Letters To Elijah: Entry 6

October 16, 2017

By Sanda Rathamone

"I'm gonna pray, pray for a glimmer of hope. Maybe I'll pray, pray. Maybe I'll pray."
"Dear Elijah,

I am writing this a few days ahead of time. Something's been on my mind a lot or shall I say, it has been a constant thought and worry since you've left.

As I am writing this, I am four days late - now a whole week. I know that in some months, it takes a bit longer to arrive and need to be patient, but I just cannot handle the sight of blood. I just hope not to see it this month. It always brings me back to the harsh times before I was pregnant with you, desperate for a baby. There is just too much reoccurring disappointment and I struggle finding some kind of way to keep me afloat through it all. This faith I have for another baby isn't as strong as I would like it to be; it has already been 16 long and lonely months without and after you.

The night before, I thought it still might be a little too early and should wait at least another week or so or until there was a definite sign. Although, I have this inkling feeling, an inner knowing...

Yet again, it could just all be an illusion and here I go again with doubting myself and what I want.

I awoke this morning (Oct. 13th) with that same feeling, that perhaps it is not the right time.

But I couldn't wait. I had to know. 

A part of me really wants to believe in miracles, the other part of me will not, until something happens. For me, a positive pregnancy test would be considered a miracle. The only time I ever saw two lines was when I found out I was pregnant with you. Sadly, I have thrown away numerous negative tests throughout the past few years or so and have never gotten used to it.

It hurts - every time. 

It's strange to say that it hurts, even though there is no wound, no physical proof that I am hurting. Disappointment actually hurts like a wound, a gash that never heals.

It's funny that I am writing this on October 13th, because today is exactly 20 months from the day that I took a pregnancy test. On February 13, 2016, I was upset over a negative pregnancy test, but just 13 days after that test, I found out I was pregnant with you. Interesting how I am just realizing that this number "13" is somehow significant.

It would be a definite surprise if it happened again in that very same way, but I hope that this time, we get to keep the baby.

Unfortunately, this test like that other one and so many others, came out negative. The thing I hate about negative pregnancy tests is that it starts to make my whole day "negative." It makes me feel sad, frustrated, unworthy; it disrupts my "positive" attitude and my self-worth. I cannot concentrate on anything else because my mind is too wrapped around these stupid questions that visit me over and over again:

"Why am I not pregnant? When will I get pregnant? What is wrong? What am I supposed to do now? What does it take?"

What more DOES it take?

I cannot bear the thought that you might have been the only one I will ever have and that maybe I am just not meant to have children. It makes me cry - it torments me - when I start to think that my "mission" in life will not include creating, birthing, and raising my own children. It's heartbreaking that I sometimes feel that you aren't truly mine, that you belong to God and not with me.

On my way to school, I don't know why I asked you to help me let go. I felt that I had to. 

And then, on the way home, a song came up on Pandora, you probably know it because I believe that you sent it to me.

"Pray" by Sam Smith.

This song reminds me of this one time in middle school that I did a research paper on a gospel singer. Though, I recall that she died from an overdose, which I had hoped wasn't true - she had a beautiful voice. I wish I remembered her name, but do remember listening to her songs and felt her strength and glory. She was powerful and like the song "Pray," it gave me this powerful and overwhelming courage to pray. And so I did. I felt that you wanted me to pray.

The prayers I sent were in clusters, but all of them was about this miracle baby, like how you came to me when I finally prayed to God. All I want is to be blessed with a second chance and let go of the thought that I might never have it.

There's just nothing else in my life that I want more and is ready for than this. 

I just know that I am supposed to be a mom, I can't explain it. I feel it and have lived with it for some time now, even way before you. And it hurts having this phantom feeling that I'm not even sure is really there. Is anything even real anymore?

Lately, I have been hearing the song "You Are My Sunshine." Some mornings, I wake up hearing and singing it in my head. I know that somehow, you are sending me this song, just like how you sent me "Pray." Yet, it makes me very sad when I hear the part that says, "please, don't take my sunshine away." I feel like I am begging to not have you taken away from me. I feel like something or someone is taking away my sunshine.

If I ever had a past life, I wonder if that was what has happened to me before, that my child was stolen from me. Maybe this explains why it took me so long to get pregnant and why I lost you. And just maybe, I am supposed to learn how to let go of everything, but most of all, of fear.

I am afraid that if I let you go, you were the only one I had. But maybe, I am holding on too tight. Maybe I cannot have another baby or truly love another baby, until I have released my yearning and fear of losing you or any other baby. Maybe that is why I asked you to help me in the first place.

When I was reading the book that your daddy picked for your baby cousin Jazmine, again, I think I was right to have asked you for help. Because once I read this one part about "the auntie," I realized that this auntie was me. I still question the title of being her aunt, but the more I open up to her, the more it seems that she is here for a reason - partly on your behalf.

I don't think I could ever love her the way that I love you, but I know that she is here to show me how to love her, without you. Perhaps that is why she is comfortable around me because she believes in me, like you do. And I know that you will always be there to guide us along the way.

I never thought that she would ever be happy to see me or that I would be happy to see her. 

And just maybe, she is showing me how to bravely let go of you and the fear of losing.

P.S. Thank you for showing me the way to the magical jewelry box. You are my SONshine."

Elijah Rathamone-Saeteurn 
Born Thursday, June 16, 2016 
6:51 a.m. 9.9 oz and 10 in 
Due October 30, 2016 

To read previous Letters To Elijah, click here.

 Read the full story about Elijah:
Elijah's Story: From Gender Reveal To A Spontaneous Delivery

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