She died.

"She died."

I hate saying it. I hate thinking it.

I have fully come to accept its truth, but I hate the thought that it was something she did. By saying she died, I feel like it implies that she gave up, that she wasn't a fighter. And I have to believe if she was her mother's daughter, that she had quite a tenacious nature.

One day over the past few weeks, I actually got mad at her (don't worry baby grief loss books say other moms have felt this.) I had said 'she died' so many times that I came to believe it was true, that she had given up.

But I know she was strong. I felt her kicks. You may have even saw them from time to time. My stomach would appear as a freak of nature, as though some alien life form would burst forth from it at any minute.

So yes, she died, but she was a fighter. I just wish there was another way I could say it.