Jessica Ells

Jessica later reflected that losing a sibling before you exist creates a unique kind of grief. It is real, enduring, and often invisible to others.

She also had an older sister, born after Ryan. Outside of their family, however, infant loss was rarely discussed. Jessica did not know other children who had lost siblings. She felt alone with her grief and carried it quietly. Even as a child, she knew she did not want her own children to grow up feeling that same isolation.

Becoming a mother

In 2016, Jessica gave birth to her daughter, Emmi.

For the most part, Emmi’s pregnancy and birth went well. She was born at home, although there were complications during delivery, including shoulder dystocia, where a baby’s shoulders become stuck during birth. Fortunately, Emmi was delivered safely.

After the birth, the placenta was examined and Jessica learned that Emmi had a velamentous cord insertion. This meant the umbilical cord did not attach centrally into the placenta. At the time, this information did not feel alarming. Emmi was healthy, the pregnancy had not raised concerns, and the condition had not been detected on ultrasound.

It was information, but not something that felt significant then.

Before her second child was born, Jessica chose to honour her brother in a deeply personal way. She gave her baby the middle name Rian, a deliberate variation of Ryan’s name, carrying his memory forward while allowing it to belong uniquely to her son.

Eli

Jessica’s second baby, Eli, was due on November 16th, the same day as her birthday. She imagined sharing a birthday with her son and looked forward to welcoming him into the family.

Eli did not arrive on his due date. Labour began in the early hours of November 19th.

Jessica had experienced pre-labour before that had not progressed, so she tried not to overthink the early signs. When she called the midwives, they asked if Eli had been moving normally. Jessica realised she had not been paying close attention. Her focus had been on contractions and managing discomfort, not on tracking movement patterns.

She lived on a small island with limited medical resources. The midwives advised her to come to the hospital to be checked.

At the hospital, an ultrasound was performed, but the staff were not legally permitted to confirm what they were seeing. There was confusion, urgency, and uncertainty. Jessica believed there must be a mistake. She assumed the equipment or the staff were at fault.

But there was no heartbeat.

Eli had died, likely the day before.

Plans were made to transfer Jessica by helicopter, but the weather was stormy and foggy. The helicopter could not come. She was told she would have to give birth there.

Eli was very stuck during delivery. The labour was prolonged and frightening, adding significant trauma to an already devastating experience. Jessica later reflected that she believed she came close to death during those moments.

When Eli was born, his parents spent hours with him. They took photographs, made handprints and footprints, dressed him, and held him. Though this may sound confronting to those unfamiliar with infant loss, to them it was instinctive. Eli was their baby. Their love did not stop because he had died.

Holding him mattered.

The shock and trauma made everything feel unreal. There was no guidance on what to do next. Within hours, they were asked to make decisions about autopsies and arrangements, questions no parent expects to face when they go into labour.

Going home changed

Jessica and her husband left for the hospital in the middle of the night while Emmi was asleep. Her grandparents lived on the same land and came to care for her.

Emmi went to sleep expecting her parents to return with her baby brother.

They came home as different people.

Jessica described herself as numb, devastated, and barely functioning. Emmi witnessed a level of adult grief she had never seen before. Yet parenting did not pause. Meals still needed making. Routines still mattered. Emmi still needed care and reassurance.

Jessica carried her grief alongside the responsibility of protecting her daughter’s childhood. She did not want Eli’s death to become the defining trauma of Emmi’s early life.

Practical support became essential. Friends and community members brought meals, arranged cleaning, and helped with daily tasks. This support did not take away the grief, but it made survival possible.

Remembering Eli as a family

Eli remained part of the family.

Photographs were displayed around the house. A friend painted one of his ultrasound images. The family visited his grave on birthdays and special occasions, singing to him and bringing small treats.

As Emmi grew older, her questions became less frequent, but Jessica understood that children often grieve in stages. Loss can resurface as understanding deepens.

Later, when Jessica’s youngest son was born, he became curious about Eli. He asked why babies die and wanted to understand what had happened. These conversations were welcomed. Eli was not hidden or silenced.

Jessica wrote a children’s book, Some Babies Can’t Stay, a gentle, non-religious poem designed to help families talk about infant loss. The book acknowledged many forms of loss and reinforced that a baby who dies is still a sibling.

Emmi took the book to kindergarten as show and tell. It opened space for other children to share their own experiences of loss in their families. What could have been isolating became connective.

Guilt and impossible decisions

Like many bereaved parents, Jessica carried guilt.

During Eli’s pregnancy, doctors had recommended an early C-section due to the previous shoulder dystocia and his size. Jessica did not want a C-section. Influenced by fear-based narratives around medical intervention and a strong belief in her body’s ability, she opted instead for a hospital birth rather than a home birth.

After Eli’s death, she questioned that decision.

She wondered whether different choices could have changed the outcome, even while knowing there was no certainty either way. These questions did not come from logic, but from grief.

She also carried guilt about not being more aware of Eli’s movements. Yet she recognised the reality, she was already a mother, already living a full life, doing the best she could with the information and capacity she had at the time.

Pregnancy after loss

Jessica later became pregnant again.

Fear was present throughout the pregnancy. She described emotionally numbing at times as a way to protect herself, while also trying to remain loving and present. She felt guilt for wanting another baby, even though she knew she was not trying to replace Eli.

When her son Riley was born, he became a source of light during a dark period. Not a replacement, but a reminder that love could still exist alongside grief.

Riley was delivered by C-section at 36 weeks after an ultrasound showed the cord around his neck. He spent time in NICU, which triggered intense fear for Jessica. Seeing monitors and wires felt unbearable after already losing a baby.

What helped, and what didn’t

Jessica found healing through nature, the ocean, mountains, and being outside. She began running. She also shared her grief openly on social media, which connected her with other bereaved parents and helped her feel less alone.

Practical community support played a vital role.

Traditional therapy, however, did not help her in the early stages. She found more comfort speaking with other mothers who had experienced loss, people who understood without explanation and were not frightened by her pain.

What Jessica wanted others to know

Jessica believed society underestimated the lifelong impact of infant loss. Support often faded far too quickly, while grief continued long after.

She wanted people to keep showing up. To keep remembering names. To keep reaching out, even when invitations were declined.

She also believed it was better to say the wrong thing than to say nothing at all.

Holding grief and joy together

One of the most important realisations in Jessica’s journey was learning that joy and grief could exist at the same time.

Moments of happiness arrived, alongside the ache of knowing Eli should have been there too. Life continued, unevenly, painfully, and beautifully.

She learned to let moments of joy in, not as a betrayal, but as a way of honouring her son and continuing to live.

 

You can buy the book Some Babies Can't Stay via Amazon.