סוזאנה באטרווורת היתה סטודנטית בת 23, נשואה לבחיר לבה, מאוניברסיטת וושינגטון, והיא היתה מאושרת. היא ובעלה דאלין הרו וציפו להולדתו של בן ראשון. אלא שאז הגיעה הבשורה המרה: העובר לוקה בתסמונת אדוארדס הנדירה, וגם אם ייוולד, יסבול מתסמינים ואתגרים מרובים. השניים לא אמרו נואש וההריון הגיע לשבוע 35, עד שהעניינים הסתבכו, והתינוק נולד ללא רוח חיים.

את היגון והכאב שבפרידה מהתינוק, שלדבריה היה מושלם ויפהפה מכפי שציפתה, תיעלה סוזאנה לאמנות: פרוייקט צילום מיוחד שפיתחה, לו קראה ״פרוייקט התמונות הריקות״. בפרוייקט ניתן לראות הורים שחוו אובדן דומה, כשהם מציגים את האבל שלהם בעזרת מסגרת תמונה ריקה, שיוצרת בעצם חור, ובתוכה שותלת סוזאנה את הרקע הנשקף מאחוריהם. הריקנות הזאת, שלעולם לא תתמלא, מספרת סיפור, ועוצמתית במיוחד כשהמסגרת ניצבת במקום שבו היה פעם הריון.

"Nothing will ever prepare you for the pain or emptiness of losing a child. A miscarriage is every hope and dream you had for your child being crushed in 6 words. It's crying and cursing in the doctor office. It's leaving your doctors office knowing that your little baby that you tried so hard to conceive is inside you and is no longer alive. Knowing your body failed you. Begging God to bring the life back into your child. Begging him to take you instead. It's him failing you. Its going to a close family member for support and hearing "It was probably retarded" a mere hour after hearing the news, hearing "it's not that big of a deal" while your child is still inside of your womb. It's three days later finally holding your tiny baby boy that you hoped and prayed for, lifeless in your hands. Its going to the emergency room because your bleeding out and going through hell, alone as your husband holds your daughter tight in the waiting room because you didn't want her to potentially watch you die. Its going home to take one last look at your baby's precious lips that look just like his daddy's before you burry him. It's you feeling like everything is all your fault. Watching your husband cry and shake in a way you have never seen before, not even when his father died. Feeling like your husband deserves a woman with a body that wouldn't put him through this pain. It's crying at three a.m because your arms are empty. It's losing it on your baby's due date. Its realizing you won't ever kiss his owies or wipe his tears. You will never sing and dance with him in the kitchen. You won't see him marry the love of his life. It's getting pregnant again and being filled with guilt and worry. It's constantly thinking of your child and wishing you could hold him and love on him. It's knowing that he's safe where he's at and he's well taken care of even if your not able to be the one taking care of him. It's praying to God to hold him tight for you. It's still telling him you love him. Its okay to weep. It's okay to loose it. I lost my child. Mommy and Daddy love you Malachi Eriksen" #emptyphotoproject #childloss #miscarriage #stillbirth #empty #lossofalovedone

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״כאמנית וצלמת, רציתי באופן טבעי להפוך את החוויה שלי, של אובדן בני, למשהו משמעותי״, אומרת סוזאנה. ״שמתי לב שאחרי הלוויה, כשקברנו אותו לצד סבתא שלי, הרבה מחבריי ומבני משפחתי לא ידעו איך לדבר איתי על זה, איך לגשת לכאב והאבל ששלי. הם לא ידעו איך להתמודד עם אובדן של ילד. התמונות מנסות לשים זרקור על האובדן בצורה מעט מטלטלת, כדי שהצופה בהן יכיר בעניין, ולא יברח ממנו. אובדן הוא חלק מחייהם של רבים, והמשמעות היא שונה לכל אחד".

"It’s been three years since I placed my son Liam in the arms of his forever family. I knew my entire pregnancy that he was not mine to keep, and I could not ever begin to describe the feeling of carrying a child that I would only have to say goodbye to. Throughout my entire pregnancy, I questioned if I could follow through with my decision. In the hospital, all I wanted was a single night alone with Liam. Before they left the hospital, his family gave me a little wooden box. I opened it up and found a customized book with pictures of their extended family and a locket with a quote by Desha Wood that said, “He is mine in a way that he will never be hers, and he is hers in a way that will never be mine. So together, we are motherhood.” In that moment, I knew that I would rather shatter my own heart a million times over than break theirs just once. I spent a week with Liam’s family, mentally preparing myself for the day I would return home empty-handed. When I got home, the town I spent 20 years of my life was no longer familiar to me. I took a walk along the river and sobbed. A stranger stopped and sat down next to me. We talked as we watched the beautiful hues of red, orange, and purple fall below the horizon. He told me his story about how he had lost his wife and kids, and I remember for just a moment, I didn’t feel so alone. We said our goodbyes and went on our way, never to speak again. Over a year later, my boss told me that the cable guy had left an envelope for me at her house. When I opened up the envelope, I pulled out an 8x10 photo of the sunset from that night, and I was reminded, once again, that I was not alone. I still speak to Liam’s family often and the adoption is still very open. I receive flowers on Mother’s Day, invitations to Birthday parties, and a Christmas card every year. I may be empty-handed, but my heart has never been so full. I will never regret my decision to place Liam for adoption, because in giving away everything I had, I gained more than I could ever need."

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לצד כל אחת מהתמונות אפשר למצוא סיפור בגוף ראשון שמתאר את מה ומי שהיה ואיננו. תחושת הריקנות מוזכרת שם שוב ושוב, והמרואיינות מנסות להבהיר את משמעות הריקנות הזאת ולהגדיר אותה. אפשר לקרוא ולחוש קרבה לכל אחת ואחד מהמצולמים. ״התהליך של הצילום מאוד אינטימי ועמוק״, סוזאנה מבהירה. ״אני מעודדת אותם לדבר על האובדן, לתאר לי את מי שאיבדו ולא להשאיר בחוץ אף רגש. את המסגרת אני מבקשת שיחזיקו כפי שהיו מחזיקים את האהוב שאיבדו".

"Losing my son, Gabriel, is the type of pain I would never wish upon anyone. The moment the doctor uttered the words “missed abortion”, I was angered. I didn’t have an abortion. I actually wanted my child. I didn’t appreciate his correct medical terminology. I felt empty as my son’s body lay inside of me but his heart was not beating. My D&C was scheduled for four days later to remove him from my womb. My body failed me. I would never hold his hand, watch him grow up, or hear his voice. Never is a long, long time. I paced back and forth yelling at God. I needed answers but I received none. They didn’t exist. They still don’t. Not only was my heart broken, but my soul was crushed. Breaking the news to friends and family was a different, new pain. I cannot tell you how many times I was told “everything happens for a reason” **insert eye roll** The worst comment came from a family member: “You just aren’t meant to be a mother yet. You aren’t ready.” So what is emptiness? It is seeing other pregnant women and their happy little lives. It is forcing a smile through unwanted sympathy. It is sitting down to eat a meal and losing your appetite. It is feeling guilty every time you crack a smile or laugh at someone’s joke. It is seeing other little boys Gabriel’s age and wondering who he would’ve been. It is knowing that, as a mother, I couldn’t fulfill my #1 job of protecting my child. It was not allowing myself to form a bond with my second baby during my pregnancy until she was born because I was afraid to lose her too. She is now 1.5 years old. I often find myself wondering if she met her big brother before coming to earth. He is her protector. Her angel. For that, I am grateful ❤"

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״המשמעות של המילה ריקנות כל כך הרבה יותר גדולה עבורי עכשיו, מתחילת הפרוייקט הזה״, היא מספרת. ״בשבילי עכשיו זה אומר: למלא את החלל בעזרת יצירת קשרים חדשים, להזכר בבני, עם הכאב, לא לשכוח אותו, זה אומר גם שהפצעים שלי יפים, ראויים, אהובים ומותר לחלוק בהם ולהראות אותם. ריקנות זה גם אומר שיש לי ניסיון חיים וחוויה שהופכת אותי לאישה שיכולה לעזור לאחרים שנמצאים במצבים דומים״.

"Losing a child is something that nobody wants to talk about. Even myself most of the time, if I’m being honest. I was a little over eighteen years old when I found out I was going to be a mom. I was still a kid trying to figure out who I was and who I wanted to be. I wasn’t sure if I could handle the daily job that is being a mother. I had voices in my ear telling me to take the easy way out. But there was something inside me telling me I could do this. Even if I had to do it on my own. I had the support of a few family members and a couple close friends which made everything seem like it was going to eventually be okay and work itself out. I was just getting used to the idea of being a mother when I received news no parent ever wants to hear. My daughter Sophia Lynn had a neural tube defect which would keep her from being able to survive outside the womb. I was given the options to carry her to term or to be induced for early labor. What kind of choice is that? I didn’t want to make that decision. I wasn’t ready to play God and decide how she would enter and leave this world. But I had to move forward somehow, and the best choice I could think of was to deliver as soon as possible and save her from a difficult full term delivery that would most certainly cause her more harm that good. There was no doubt in the doctors mind that she would struggle for life as soon as she was born and that was something, as her mother, I couldn’t bare to watch. I was scheduled to be induced a couple of days later due to overcrowding at the hospital. I had to carry my daughter in my belly for 3 more days. I can’t even begin to describe the kind of pain I felt in those three days. Knowing those were the last times we’d spend together as mother and daughter. She was still physically attached to me but I had never felt so empty in my entire life. Time seemed to drag on and fly by all at once. I was ready for it all to be over and begging whatever God was listening to just let it all be a bad dream. The day finally came to deliver her and it’s honestly one giant blur. I don’t remember much of the time I spent in the hospital. [...] (Continue reading in comments...)

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למי שמתקשה לגשת לאדם שחווה אובדן, סוזאנה מציעה לדבר פחות ולהקשיב יותר. ״אנשים אבלים רוצים אוזן קשבת. הם רוצים להחלים ורוצים שיזכרו את המתים שלהם ויאהבו אותם גם אחרי לכתם. אנחנו צריכים שתקשיבו לנו ותהיו נוכחים באמת״. לפרוייקט תגובות חזקות מסביב לעולם, ובקרוב תציג אותו האמנית בהרצאת ׳טד׳ בתקווה לסייע לעוד ועוד אנשים.

1 in 3 women... this is the statistic that my doctor gave me for women who have miscarried. Little did I know, I would be 1 in 7,000 with a molar pregnancy. Before this news, I went in for an ultrasound to see the heart beat of the baby. Come to find, I had twins and possibly a third with an empty sac. Both with no heart beat, the doctor left me with no hope or answers. I was devastated. I didn't understand and it all felt so unreal. I felt like someone ripped out my soul, punched me in the gut, and crushed my heart before my eyes. I wept for almost 5 hrs after the knowledge, just completely speechless. I needed an answer and I needed the truth. I turned to a friend and got a second opinion which took me in a day after. The doctor then performed a 3-D ultrasound and what my husband and I saw could not be unseen. There lay my twins completely obliterated and a blood red clot growing rapidly in size. I didn't know that my low energy was from my pregnancy slowly killing me. Yes, my babies were thriving on my blood until the molar state attacked both fetuses and then prepared to take over my body. I blamed myself and felt unworthy of a mother's heart. After undergoing surgery, a year of lab tests, and a visit to the cancer center, I had a clean bill of health. However, the emotional pain and hurt was still unable to be healed. I was left empty and I still am. I know God has a purpose and that included me living today to tell and share my story. The hurt is real, our stories are real. As a teacher, I have the privilege to influence children in life lessons and choices they make daily, to hopefully one day become successful well-mannered adults. Year after year, it's hard to see them go and it's especially bittersweet this year since I'm teaching the age group of my twins (4 years). I put 110% in what I do, I love, live, and breathe my job. The hardest part is going home and knowing they're not your own. My husband has been a wonderful example of strength to me, and I can't wait for the day we can become parents again.

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"June 30th is a day that I will never forget, the day that I lost a part of me. I never imagined or thought that becoming a mother would have been the hardest time I would ever face. I just remember thinking the day I was being prepared to go into surgery that I hoped God would let them both live and be healthy. I got the facts and let reality sink in that they could possibly not be okay. When I got back from surgery and was told they were critical but stable, all I wanted to do was rush to them. I didn’t get to spend time with them their first full day of birth. Maddox was the more stable twin at the time and didn’t seem to be having any trouble. So that night I was confident and sure that I would see him later. It was the first night that I went to bed early, at around midnight I got woken up by my nurse. At first, I was confused and the look on her face made me panic. She whispered, “Brenda one of your babies needs you right now can you get up and come with us.” I got transported by a wheelchair to the NICU, and I'm being surrounded by all of these nurses, it was all a blur. Then they sat with me and explained that Maddox was having problems and they couldn’t stabilize him. I just remember staring at the ground and just not knowing what to say or do I was just numb. Then they asked if I wanted to hold him, he was still alive. At first, I was too shocked and just speechless I didn’t give an answer, but when I saw him in there and the numbers on the machines were dropping, I just asked to hold him. I held him and thought that I was in a dream and that it wasn’t really happening to me. At 2:15 am Maddox Gray Ursua took his last breath, I know he felt my love until the last second. I felt angry with God, why did this have to happen to me, why my son, why my family? I couldn’t come to terms with it for a long time. I would see others with their kids and would just get so mad. Having people come up to me or even text me things about how sorry they were would make me mad because no one understood my pain or anger. The worst was the comments I would be told, everything happens for a reason this wasn’t meant to be for you." (...continued in the comments)

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"Empty changes. My son, Joseph was born at 38 ½ weeks sleeping. Then they almost lost me too, a uterine blood clot spiked my fever to a deadly 109 degrees...they packed me with ice to bring it down...I remember looking at the clock before losing consciousness and thinking I made it through the first day, then a very alone week at the hospital. Empty at the time was the ache in my arms and longing in my heart to hold my baby. It was the loneliness of grief as my husband was too wrapped up in his own grief to see mine. It was being told I wasn’t “righteous enough” and that was why he was taken. It was a person telling my church family and friends I didn’t want their presence, and a good friend saying my experience “wasn’t that bad, easier than I thought”. It was going home to pack away the precious little clothes, the special “coming home” outfit, the tiny socks and shoes. Piling clothes on the bassinet so I wouldn’t have to see it, then sobbing in the darkest hours of the night. No celebration of a new soul. Empty was the anger, confusion, and sadness my kids expressed to me daily. Slowly life returned to our routine and the pain and sadness dulled to a quiet ache residing in my heart. 18 months later we welcomed a new little girl into our family who did much to push the empty aside with her Popeye grin and sweet patience. 8 years later the empty is still there in feeling someone is missing when we do head counts, the yearly trip to visit his earthen bed in remembrance, not celebration of my son. Watching as children of friends born around the same time as Joseph, pass milestones he never got to experience. Grief still visits, sneaking up, catching me unawares, and washing over me. Empty changes."

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"My story is so hard to explain. The emptiness I feel is unexplainable. I knew that it was possible. I knew that what I went through was a possibility. But I never ever thought that it would actually happen. It all happened so slowly. Finding out that my beautiful son was affected by this horrible disease that is carried by me made my heart stop. It took the breath right out of my lungs. I instantly blamed myself. I fell straight to the floor and screamed. No tears even came out at that point. It was so unreal. I remember laying in the hospital bed while they induced me thinking, "Why is this happening to me? Why my baby boy?" It wasn't very long before my water broke and I was holding my little boy. He was so beautiful.... So peaceful. He looked like he was sleeping. He had the cutest little nose the cutest little toes. I couldn't believe that I created such a beautiful baby. When the nurse came up to me and told me that they needed to take him I lost it. I begged them not to but they said it was time. He was only in my belly for 17 weeks. I felt him kick. I felt him move. They kept me in the hospital for another day and I didn't sleep at all. I just remember feeling so empty. I remember looking down at my stomach and not feeling anything. I remember pushing down on my belly hoping by some miracle this was a dream. I went from him moving around in my stomach to nothing at all. My whole life stood still. I will never see him grow up. I will never see him take his first steps. I will never see his smile. I saw my mom blame herself because she passed the gene down to me. I saw my grandmother blame herself because she passed it down to my mom. I watched my whole family cry. Emptiness is so much sadness and so much pain. Emptiness is feeling like you failed as a mom because you couldn't protect your first child. It has been a long painful healing and I know that someday I won't feel this empty anymore because I will hold him again someday. And I really do believe that. It gives me relief knowing that Emmy has her brother looking after her. I know he knows how much he's loved. Emmy loves her brother so much. Landyn Gabriel, mommy's little penguin, you are so loved."

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"27 years after your short life, I still remember it like it was yesterday. I was just a 24-year-old kid, newly married and excited to welcome a new baby into our family. I named you Brittany Dianne. You came early, 23 weeks along, without much warning and fought as hard as one could fight to stay here on this Earth with us. I had those 23 weeks with you and a short 4 hours of life. Those moments spent with you, my sweet Brittany, were the ones that made me into the person and mother that I am today. I keep a box with your things to remind me that you made me a mother. Your tiny little hat, handprint and footprints and even your hair are kept safely in your baby book. Two pictures are all that I have of you and that hurts. You are hooked up to machines in those pictures. I can’t help but think that you were in so much pain. I wish that I had pictures of when your dad and I held you in our arms. You were a perfect size baby doll, 12 inches long, with perfectly formed features. For years, I have searched for the reasons why you are not here with us. Now I know that God had a better and bigger plan for you which someday will make perfect sense to me. I am not the same person as I used to be and that is a good thing. I know that life is precious and should never be taken for granted. With every sad story of pregnancy loss that I heard after you were born, I know that many other things could go wrong. I have felt guilty and depressed that I could not help you. Incompetent cervix is the reason you came early which to me meant incompetent mother. I still to this day do not understand some of the reasons people gave me for your death, and I don’t think I ever will. Hurtful comments such as you are young, you can have more babies, just think of all the money it would cost to keep her alive, etc….. None of those helped work through my grief. Journaling, praying and trying again helped. Two more baby girls followed you, and they are terrific. However, you are still my first born daughter, Brittany, and someday we will be reunited. I know that reunion will be the best day ever. It will make my heart whole again." (Continue in comments...)

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>> מה הדבר הכי נכון לומר לאישה שעברה אובדן הריון?