I was told that every woman will experience at least one loss throughout her lifetime. I now thoroughly believe this to be true. I never realised just how common stillbirth is until it happened to me. I'm just ashamed that it only took me to go through it to know about it.

I was 37+4 weeks when I went for a scan for reduced movements. I just knew something wasn't right. I was monitored at the hospital which the staff couldn't find anything on it so I was made to wait in the waiting room. Surrounded by pregnant women I tried my best to hold in my tears as I knew it wasn't good news, especially after seeing 3 members of staff walk into the room I was about to be called in to.

Lying on that bed I looked at the sonographer, seeing the slight panic in his eyes. Then came the words that will haunt me for the rest of my life, "I'm sorry there's no heartbeat".

I asked what he meant knowing fully well what he meant but I needed to hear it again. That was the moment my world my came crashing down right in front of me. I screamed and cried for what seemed like hours. I stared at the floor for 20 minutes feeling numb and confused by what was happening. Just a few days before I had a growth scan and a wiggling baby, the next thing she was gone. Just like that. The once filled waiting room was now empty. I instantly agreed to be induced as I couldn't bear to carry a dead baby and hoped they were wrong. They were right.

The next morning I pushed my baby girl into the world on the 9th June 2018 at 8:15am weighing 6lbs10oz at 37+5 weeks. We named our second beautiful daughter Eva. She was perfect. The spitting image of her big sister with a hint of me. She had my nose, lips and a beautiful full head of Brown hair. Waiting to hear that cry only to hear nothing was the hardest thing I've ever had to endure. It's a different silence to 'normal' silence although I can't explain it, it was just 'different'. I noticed that Eva's skin had started to slip so I knew right away that she had been dead for a while now and there was definitely no bringing her back. I felt like an awful mother, I was too afraid and numb to get her dressed myself I needed help. I was scared of hurting her if that makes sense.

Every time I looked at her I cried. I whispered in her ear while holding her cold hands that I loved her very much and begged her to wake up which I know was silly, I just wanted my baby to wake up. we would see her as much as possible in the family viewing room. Took as many pictures as we could, cuddled her as long as we could. I feel I could have taken many more photos and given her a thousand more kisses, but I am grateful for the ones we did have. Her postmortem results came back that Eva died of a fetal-maternal haemorrhage with a background of severe anaemia.

I didn't know, no warning signs or concerns until it was too late. She completely lost all of her volume of blood so she was never going to survive. I was too late in saving my baby and it's something I blame myself for every single day, no matter how many times I'm told it's not my fault I will still blame myself. It's my nature, I'm her mother and I couldn't keep her safe. I failed. Leaving my baby in that hospital was extremely hard, but not as hard the last goodbye, the last kiss, the last I love you.

Eva was cremated a month after her birth. Her  appearance had barely changed at all, she was always beautiful anyway but she hardly changed, almost as if she was holding on for us to see her for the last day to be perfect for us. I couldn't face knowing she would be alone in a cold, hard ground, so we brought her ashes home with us, in the warm where she belongs with us. I never knew a box could be so tiny, but make my heart feel so heavy although it's broken and empty.

It's been almost 10 months and I miss her terribly. I often have bad days over good. I still cry most days, and still trying to learn how to live through this pain. Her 1st birthday is coming up and I'm dreading it as selfish as it sounds. I'm just not looking forward to the flashbacks which I've tried so hard to block out so far. I feel so lost without her and often wish I could join her, but I have my older daughter who's a massive distraction and blessing who I can't leave behind. What would that achieve? Apart of me died that day and I've never been the same since.

I can't bear seeing pregnant women or newborn babies especially ones that cry. I didn't hear my baby cry so how can I listen to another baby cry? It changes you completely. We've lost most of our friends apart from a very very small group of people who have been there for us and shown us such loving support who don't treat us any different.

Not one person congratulated me for still giving birth, only sorry but it's not their fault. No one expects a child to die. Most people are afraid of talking about Eva, not even to say her name which absolutely kills me. I get the impression that I should be 'over it' by now by others but there's no time limit on grief, my heart and my world was snatched from me how can I just get over it? I will remember this for the rest of my life. My mission is to keep my Eva remembered, she deserves to have her name known to the world.

I just wish people who haven't gone through it could understand but I wouldn't want them to understand, I couldn't wish this on my own worst enemy. I will always talk about her whether people like it or not.

She and my older daughter are my life, my reason for living. I'm not giving it up for anyone. Losing our daughter has made me and my husband stronger. He's there for me, strong for me as I am for him. Nothing scares us anymore, not after what we had to go through. Dads shouldn't be left out as they're hurting just as much. To every day out there who has been through a loss, I see you and I feel for you. You are not alone. You matter too.

Our daughter was born sleeping, however she was STILL born and deserves to be celebrated just like any other baby. She's not here in person, but she's here in spirit. We know she's around. We have some lovely signs sometimes. I just wish I could cuddle her one last time again, only just for 5 minutes. I miss her smell. The feel of her soft skin. I've gone through two miscarriages since losing Eva, almost a punishment I feel for trying to fall pregnant so quick as if we're trying to replace her, which I could never do, I just want to get rid of my empty feeling and something to cuddle again. Cuddling a box of ashes just isn't the same. We carry some of her ashes into a little teddy bear which we take everywhere with us.

I just want the world to know that my daughter did exist, she still does through me. I carry her blood in my veins. I absorbed her blood so she is with me forever. I know she's here with us. I've even seen her in spirit form.

My daughter is Eva beryl Susan olley. She was born sleeping on the 9th June 2018 at 37+5 weeks from a fetal-maternal haemorrhage. Eva is our world! We love her more than life itself. Eva is beautiful, our Angel and she knows only love. Eva matters always. She's alive through us, we refuse to let her go. We will not forget her. I'm sorry my Eva that we could not save you. I can only wish that you can forgive me. I wish I knew much sooner. I failed you as a mother. I failed to keep you safe. But I will not fail at keeping you remembered, your memory alive. Our sleeping beauty Eva. We love you. We miss you. Always and forever, until we are reunited in paradise.

Please wait for us. Beautiful Eva.