An Open Letter To Keanu

You don’t know me and I don’t know you but your grief brought me comfort during the hardest days of my life. Let me explain:

I walked into my apartment and have never felt so alone, like such a failure. The first thing I did in that apartment was to shut the door to the baby’s room because there was no baby - not any more. She was gone and that room was a painful reminder of her previous and short existence. I was high - high from the hospital drugs - as well as in shock of the ongoings of the last 12 hours. The drugs and shock are the only reasons I didn’t rage in that apartment on that morning. The rage came later. Did you rage too?

I went straight to bed, shutting out the awful world in which babies die. When I woke I needed answers, statistics, and to have at least one person who understood. You see, I was given no answers when I left that day. I have only been given one answer. It’s simply this; sometimes babies die. Sometimes babies die? To whom? I had never considered that fact, never, not once. So, I Googled. I wanted to know to who this might happen to and BOOM, there is your name: Keanu Reeves.

You see, as soon as I read your name I was no longer alone. Even though I don’t know you and you don’t know me, I instantly understood a small fraction of you and vice versa. Your name and history brought me comfort on those extremely hard days when I felt like a failure, like I would never move forward. You did, so can I.

As I move forward in my grief I never lose sight of the fact that my story holds weight in this world. My story, my daughter’s short life, as tragic and dark as it is, can provide comfort to someone, as yours did for me. It’s when we feel alone that the days are darkest - you were a light for me and I vow to do that for others.

You don’t know me and I don’t know you but our grief has brought comfort others during the hardest days of their lives.