The Spirit of Elijah

July 12, 2017

By Sanda Rathamone

My son is much more than an angel, he was the spirit who guided my pregnancy with him and still guides me after loss. Little did I know that my son isn't a just baby, he is a wise spirit. He is somehow part of the spirit of an Archangel.

After loss, I joined a group on social media, a group just for Stillbirth Mothers. I came across several mothers with a son, also named Elijah. I know that Elijah is a biblical name, a classic one, and that there are always chances of meeting someone with this name. Yet, before I had ever chosen the name Elijah, I have never met an Elijah in real life. It wasn't common for me to know an "Eli."

It wasn't the meaning of Elijah's name that made me so attracted to it, either. I just knew that it sounded beautiful, that it was the perfect name. 

Additionally, one of my nurses at the hospital has —yes has and not had — a son named Elijah. The special thing about her Elijah was that he had the same exact birthday as my Elijah, only now just about 29 years ago. Ever since this encounter, I believed that there was something very special about not just my Elijah, but the spirit associated with this name. To read more about the nurse, click Here

It was also not until after loss that I found that Elijah, the prophet, ascended as an angel. The prophet Elijah is also known as Archangel Sandalphon, the Archangel of music and protector of unborn children. He also helps determine the gender of unborn children, which is very interesting in my case. I named my son -- who died unborn -- after a prophet, who became an Archangel which oversees unborn children!

To read more about Archangel Sandaphon, click below:

I am not saying that there is something magical and special about Elijah because I am his mother, but because there's just something I cannot grasp about him, but know that there is something truly wonderful and spiritual about him. Something alluring and profound. Something that makes me see that losing him isn't so bad after all. 

I had a dream just earlier this morning. This dream was so odd, yet, I felt some kind of strong connection and learned something very valuable: 

[I was at a flea market, it was near closing time and I had to find my way back home. It was next to a freeway, which on the other side were houses and bus stops. Where I entered the flea market was a tall, muddy, kind of slanted wall, people went through the mud just to get there! Yet, climbing back up was impossible and that is why having a car was so important. Unfortunately, I didn't have a car. I tried to exit the other way -- the freeway side -- to get home or to the bus stop. I would have to hop over the empty freeway and a gate about the height of my waist, but with barbed wires. Assuming that many people would do this and that someone was trying to keep people away from doing exactly what I was trying to do. 

The first time I got out, I didn't see that there was an invisible line, that if it was crossed, it would set off an alarm. And I did just that, an alarm went off! I was afraid of what would happen, but I tried again. I was caught by an old woman and was stuck in her house. She said that if I can find my way out, I could leave. A part of me was afraid that she was going to call the cops. The wood flooring of her house happened to be booby-trapped with some kind of magic, but I got through! I literally did some effortless dance through her house and out her front door. It was the most refreshing, yet, easiest thing I have ever done. Magically, there appeared to be three young teenage males with me, who were stuck in her house. They were unable to get out, unlike myself, and had no choice but to stay seated on her couch. 

Outside, in front of her house, I sat on her high level porch and noticed that she had a rather large clear square box with a baby in it. It wasn't alive, it was either a toy or some large decorative figurine of an infant child. I watched it, amazed at how in a way, it sort of looked alive. It moved in a toy-like fashion, its arms moving up and down, body moving sideways, and beautiful bright brown eyes flickering, with lids opening and closing. I assumed that, like myself, this old woman must've lost her child. The old woman sat next to me. I asked her if that baby was hers and told her rather cheerfully that I had lost mine, too, and that his name is Elijah. And when I said his name, she started bawling. I thought her son was also named Elijah. I wasn't sure how to comfort her other than to pat her leg. 

She never said a word, but I could hear her telling me that she put it out there so people would see it. To know how painful it was to lose a child. But, no one had ever even looked at it. Then, a Pack N' Play appeared in front of her house with a young infant boy in it. At first, I thought the boy was hers, but knew that it wasn't. The old woman was a babysitter of the young boy, about the age of 1 or 2, from next door. Her neighbor is a young business working couple; they needed a babysitter for their son and the old woman happened to be convenient with nothing to do. The parents were always on the go. The young child was always acting out, wanting to get out of the crib. But, the old woman had no energy to play with him. She was too old and was grieving. 

She then gave me a small box, which looked like a small version of a crib, and silently told me to show it to those young males stuck on her couch. She told me to tell them to look only at the box and then think about what it meant. I did just that, I went inside and told them what she silently told me. I felt that she wanted them to understand that she wasn't some bitter old woman, who tried to capture people from hopping over the freeway gate, but that she was hurting. I gave it to the first boy who seemed to be careless and didn't want to look at the box, but forcibly told him to look at just that. 

I was about to head outside, but was distracted by the young infant boy in his crib in front of me. I carried him, I felt his anxiety and yearning to get out of it. The old woman returned inside and before I could ask or saying anything to her, I saw a few photos on the her stone, brick wall. The first one was of a newborn baby boy, the second was of her and her husband, but I never made it to the third photo. Because the second photo gave me a spark. A surprising feeling came through me and I said aloud with wide eyes, "Elijah isn't your son, he's your husband!" 

In the photo, her husband looked a bit young, in his late 30s or early 40s, with grayish white hair. He had a rather adult, but youthful face with a friendly smile.] 

I never heard her say a single word, but I knew that I was right. I knew that she was an elderly widow, living alone in a beautiful empty home, a home that looked as if her and her husband had built it with love and hard work over some years. I knew that no one had ever asked her about her son, who died at just a month or so after birth. I knew that she was grieving the death of her husband and son and that no one cared for her. Not even her neighbors with the young boy. She wanted nothing, but for someone to understand her. She wanted people to stop judging her as the bitter old crazy witch woman with white hair. 

In some way, the old woman was an aspect of myself, someone who wanted to teach others an important lesson, someone who valued generosity, kindness, compassion and integrity. Yet, I knew that she was a real person and that I had a special gift to truly understand her. At first, I also had that judgment of her bitterness, but after, I learned that she was everything, but old and bitter. She was just so sad because everyone she loved was gone.

I also felt something profound. I felt that Elijah was an old spirit. A very, very, very old but powerful spirit. Not old in age, but old as in he has been around and reincarnated many times, for a long, long time. An intelligent, wise, kind and caring spirit that comes to teach others the gift of humanity and spirit of love. My son is not only named after a prophet and Archangel, he is also the spirit of one. I felt the same feeling of my Elijah and the old woman's Elijah. There's just something about the name that brings about a gentleness, a higher, intangible, yet, heart warming energy. 

You just know an Elijah by their aura, whether in spirit or in human form. My son is somehow a teacher I never knew that I would have. A teacher who shows me how to use my gifts and his.

* Read the full story about Elijah:

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