, Owen, born still, full term. I still remember the day, the moment when Jon called me and told me. I was at work. I was shocked. I knew of miscarriage as a common concern, particularly in the first 12 weeks of a pregnancy. Peripherally, I knew of stillbirth, as a concept as something that "used to happen", but it had never touched my life so closely.

Our friends went away for several months to mourn, gather themselves, rest. When they returned they took bereavement courses and we would talk to them about what they were going through. I remember after one of the classes my friend shared with me that they had all shown pictures of their babies. 'Pictures?' I remember thinking, 'How strange, to take photographs of a dead baby.' It wasn't that I found it distasteful, I'd just never thought about it before. Until then, I'd never had cause to.

Director Sheona McDonald

A couple of years later, in the Spring of 2005, my husband came into my office on a Saturday afternoon. He'd read about an organization in the States called Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep (NILMDTS) that were taking beautiful photographs of families with a dying infant, or in some cases a baby who had already died. He suggested it would make a great documentary. I agreed immediately, not only that it would be a good documentary, but a documentary that I should make. That night I got in touch with Heather Rivlin, the first Canadian regional coordinator for NILMDTS, to talk more about her work and to discuss the possibility of making a film. She responded quickly, and favourably, and we met shortly thereafter.

The process of actually producing the film happened very fast and within six months of proposing the idea we were in production. This was very exciting, but also a little daunting. I'd proposed that I was going to be able to work with families going through these situations but had no proof that anyone was going to agree to have a camera record the most vulnerable and intense times of their lives. There also wasn't any way to pre-plan or pre-interview. I had to trust. I had to trust Heather and the relationships that she'd formed with hospitals. I had to trust that the hospitals would help us out in whatever ways they could. And, ultimately, I had to trust that this was a project that should be made and that the right people would find me and agree to participate.

It was September, 2006 when I heard from CBC Newsworld that they were on board. (As an aside, I was five months pregnant at the time.) We got greenlit on Friday and on Saturday morning Heather called to tell me there was a family who were willing to participate. I remember thinking that we just wouldn't be ready, didn't have all of our paperwork in place, hadn't cleared it with the hospital, my cinematographer was out of town. However, amazingly, the hospital said yes, and I realized that I couldn't be the one to hold this process up. We went, we filmed and we were officially "in production".

From an emotional perspective that was an incredibly challenging shoot. To hold a sick, little, one month old girl in my arms and be told that she would become non-responsive in 48 hours, was almost too much to bear. But, on returning home that evening, I thought I needed to be tough, to prove that I could handle the emotional roller coaster I'd chosen to go on. I should have just cried, instead I vented inappropriately at Jon for two days until I finally let it out.

So many people had asked me how I could make a film about something so sad. I never had a great answer. I just knew that it was important for me to make not only a film, but a beautiful film that would pay tribute to these short lives and allow families to talk about the relationships they had with their children. I knew that I wanted to acknowledge that a short life was a whole life. I knew that the photographs and how people remember were pivotal to the story and I knew, that although there was no denying it was unbelievably sad, there was a beauty, a love, a passion and commitment to life and relationship that I wanted to capture.

When I interviewed Lori, the Perinatal Bereavement and Palliative Care Coordinator at SickKids NICU, I asked her "how can you do this work day in and day out?". I remember her answer clearly because it allowed me to understand how I could make this film. She told me that she couldn't change the fact that babies die, but she could help make the journey around it easier. And somehow, in that moment, I felt like I understood better what I was doing – like my work was an extension of hers.

People also asked me how I could make this film as a mother, or even more staggeringly, while pregnant. That was easier for me to answer. I couldn't have made this film if I wasn't a mother. I wouldn't have understood the depth of the bond or the extent of the loss. As for my pregnancy, it wasn't easy and I would be lying to say that I didn't have fears, but working on this project didn't make me think there was more chance that something would happen to my baby. It allowed me the peace of mind to know that I would understand some of the process if I was faced with such an intense and unimaginable challenge.

(Though I must say here that even after having worked on this film for over two years, I have NO idea what the experience would actually be like, what choices I would make...it remains impossible to fathom or truly understand, and although I have deep and profound sympathy, compassion and respect for the people I met and families I worked with, I cannot pretend I can empathize – I remain in awe of their strength).

In terms of shooting, from September forward, things slowed down. Although Heather continued to work with families, it wasn't her place to ask them if she wanted to participate and the hospital were, understandably, very wary about who to approach about a film and how. I waited and filled my time shooting imagery and working with families who had lost a child previously and were willing to share their experiences with me. Though these stories were equally touching and heartbreaking, there was a different quality to the experience because I was able to meet with people first, talk to them and have them meet me and be able to ask me questions.

I realized during this time that I didn't need to film several photo shoots. That, in fact, much of the film was already done. I knew I needed to work with one more family directly and when that family appeared we would be finished.

In June, 2007, my phone rang on a Tuesday at noon. My husband was out of town and my son, born in February, was four months old. Heather was calling and it seemed there was a family willing to participate. I started to make arrangements, call my cinematographer, who happened to be on her way into town on a bus, call my sound guy, and get everything ready. I called around to see who could pick up my daughter and take my son, (who I was still breastfeeding at the time). Within an hour everything was set and we were told if we could be at the hospital in three hours we could shoot.

While I could prepare from a production standpoint, one thing I couldn't prepare for, ever, was walking in to someone's nightmare and turning on a camera. These first time parents had made the decision to allow their daughter to be extubated, to have her breathing tube removed. I didn't have time to form, or build relationship. I nervously took a breath, went into the room, introduced myself, explained the project, made sure they were okay with us being there, reminded them we would leave at any point we were asked to, gave Robin the okay to shoot and then remained as invisible as possible for the next few hours.

"Why?", people ask, "would anyone agree to participate." It's a tough question and not really mine to answer. But from what I can tell, for this couple in particular, they recognized that if their story, and Lydia's life, could make a difference for others who would find themselves in this situation, her spirit would live on.

It seems we want to believe, as a society, that everything surrounding childbearing is beautiful. A pastel world where nothing goes wrong and, if there are complications, they can be fixed. We seem to think that, with modern technology, babies don't die anymore. We don't want to acknowledge that birth and death can come in the same breath, but they can, and they do, not often, but often enough that we need to learn how to talk about it.

I was a small cog in the wheel that brought this film to completion. There are so many people I am thankful for, so many people I am grateful to, for sharing their stories and working with me to make those stories look, sound and feel as beautiful as they are.