'One of my babies died so the other could live.'

This story discusses stillbirth and pregnancy loss.

The past few weeks have been difficult. The sight of jacarandas, the smell of wattle — it takes me right back to the day our unborn daughter died; the day I felt her go.

It was September 2021. Peak COVID. I'd been warned a few days earlier that Elizabeth was giving up her fight. Her heart rate was unstable. She was hypoxic and in foetal distress. I was sitting on my parents' couch when I felt the electric charge of kicks and shocks that radiated from my belly throughout my whole being. I knew in that instant she was gone.

When Elizabeth died, I was seven months pregnant with twins. The doctors weren't sure how my body would respond. They warned us that Elizabeth's passing could trigger early labour. If that happened, we'd likely lose her brother too. There was also a fear that my uterus might become toxic, risking significant harm to him.

After Elizabeth passed away, I experienced a deep, instinctual need to birth and hold her. To see her. To bury her.

Watch: A tribute to the babies we've lost and the significance of remembering their names. 

Carrying her to delivery was the hardest thing I've ever done, both physically and mentally. There are no words to describe the anguish of holding life and death within you at the same time.

At the time, my husband stood by and stepped up, offering support while quietly grappling with his own heartbreak. The weight of responsibility to be strong for his family left little room for his own mourning. 

It's easy to overlook a father's grief. They often carry their pain in silence, overshadowed by the physical and emotional toll on the mother. But their sorrow is just as profound. Just as real.

The support we received from Red Nose was invaluable — from the Peer-to-Peer volunteer who comforted me when we confirmed there was no longer a heartbeat, to the compassionate care of our grief counsellor, and the practical support and guidance from our Hospital to Home coordinator.

Red Nose guided us through every step of our grief journey. They helped us process the shock, fear and confusion of those early days. They supported our other children to reconcile what had happened. They provided funeral support and helped us navigate the overwhelming amount of paperwork that accompanies a stillbirth.

Fiona's husband with their baby. Image: Supplied.

Incredibly, our other baby survived.

Getting him as close to term as possible was crucial. Every few days, we'd do scans, searching for any signs of distress or evidence that Elizabeth's demise might threaten her brother. But what we witnessed over the next two months was nothing short of miraculous. Rather than endangering her twin, Elizabeth saved him. Her physical body, cocooned and preserved, waited for us to bring her earth side. Her placenta, her DNA, became part of him. She became him.

Fiona with her son. Image: Supplied.

The doctors said Elizabeth passed at precisely the right moment in my pregnancy for her brother to survive. I'm not a spiritual person, but I find comfort in knowing that her soul is forever a part of his. Sometimes, when our now-almost-three-year-old takes my hand, I feel her again – that same electric charge. She's there. With him. His angel. Our Twin B.

Fiona Ellis-Jones is the Head of News and Information at ARN and an ambassador for the Red Nose Grief and Loss.

If you or someone you know needs support, you can phone the Red Nose 24/7 Support Line on 1300 308 307 or visit rednosegriefandloss.org.au. Red Nose also has an online Dad's Support Library, full of resources for men.

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