My heart is bleeding out, but it is still beating, somehow. Without her, it feels like I should be dead, too, but I am not. She is gone, and I am here. Benjamin and Amelia are my everything, and Eleanor, "baby Ellie," was supposed to be a part of my everything, too. Without her, something is very wrong; I am incomplete. Life doesn’t sit right with me the way that it is right now. This is not how it was supposed to be.

I should have been 36 weeks exactly today. Basically full term. The kicks would have been in full force today, the beautiful discomfort quite pervasive. Sometimes I think I can still feel her, phantom kicks. Phantom flutters.

Sometimes I feel ashamed for feeling this way. I have two beautiful children who are alive and well, and she died before I knew her - just shy of "viability," at 23 weeks. But I fell absolutely head-over-heels in love with her with each heartbeat we saw on the ultrasound. She was perfect, just like her brother and sister. Even though she was not planned, I knew she was meant to be. But why isn’t she here?

Everything is a reminder, a trigger, even boarding an airplane. We flew across the country last week to visit family, which would have been forbidden if I were still pregnant, as most airlines will not let you travel in the third trimester. (Not to mention the last time I flew on a plane, I was ten weeks pregnant with Eleanor). I was bracing for the worst - I thought emotional meltdowns were inevitable, as we were visiting family for the first time since the loss. Something worse happened, though. No one mentioned Eleanor once.

My worst fear after the loss was that Eleanor would be forgotten. Not by me, of course, but by the world (or at least by her family). After the trip, I started to decompensate again. I had my first, intense flashback to the ultrasound room when we learned her heart was not beating, and I sobbed at work. I have constantly felt like a fine breeze would send me into a weeping mess. I finally bought a personalized urn today to replace the sad tin box we brought her home in.

I feel like her life is becoming a distant memory, and all the "pregnancy feels" and feeling her flutters are fading. But the loss of her is still very loud. I find some odd comfort that the loss of Eleanor makes itself known, and, even if at least by me, the loss is felt every day.

Some days, I surprise myself by having long stretches without the loss permeating my every thought, but when the loss of Eleanor floods my mind, there is no escape, and I feel like I am drowning. I know that, even though I do not want to forget, I also acknowledge that this pain cannot possibly go on forever - it is incompatible with life, or so it feels that way. I am still in the stage where grief overwhelmingly overshadows any tiny hope of acceptance and whatever moving on would look like.

I literally become short of breath when the grief overwhelms me. I am not okay today, at least in this moment. I can pretend to be, mostly for Benjamin and Amelia. My husband is holding my hand, by my side, but the way he is processing his grief is different than mine, and I cannot bring him into my own raging seas of grief every day - not now, it has been three months after all, and he is moving away from the despair.

And even though I have gone through all the "right" support channels (psychiatrist, HAND meetings, friends), I am empty and alone today.

Then, I found this site, and I feel a little less alone. Thank you.

Dear Ellie's Mama,

You are right you are not alone we are all here for you and each other.
We have all experienced the most awful tragedy and are trying in all different ways to continue to live.
I am also an Eleanors' mother - my beautiful baby Eleanor was born and died at term on the same day 18 months ago. My husband always refers to her as his " baby Ellie". The pain of her loss is still there every minute but gradually the trauma has mellowed a little. The biggest thing is that I miss her little presence in our lives. I am sure I always will - just as you will always miss your little Eleanor.
In this first time look out for yourself and for your husband and children, hold them close. Take the time you need to start the grieving process.
There is nothing to be said to make things better but I am sending you love from one Eleanor's mother to another.