Her Name was Elinor
A little more than two weeks ago, our baby’s tiny body was removed from mine, four weeks after the tiny soul had already flown. While I’ve recovered well physically, the emotional impact will last much longer. If you ran into me at the grocery store, I would tell you I’m fine. And I am. Some days are better than others. Some minutes are better than others. But overall, I’m faring well. I’m focusing on my earthly children, full of life and love and sparkle, and leaning in to my strong, steady husband. Friends and family have given amazing support, and I am blessed.
There are moments, though, that unexpectedly sting. Like yesterday. I was sifting through my closet, in search of something to wear, quite a feat since I’m a little too large for my regular clothes, and a little too small for pregnancy attire. And there it hung. The little maternity top I’d bought on clearance at Target that I couldn’t wait to wear. Tags hanging. Teal and navy blue, flowing and that perfect mix of comfy and just dressy enough. I took it off the hanger, tore off the Liz Lange tag, and slipped it over my head. I swam in the soft material, the belly area sagging over my ever shrinking midsection. It felt nice just like I’d imagined, only, I couldn’t fill this top. I felt empty.
Moments like that make me want to crawl under the covers, close my eyes, and sleep until the pain is over. But I can’t. I have bills to pay and mouths to feed and laundry to clean and a life to live. I can’t pretend that I don’t have responsibilities, and hide from the world, but I also can’t charge full steam ahead, and pretend that this didn’t happen.
So today, on National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Day, I want to share something with you. My baby’s name. No, we never knew the gender, and no, my husband and I hadn’t decided anything for sure, but a momma’s heart knows. I called her by name, and I still do. Elinor Mae Poland. Ellie or Nora for short, whichever would have suited her personality. I loved the name, and I loved her. Still do.
And to all of you grieving for your babies named and unnamed, I wish I could just throw my arms around your neck and give you a big, tender hug. And if you wanted to soak my shoulder, that would be okay. I might soak yours too.
Cat, I don’t have words after reading this and yet I needed to say something. My eyes are filled with tears and my heart positively aches for you and your family. I pray that sharing these intimate moments – the ones we sometimes prefer to hide – will bring you solace and help you heal. Although we’ve never met, I admire you greatly and have a sneaking suspicion we are cut from very similar cloth. To brighten this comment further, I must tell you my own gradmother’s name is Eleanor Mae – and it’s a name I had for F had he been a girl. Sending you love and prayer and strength. Xo
I’m sad we’ll never get to meet but I am sure Elinor knows she is loved.
In my heart, I can see sweet Elinor playing with my babies in heaven, and I am happy to know that one day we will all be together. Blessings to you, my friend, as you remember precious Elinor tonight.
A beautiful name. Thank you for sharing it and her story with us.
I have been reading your stories and they sound all to familiar to mine. I lost my father over 2 years ago in a car accident. It was so sudden and there wasn’t even a chance to say goodbye. My husband and I has just started trying to have a second baby around this time our son was 4 at the time. We got pregnant and all the family just though this was going to be the bright side of it all and about a month later the baby was gone. My doctor failed. She didn’t even try to see me after I had went to the ER and my church family let me down. Only one family came and brought food. No one came and cried with me. I felt so alone and so sad. We had very little support, just a few close friends but we made it. It’s about 2 1/2 years later and I just couldn’t give up on having another baby, and we are pregnant.
So thank you for sharing your story, I can definitely relate.
Katie- I am so glad we found each other, and I’m so sorry that you haven’t found the support you’ve needed after your loss. I think we as a society have come so far with acknowledging the pain after miscarriage, but not far enough. If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, or an ear to gripe to, let me know!