SPOILER ALERT:  ESTIMATE TIME OF “ARRIVAL”

If you haven’t seen it; you should.  Read no further, as I am about to reveal points that are so thought-provoking I am provoked and must share my thoughts.

Yes, as you have undoubtedly heard, it is an alien movie.  They have arrived.  They are not cute little gremlins nor naked childlike creatures.  In fact, they are hideous.  They are huge monsters.  They communicate with sprays of indecipherable round inkblots.

And you will come to love them.  This is a unique hybrid of “Close Encounters,” “Signs” and “Back to the Future.”  Think about that for a moment. 

The plot you can easily follow is the world’s reaction to an invasion by spaceships full of these creatures.  Countries determine on their own, without sharing information, how to interpret this invasion, and what to do about it.  Some bring the world to the brink of war.

There is no big action in this movie.  It is quiet, profound; soon you realize this is less about aliens and more about humanity and love.  And time.  The aliens have a relationship with time that is as circular as their language.

Here is the spoiler part:  Amy Adams plays Louise, a linguist hired by the government to translate the alien’s communications.  Her understated performance blows your mind; her face expresses every thought and emotion, and much of her thoughts center on the daughter who has died.  Too many words would dilute and dissipate what you think you know about Louise until the very end of the movie.  Her character asks another “If you knew what your entire life would be beforehand, would you still go ahead with it?”  It is a question that haunts, long after the movie ends.

As a mother who has buried a child, my mind is boggled considering this question while watching this amazing film.  Thought provoking doesn’t adequately describe the feeling.

Had I known the entirety of Brendan’s life beforehand, would it have been preferable that he was never born? 

As I think back at key moments in his life (as Louise does regarding her daughter) I remember the joys:  his amazing birth—almost in the car-- at 11 pounds; his blond curls during toddlerhood bouncing with his joyful exhuberance; his nicknames:  Piglet, Cubby Bear, Madball; his stoic courage as the doctor sewed up his four-year-old head after an accident at summer camp;  his seriousness in an interview in his tiger-scout uniform as he and the scoutmaster appeared on a local cable station; the loud SPLASH! that echoed in the church when he fell into the baptismal pool at his baby sister’s baptism; his bond with his Uncle Russell; his grandmother saying he was her favorite.  The spectacular winning championship little league game where the youngest boy on the team held the trophy in his catcher’s glove; his debut at age 5 as an actor in his big brother's play:  "Brendan, just stand there and say, 'I am Willow of the mountains.'"  

So many other sweet memories of a darling little boy, who could be quiet and mysterious, or defiant and boisterous, but always adorable.  Later, such strong pride we felt in his adult success -- academic honors, enormous numbers of friends, people who owed their lives to his help, his finding and loving a brilliant and beautiful young medical student; his unforgettable best-man speech at his brother's wedding.

But then, we endured terrible dark times.   The school failure by a child thought to be gifted; the tearful panic attacks; the sick stomach every time we traveled anywhere; stealing, vandalism, a car accident, time in juvie, addiction, the overdose, the rehabs. And finally, after he pulled himself up from the abyss and became successful in life, love, work and family, the tragic untimely death in a fall from a balcony far from home.

Would I go through all that again, and the continuing reverberating pain in my heart to enjoy his spirit, his place in our family?  Miss out on the love, the hugs, the pride?  Do without his charm, his brilliance?  The many moments of laughter?

Would I do it all again?

Spoiler alert:  to this, Louise says YES. 

My answer:  I'm sorry to say this -- I'm his mommy -- but truly, I do not know.