My take on the Saratov Approach

Our thoughts and experiences tend to color the way we view life and interpret things. That is why a book, poem or art can mean different things to everyone. Tonight we watched the movie Saratov Approach and I noticed so many parallels to my trial of losing Jane. Most of the characters in the film experienced some of what I have gone through.

The missionaries, Elder Tuttle and Elder Probst, were living a good life. They were doing what they were supposed to be doing. They had solid faith in the gospel. But they were chosen to endure something scary. Their fear, then faith, then fear, then faith was so familiar. I feel like that daily, even hourly sometimes. But one of the Elders repeated his first discussion to bring himself comfort. Sometimes when our faith is shaken, we have to make a choice to have faith in what we already know instead of fearing everything we don't have answers to. 

The poor mothers of those missionaries were inspiring. Though some aspects of our situations are very different, there were many the same. They were grieving the loss of their child. Scared, confused, trying to cling to faith. One mother stood in the hallway and stared at a framed portrait of her son, and I thought, that is all she has right now. With Jane's beautiful portrait hanging on a wall right in front of me, I felt the pain that I too have to settle with a picture of her beautiful face for now. As we saw prayers coming from all over the world for their family and all the gifts, notes, flowers and kindness; I found myself getting emotional. We received so much. So so so much. The Probst and Tuttle family may have been scared and confused, but they were not alone. And neither were we. I will never have the right words or ability to express my gratitude for so many people who surrounded us in a bubble of faith and pure, Christ-like love. As I type this, my cheeks are wet. I love you, thank you for loving me.

The moment when the Elders were told to get ready to be executed, they looked at each other and asked how they were feeling. To their surprise, they were calm. That took me back to our time in the hospital. It was crazy, like CRAZY. There were at minimum a dozen people running and shouting around the ER. I was incredibly nauseous, probably from shock and had a lot of anxiety in my hands and legs. But I remember feeling an unexplainable calmness. That may sound contradictory, anxiety and calm, but it's how it was. My physical body was in shock, but I knew, with ABSOLUTE surety that everything was okay. Whatever the outcome, we would be okay. I don't know how many angels it takes to bring a shocked, anxious, mother of a dying baby to that much faith but I don't doubt there was an army of angels with us.

The last significant parallel I can think of now was when the missionaries were released. It was in a field of white snow, completely white. I love snow. I especially love big heavy snow storms. They feel celestial. I wish I could know what Jane saw when she was received into heaven, but endless white is what I imagine. As the missionaries ran with pure relief and joy because they were safe, I was reminded that my Jane knows pure joy and she too is safe.

The reunion those missionaries had with their family and friends was 1,000 times more sweet because they had tasted something 1,000 times more bitter. They knew what was truly good because they had experienced truly bad. I dream of that reunion with my baby girl and am anxious to see her again.