Warning: contains plot spoilers for the film Arrival

For a couple of years now we’ve had a family tradition – every Friday once Pudding is in bed, we settle down to watch a film together, taking it in turns to make the choice.

A few weeks ago we had a visitor from another MPS family staying with us. Evan is travelling the world on a fellowship, finding out how a diagnosis of mucopolysaccharidosis affects families like ours and learning from clinicians and policy makers who are trying to make a difference.

Although I was a little nervous about having a complete stranger to visit, he slotted right in to our lives – playing chess with T, discussing music with Hubby and having some beautiful moments with Pudding. He wanted to be treated just like one of the family, so of course we gave him the choice of film that week. This was a responsibiliy he took very seriously, considering what we’d seen previously and what would suit us all. A film about aliens arriving on earth and the difficulties of communicating with them seemed perfect, so we sat down to enjoy Arrival.

The opening scenes were a bit of a reality-check for us all. The protagonist, a linguistics professor, separates from her husband and watches as her 12 year old daughter dies from an incurable condition. A little hard-hitting when we’re facing the same situation ourselves. (Not the separation, don’t worry!)

Our guest was mortified and immediately suggested that we could watch something else, but we figured that it was just a back story and wouldn’t feature again. We were wrong. Towards the end, visions of her daughter return and it becomes apparent that contact with the aliens has enabled her to experience time differently. She is actually seeing visions of the future and now faces the choice of whether to go ahead, knowing what will happen. Evan groaned that he couldn’t have picked a worse film for us. But I don’t think that’s true.

The choice faced in the film has stayed with me over the weeks since. What would I do….?

I’ve written in a post previously that if I’d known Pudding’s diagnosis during pregnancy, I might instead have chosen to have an abortion. That I’d rather spare us all the heartache and loss that his MPS will mean. How could I bring a child into the world only to also give him suffering? How could I do that to us and other family members?

The point of the film though was that she could see the loss and the heartache that was coming. And that was almost too unbearable to contemplate. But she could experience all of the rest of it too. The love. The joy. The wonder. And the chance of those was too much to turn down.

And I’ve been torn. What would I do…?

When it comes down to it, there could only be one answer. I’d choose the tears. I’d choose the moments of contentment. The joy. The smiles. The curly-headed whirlwind. And the snuggly boy who purrs warm breath on my shoulder. I’d choose heartache that only comes from love. I’d choose life.

I would choose you, Pudding. Every time.