Main & Mama
  • Home
  • About E & Me
  • Helpful Resources
Main & Mama

Main & Mama

Welcome to Main & Mama. This is a safe space that I created as a home for my broken heart in the aftermath of losing my sweet daughter, Eleanora James, two weeks before her due date in June 2021. This home resides at the intersection of my role as Mrs. Main and my role as Mama to the girl I'll never get to raise. Behind the front door is a mountain of grief that I'm trying to unpack and sort through by writing it all down—here. I hope you'll come with me and maybe even stay awhile.

Newer Posts

About Me

About Me

Hi, I'm Sarah. I'm a wife, a mama, a writer, and a lover of Christmas, hot coffee, and cozy blankets. I'm learning every day how to navigate grief by writing it all down.

Keep in touch

Sign up to be notified about new posts.

Follow on Instagram

main.and.mama
She would be a year-and-a-half old today. I can’ She would be a year-and-a-half old today. I can’t believe that much time has gone by already. It still feels like yesterday, but it also feels like a lifetime ago. Today’s been hard so far. We went to Starbucks this morning to get coffee to celebrate her. When the barista handed me our drinks, he said, “For Eleanora?” I said, “Yes.” “By the way, I really love that name, Eleanora,” he said. “That’s so beautiful.” I think my eyes lit up immediately. It definitely took my breath away. I told him thank you, explained that it’s actually our daughter’s name, that she passed away right before she was born, and that I always use her name at Starbucks. He didn’t give me the look of pity. He didn’t tell me how sorry he was. He just listened and nodded and said again, “That’s really beautiful. That’s such a beautiful name.” I didn’t tell him that she’d be eighteen months old today. I didn’t tell him that I’ve already cried over her multiple times today. But I didn’t need to. I think she does these things for us sometimes: places people directly in our path to tell us the things we so desperately need to know—most importantly, that she’s still here somehow. 💚 Happy one-and-a-half birthday, precious girl. Mama and Papa and Little Brother love you endlessly.
I was really worried that I would have a deer-in-h I was really worried that I would have a deer-in-headlights look on my face for our maternity pictures with Little Brother. I knew I would love and treasure every single picture no matter what, but I expected to only see mourning on our faces. I’ve gotten so used to my tired eyes and not-quite-all-there smile that I guess I expected them. But I look at these pictures and see two people who have fallen more in love and trust and togetherness as they walk through hell. I see two people who are constantly aching AND constantly hoping, not just the former. I see so much love and calm anticipation in our pictures with Eleanora; I see hope and happiness despite a world torn apart in our pictures with our son. I couldn’t be more proud of the people we’ve become, all because of BOTH our children. 💚💚
Little Brother’s maternity photos 💚 Please Little Brother’s maternity photos 💚 Please protect your heart as needed 💚 Maternity photos were one of the very last things we got to do with Eleanora, and I will never, ever forget that memory or how very special those photos are to me. Her brother’s are the same. It was so important to us that we have these photos with him, too, no matter what. We’re still holding our breath and will be until he takes his, but I’m really, really proud of the family in these pictures. I’m proud of Daniel and me for building an even stronger foundation in our grief. I’m proud of him for the husband and father he is. I’m proud of both my babies for the wonderful people that they are and how much they both light up a room. (The last one is a photo of me with Little Brother next to a photo of me with Eleanora. I love, love, love seeing my babies side-by-side. 🥹)
November 9 is the “This is Courageously Expectin November 9 is the “This is Courageously Expecting” movement. I wanted to take this opportunity to share about both our babies. We lost our first baby, Eleanora James, at 38 weeks in June of 2021. She was and is our entire world, and grieving her is the hardest thing we’ve ever had to do. On May 8, 2022 (Mother’s Day), we found out we were expecting again. That story was, in no way, a coincidence. In July, we learned that this baby is Eleanora’s Little Brother. In September, we set a date for his delivery: December 27. We’re hoping and praying every day that getting to bring him home will be our Christmas miracle. #ThisIsCourageouslyExpecting … To know that we will never reach a “safety zone.” To fear that every ultrasound will end with the worst possible news again. To start each day with the fear that he’s left while we slept. To celebrate even though we are afraid. To take the pictures even though I might cry before, during, or after. To prepare for a coming-home we know isn’t guaranteed. To tell him all about his big sister who watches over him every day and always will. To tell him “we love you” every day we have together. To know that through every tear, sleepless night, scary appointment, and hour of panic, we kept fighting—for ourselves, for our baby who isn’t here, and for our baby who hopefully, hopefully, hopefully will be. 💚
I've been up since 4. It's nearly 6 now. Writing h I've been up since 4. It's nearly 6 now. Writing helped lull me to sleep last time I tried it, so here we are again. I wrote two different sets of thoughts down. The first is about what grief feels like when it haunts you in the middle of the night. The second (this one) came after all those dark thoughts were out in the open. I let my mind wander to "what if" questions that end in happiness. ………..………..……….. What if I let myself imagine all of it? What if we actually get to do it? What if I get to put the little reindeer hat that’s waiting for him onto his tiny head, and zip him up in a ridiculously puffy and cozy outfit, and watch him sleep next to me in the backseat while I marvel at him, and at my wonderful husband who is so deserving of every happy moment, and at the lights? What if he misses every single second of it, and I just don’t care because he’s HERE? What if we all laugh? What if I get to feel all five of his tiny fingers curl around one of mine? What if we get just the perfect amount of snow and all the world feels quiet to me again, the way I’ve longed for since the day we lost her? What if Daniel looks at me in the rearview mirror and smiles because we actually made it? What if we get to bring the baby back home and just hold him and hold him and hold him in the living room while we have a fire in the fireplace and an old Christmas movie playing quietly on the tv? What if we get to tuck him into bed that night and watch his little face as he dreams? (https://mainandmama.com/pregnancy-after-loss/what-if-its-a-beginning/)
We visited Eleanora tonight. We hadn’t been in a We visited Eleanora tonight. We hadn’t been in almost two weeks (we try to go every week) just due to a crazy schedule and pregnancy exhaustion. I get horrific separation anxiety if I’m away from her too long. Of course it was pouring while we were there, so after a few minutes, I said we should walk back to the car and go. As soon as we started walking, I started crying. Daniel, who can read me like a book, asked if I wanted to stay another minute. So we went back to her spot and stayed there in the rain. That was exactly what I needed. When we got back into the car a few minutes later, I thought to myself that I really hope she’ll send us a big sign someday when we get to bring her brother to meet her. We pulled out of the cemetery and got around the corner and I gasped because there was the biggest, brightest (double!) rainbow I’ve ever seen. We could see both ends, and it hovered right over her resting place. It took my breath away. So of course we had to stop so I could get a picture of both my babies together—and on the first day of my third trimester with Little Brother. Thank you, baby girl. You made my entire October. 💚
I've been having a hard time sleeping for a while. I've been having a hard time sleeping for a while. My therapist recommended that I try getting some of my thoughts out while I'm awake in the middle of the night. I've been too afraid to write anything for almost two months—the crazy thing about pregnancy after loss is the fear that anything you say can and will jinx you—but this needed to come out. ------------------- ...I remember that scene from the animated cartoon Prince of Egypt, where all the firstborn children are swept away in the middle of the night by God’s wrath, personified by a breeze. They take one final breath, and then they are gone. The parents wake up screaming. That scene, especially the breeze, always terrified me as a kid, and as an adult, I now know why. It really is that easy. What if the breeze blows through our house again? What if I wash and sort and fold and put away his clothes and then have to mourn them just like I do hers? What if we read him every story in the closet but he never gets to come home to see the pictures? What if we choose the perfect name for him, just as we did for her, and instead of getting to say it out loud at the dinner table or on his birthday, we have to carve it in stone, just as we did for her? What if instead of getting to spend my weekend afternoons snuggled up with him, I spend them on the ground at his gravesite, just as we do with her? What if his birth is silent too? What if I have to go back to another hospital room where all the cars below are honking and everyone is going about their day and I stand there, staring out the window, while mine is frozen in time? What if they get to go to work and eat the salads they really don’t like but pretend to, and that’s the worst part of their day, but I have to sign funeral home paperwork instead of a birth certificate—again? How am I supposed to trust anyone or anything that tells me that this time, it will be okay? I don’t. You can’t control the wind. https://mainandmama.com/pregnancy-after-loss/418-a-m/
We’re home from our 27-week appointment. Baby’ We’re home from our 27-week appointment. Baby’s birthday is ten weeks from today. Today was TDAP vaccine, growth ultrasound, and gestational diabetes test day. I get really close to passing out with blood draws, so the nurse invited the receptionist in to talk to me and keep me awake. They asked about my tattoo on my arm, and I got to tell them all about how each part of it holds meaning for Eleanora. I stayed totally awake. After Eleanora died, I dreamt that she told me to get this tattoo just below my right inner elbow because that’s where I always have blood drawn from. She told me that she would help me get through all my future bloodwork that way. She definitely did today. Little Brother—who has developed a real sweet tooth the last few weeks—was all about the glucose drink. I told the ultrasound tech that he isn’t normally a morning person, but he was all wiggles after all that sugar. He is measuring 27 weeks and 1 day (2 lbs and 3 oz!), so he’s right on track. We got to see him in 3D today, and he looks so much like her. It was almost heart-stopping (in the best way) to feel like I saw her again. 70 more days until we get to hold you, little guy. 💚
Our lives changed forever two years ago today when Our lives changed forever two years ago today when we found out we were expecting our Eleanora. When I think about last summer and the horrifically dark days after her death, it’s sometimes hard to remember what this happiness felt like. Our time with her was pure, unfiltered bliss. I love these two pictures in particular because they show just how very much she was and is loved and how much joy she brought to our lives. We miss you with every breath we take, Nora girl. Thanks for making us your mama and papa. 💚
Load More... Follow on Instagram

Copyright 2021 - Main & Mama