Alex’s Story • by Jodi Rosen

“Would it be okay if I take some photographs during the birth?” asked our nurse.

I don’t remember her name now, but I did know it for several years. She had long dark brown hair and a calming way of leaning up against my bed that made her seem like an old friend. It’s funny how you think that the images are carved so deeply into the recesses of your memory that they will never fade, but actually they do fade with time. Even her face, which I thought I would never forget, has faded. One thing I do know for sure is that her question eventually saved me.

Photos?
My delay in answering prompted her to rephrase her request, “I know that other patients we’ve helped through difficult circumstances have told us that they really appreciated having the photos. You may not know if you want them now, but this way at least you will have them when ...” she trailed off before saying too much more. “So, would you both be okay ... with ... it?”
I looked over at my husband. His expression was blank. Weary, exhausted, and worn down. The course of the last few days had taken a toll on him, on both of us such that we had never experienced before in our lives. Our marriage of 10 years was strong. We had a beautiful 2½-year-old son, and I knew we would get through this, but it was going to prove to be a long journey for all of us.

Photos? I wasn’t really prepared to see my full-term stillborn baby with my own eyes let alone have to deal with someone shooting pictures of him. We would be delivering him within the next 30 minutes. We didn’t even know what his name would be. I had to give her an answer. I was praying he would look as he should and not be too difficult to see and hold, let alone take pictures of. Photos? Somehow, I managed to turn my face back to hers and muster up the energy to look her in the eye and reply, “Yes, sure that’s fine.”

Don’t Let Me Forget His Face
We named him Alex. I didn’t even notice our nurse with the camera during his birth. Our beautiful son filled our foreground and nothing else mattered. We poured over every inch of his body. Everything was perfect on the outside: light blond peach fuzz, chubby fingers and toes, chunky thighs, plump belly, and the sweetest, most peaceful looking face. If the cyst in his brain was not there, then his insides would match his perfect outsides and our son would be coming home with us. He would be crying. He would be squirming. He would be alive.

We couldn’t get enough of him. We were able to hold him as much as we wanted, as long as we wanted. Our families were able to see him. Touch him. Hold him. He was a big boy! He would have been a football player or maybe loved trains. He would have laughed loud and hearty. He would have been kind. Intent, I tried to imprint his face in my mind to hold there for eternity. I didn’t want to ever forget this face. Please, don’t let me ever forget this face. How will I not forget this face?

The Photo That Saved Me
Nothing comes close to explain the panic I would feel had our nurse not offered the cherished gift of our photographs of Alex. Had we not accepted her offer in our moment of agony and grief — which could have easily have happened — we would not have these images. There are not many, much too few, in fact. Eight slightly grainy pictures with a point and shoot camera from an amateur photographer. Many are not more than his head poking out from the arms of a family member holding him who loves him very, very much. Most of them only show his face and not all the parts of his little body that I would love to be able to see again. The curve of his shoulders coming down from his neck, his belly and butt, his chubby fingers and toes. The most precious is one that I had my husband shoot just as we were saying goodbye to Alex for the very last time. His face and mine. This is my photo. This photo saved me.

As a professional photographer, I can’t help but wish for what Alex’s photos could have been. But being wrapped in the nucleus of such an emotionally raw and traumatic event, I wasn’t able to devote any extra energy to capturing photos of our baby. Yet, despite all of their shortcomings, Alex’s photographs are the most important mementos we have.

These photos truly did save me. These photos healed me. I don’t have to cling so tightly to every ounce of him in my memory alone. I can relax and let go and know that anytime I need to see him, I am able. These photos are an affirming testament to Alex’s existence. For a short time, our son was here with us. These photos allow me to breathe. For this, I am forever grateful. Over time, I realized the impact these photos had on my healing and I knew I needed to provide this same life saving gift to others, but how?

The Answer: Soulumination
Soulumination, founded by Lynette Huffman Johnson, celebrates the lives of children and parents facing life-threatening conditions by providing professional photographs —free of charge — of these special individuals and their families. The life-affirming photographs of Soulumination are an enduring, positive record of the child's brief life, and provide a loving legacy for the children of parents lost to terminal illness.

Soulumination was the answer. To have an organization purely dedicated to providing professional photographs to families facing difficult circumstances is astounding. I can’t help but think that if we had known about Soulumination during our time with Alex what wonderful, artistic images we would have of our baby.

The opportunity to express, through photographs, the beauty of another human being not long for this world is an honor. I am so grateful to have now been a part of Soulumination and its legacy-building work since 2006. Volunteering for this foundation, along with the talents of Lynette and the 30 other photographers, who so willingly give their time, is healing not only for my own experience with Alex but for the hundreds of families whose lives we have touched. Creating this art is therapeutic, fulfilling, and a tribute, I feel, to our son’s life. As difficult as it is to say goodbye to our loved ones whose lives cannot be saved, the impact Soulumination and these photographs have on families and friends is no less than life saving.

We love you, Alex. Thank you for all of the gifts you continue to bring us.

Your proud mom,
Jodi

Jodi Rosen is a photographer who lives in Seattle, Washington. To see more of Jodi’s work, visit jodirosen.com, and to learn more about Soulumination, visit soulumination.org.

Comments

[Lovey]

God bless you Jodi...that's all I can say. God bless you and your family. I'm at peace with knowing you will always remember and never forget his precious face.
Lovey

[melody ross]

what an incredibly beautiful story, Jodi....so so so beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing this. xoxo

[Gail]

You are a true gift. Thank you, my friend, for sharing. For sharing your story and for sharing Alex. Love to you both.

[Betty @ She's Sew Pretty]

I have never heard of Soulumination but I was also gifted with an nurse who took pictures of my son when he was born. We had him for one day. I have a box of momentoes that I have saved for 23 years and I get it out every year on his birthday and look at my precious pictures of my son. Thank you for sharing your story and bless you and your own angel Alex.

[jennifer]

I had to wait to respond...take time to let the tears slow down. You are amazing ...POWERFUL...and gracious to share your story with others. Based on my own experience my heart burst open at your description of every little part of your son....the butt, the toes...and I couldn't agree more that a photograph is priceless. If you have time to look in the archives, my story was featured in the beginning of April (Jennifer Wolsey) and you only confirmed the importance of what I was trying to convey...and you pointed me in the right direction...I will look into Soulumination right away. Thank you so much...you radiate GRACE.
Jennifer

[Dori]

Such a beautiful, deeply moving story! Soulumination is such a wonderful gift. Blessings on your work, Jodi!

[Ellen]

I could feel your pain; I lost my baby at 5 months and have photos. I am, as you said, so glad I faced my fears and have
proof of our child. It is a healing process, that at the time, seems a bit odd. I am glad you and your husband were brave and shared this unique moment. A beautiful tribute to your angel, that you now share~