The very first Christmas after loss was two years ago in 2016. It is now a blur in my memory, like it never happened.

However, very clearly, I could remember how emotionally draining it was. That Christmas was just six months after Elijah died. 

But it wasn't just Elijah's death that made Christmas unbearable; it was also fear and jealousy. I couldn't bear celebrating Christmas along side my sister-in-law, who was seven months pregnant with Jazmine at that time. Constantly, I battled with the fear of my pregnancy being replaced by hers. I barely had the chance to fully share my pregnancy and after loss, it was like my pregnancy had never existed.

That Christmas was during a time when being around pregnant women right after loss had a torturing effect (still does). I avoided all and any pregnant woman I could, including my sister-in-law, especially on that Christmas. There was also another issue: I couldn't stand to be around bellies. The sight of them just hurt. I couldn't find it in my heart to acknowledge bellies and babies because I no longer had mine.

I don't remember what I did that Christmas, but I saved myself from a lot more grief and heartache that I was already struggling to process. 

Last year's Christmas was a bit similar. I skipped out on the family Christmas party for a second time and stayed home, leaving my husband to attend without me. One whole Christmas after the first one passed by without us falling pregnant or having another baby. I was disappointed and highly emotional about not having a baby to bring or at the least, being there while secretly pregnant.

I remember that that was the Christmas my mother-in-law kept asking me to go. Right now, at this very moment, I can visually see her kind face and gesturing hand encouraging me to move my legs and get dressed. The more she tried, the more misunderstood and neglected I felt. I wanted her to know that I was still in pain.

I wasn't sure I would ever celebrate Christmas after losing Elijah.

Time passes and eventually we reach the holidays and Christmas comes up again. I guess third time's a charm. I decided I would celebrate with the family - willingly and anxiously. I wasn't sure how I would feel or if I was ready. I wasn't sure if this would be an emotional, heavy holiday, like it was the past two Christmases.

Surprisingly, this Christmas was not energetically taxing or extremely difficult; it was just another ordinary day of grief, without the bursting of emotions or secret tears. Honestly, every day is a day of grief - some lighter or heavier than others...

What helped made Christmas easier this time around was bringing something for everyone. My husband and I made a contribution for Christmas dinner. We brought a pot of homemade soup and noodles. The noodles, of course, were made with the most love and care; it gave my Christmas a purpose: to give and to share. I also wanted to impress the family with my noodle-making skills...

But it would be a lie if I told you that Christmas went by smoothly. There were moments where I was hurting and it wasn't just because of Elijah's absence.

My husband's cousins, "Luke" and "Julie" with 7-month-old Shane joined in on our holiday festivities. I secretly hoped that they wouldn't be there; I wanted Christmas to be infant-free. Although seeing them on Thanksgiving was less rough than seeing them three months ago in September (the first time I met baby Shane). My emotions around Shane are still weary and tender. His size and stage in infancy reminds me of Elijah and what was taken from me.


Every newborn, teething, crawling, walking infant will always tug my heartstrings and lead me to the most painful directions. 



There was this funny moment when Jazmine, who is now nearly two in a couple months, ran away from Shane. She refuses to get physically close to or play with him. We all learned that Jazmine doesn't like (real life) babies and for some reason, her reaction is amusing to watch. Now, I wonder if she would have liked playing with Elijah; they would have been closer in age. 

In that same moment, I hear Julie chiming in:

"I feel so bad for (Jazmine's mom) when they have another one."

Because Jazmine is currently an only child with an only child "attitude;" everything is about her. This brought me back to September, when Julie told Jazmine's mom that they should start trying for another one because Jazmine was growing up fast.

I know that this is selfish of me, but I don't want anyone making another pregnancy announcement before my husband and I have our baby. It's not fair that we have already lost ours and other babies have been born into the family after Elijah died. I don't want another baby shower invite, unless it's mine.

I honestly cannot handle the idea of my sister-in-law having a second baby and hope that this "second baby" makes its way around to us instead. 

I wish Julie would have said to us, "I feel for you guys and hope that you both have another one." Her comment had never made me feel more alone and forgotten...

This Christmas would have been Elijah's third Christmas - in everyone's arms. I would have loved to see everyone holding and passing Elijah around like they do with Jazmine and Shane.

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

Photo: maxpixel

I saw a post on Facebook, "The most sensitive time of the year," and hit "liked." It was a post made by Healing Hearts Baby Loss Comfort, which expressed how some, or many, of us are finding the holidays a lot more heartbreaking, than heartwarming.

Some of us are grieving - and if you're like me - you're grieving a first, second, third and so on Christmas holiday, without a baby.

For us, this will be the third Christmas without Elijah. And for me, the holidays are... confusing. I am not exactly sure how to feel. Should I be sad? Angry? Disappointed? Should I be grateful? Happy? Excited? I don't know, but one thing's for sure: I miss Elijah, and I wish that he were here.

More than anything, I am wishing for a Christmas miracle. I am hoping for a baby.

Last month, I blogged about how infertility scored 18, while I was still at the score of zero. I was stuck in this depressed mood for weeks after that cycle. I couldn't find the motivation to go to school and stayed in the bedroom for hours all day, crying about everything.

"Dear Elijah,

There was a day I cried and began asking that question I would ask for months after you died: "Why?" 

Why did you have to die?

Why did God give you to me, just to take you back?

Why do they get to keep their babies and not me?

 And then, I went to the other place, the "Did I's?"

Did I do something wrong?

Did I not deserve you?

And the, "Did you?"

Did you not love me?

Did you not want me?

These same old questions resurfaced with a bang; they hurt so much. It hurts to not know the answers. It hurts that I am asking these unanswerable questions that will haunt me for I don't know how long, but feels like it has been forever and a lifetime.

You are a mystery and I ache to know how I would have loved you without so much pain. 

And yet, I feel you everywhere and love you so much that it hurts. Your touch, so faint, it intensifies this hunger to reach out and grab hold of you - and never let go.


There was this one night your daddy and I were laying on the floor, talking about random things. I don't know how we ended up talking about phones and phone numbers, but we "rediscovered" something that wasn't a "lost treasure," until now.

When your daddy and I were in our beginning stages years and years ago, his old phone number was 501-6610. I didn't realize it at first, but when my mind "clicked," I was shocked to realize that his number were your numbers - it was you! 16 for the day you were born and 651 for the time you died. Your daddy and I had this striking epiphany that we were meant to be, you were meant to be, and everything was set up and fated in this crazy, amazing way.

And you were with us long before we knew about you. 

Realizing this answers the Did I's and Did You's. I did nothing wrong. I did deserve you. You did love me. You did want me - and I know that you still do. Sadly, this does not answer my Whys. Would I ever know the Whys? If so, would I be okay with the answers?...

These numbers prove that we have always been connected and reminds me of a movie I watched the other day called, Entanglement. There was a scene where this girl asks this guy, "Have you ever heard of quantum entanglement?" She explains: "Well, these special little particles are created together and then no matter where they go, they're bonded... forever."

In a later scene, the guy brings up the topic again and compares it to telepathy, "the two particles, or their spin... it's like they're two parts of the same thing." The girl uses two quarters to explain how as two particles, "they're created and connected together and they seem almost the same, but whenever one is heads, the other is tails. It's just how they are. They're opposition forever."

So, every time they flipped the quarters, one was heads and the other tails; never the same. Yet, they are connected, like a magnet. Personally, I haven't tested this, but if I apply this theory to our connection, things somewhat makes sense. I am here, you are there (wherever you are, but I know you are close). Yet, even with opposition, we are forever connected, fused and bonded by... love.

Love, I realized, makes my connection to you more powerful than anything in this world.

Some say that our children choose us before they are born. Others say that we have made agreements long before we are all born. For me, both are true. 

As a spirit, waiting to be born before being pregnant with you makes sense; those numbers made sense. It comforts me to know that you were there since the beginning and more so that you have always been close, waiting and listening for the night I would send prayers for you.

You were meant to be and you have always been Elijah. You couldn't have been anyone else.

Love, Your Mommy."

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

Photo: maxpixel

Lately, I have been finding it difficult to wake up in the mornings. I don't know if it is because winter has arrived early, making it hard to leave the bed, or because my heart is exhausted. I think it's both.

More often than usual, I find myself looking at the frost on the window or staring off into space before getting up. Sometimes, my eyes leak, sometimes, I cry. Sometimes, I am numb and frozen as I realize for the millionth time that I am a mom without her baby.

I don't get to wake up early by a playful toddler. 

I don't get to wake up, called to do mommy duties. 

I don't get to wake up and start the day as the trio I thought we would be. 

My heart is exhausted from all of the strength I have had to dig up and haul around. Grief makes everything feel more effort-ful; it takes 2 to 3 times more energy just to do the simplest things, like walking and talking. And 4 times more energy when there is a pregnant woman or baby around (or on social media).

After Elijah died, I would spend nights going through every unworn piece of clothing, unused blankets, and his baby things. I would lay on the floor and silently weep, holding tightly onto either the very first onesie or another one that said, "Wild About Mommy."

Those two onesies carry the most meaning; both are in newborn sizes. They would have been one of the first things Elijah would have worn right after birth or on the day that we would take him home.



It is now nearly 30 months since his birth, and death. I find it hard to believe that it has also been this long that there are two boxes sitting high up in the closet - that used to be labeled "Elijah's Clothes" and "Maternity Clothes." I don't know what happened to those labels...

I haven't gone through my maternity clothes as much as Elijah's. I don't know why. A part of me thinks it is because I want to reopen that box when I am pregnant again, not anytime before then. I just don't want to cry about it and want to pretend it doesn't exist. Yet, everyday, I know it's there, like haunting unsaid words in the back of my mind.

I must admit, though, that I have recently returned to wire-less bras that I wore when I was pregnant with Elijah. Lately, my usual everyday bras have been annoyingly uncomfortable. Those lazy, boring, cheap, but oh-so-comfy "maternity" bras that have sizes in letters, instead of numbers, feel so much better! I have been wearing them again for weeks now.

I just wish that I was pregnant again, while wearing them. 

This is also how I know that I am gaining too much weight. Luckily, there is a plus side: my boobs are becoming (slightly) fuller - I can live with that. 

But that was all I did with the box. I pulled out the bras, I didn't look for or touch anything else. I replaced the lid on the box like it was never opened.

A couple of days ago, I don't know what it was, but I had this feeling that the box was calling out to me. I opened the closet, looked up at the box, and then closed the closet. I couldn't do it. Instead, I went through Elijah's memory boxes (not clothing box). I also unwrapped his urn from the dust bag, held it, and cried. I had forgotten how smooth and small his wooden, emptied urn felt and looked like. I had forgotten that Elijah used to live in that box.


I had an emotional breakdown and couldn't stop before my husband got home from work that night. I found it hard to tell him exactly why I was crying. I just told him it was because I was listening to a podcast. I didn't tell him it was a podcast on, "How to Cope When Everyone Around You is Falling Pregnant," which was partially to blame...

It has been a long while that I have been holding onto anger, disappointment, and resentment against my husband about "trying again." Ever since Elijah died, all I want is another baby - I can't help it. Repeatedly, my body would fail, making this baby thing a never-ending battle. It makes me more angry and more hurt.

And then to see pregnant women and babies.

I just want to die. How is it that I am still here? I don't quite know.

When I was going through Elijah's memory box, I reread all of the cards that were in it. And when I got to the Mother's Day card that my husband got for me, I realized how unfair I have been to him.

He wrote:

Even though Elijah is not with us today, I know that your love for our child is stronger than most. With that, I can't imagine any other woman to be the Mother of my children."  

I read those words three or four times and each time I read it, I cried harder and harder. Honestly, I am crying at this very moment, writing these words. Those words meant so much and I wished I remembered them these past few months. It has been difficult surviving the -Ber Months: Halloween/Elijah's Due Date, Thanksgiving, my birthday, and then now, the Christmas season, which is all about family and gatherings.

Mother's Day 2018

Those words brought on the beginnings of healing this painful womb-ache I have battled for years.

I had a quick dream early in the morning. I saw a note written on paper. In cursive handwriting, it said something like, "Congratulations on your rough draft. Let me know when you have considered the revisions." It was signed by a woman (forgot her name) with a title of a midwife. It had something to do with a book or some written work, that I wanted published? 

The word "midwife" was illuminated in a way that captured most of my attention.

I have no idea what the dream means, so I spent some time at B&N in the pregnancy section. I sat on the floor, reading the first several pages of "Magical Beginnings, Enchanted Lives: A Guide to Pregnancy and Childbirth" by Deepak Chopra, M.D. and David, M.D. Simon. When I got to chapter one, there was a quote that spoke to me:

The body of a woman who is to conceive is being chosen as a channel for the expression of divinity into materiality. Although ovulation is a law of nature, conception is a law of God." - Edgar Cayce

I don't know what it was about this quote, but it brought comfort. Like my husband's words, I read it again and again, and held it close to my heart.

With courage, I finally went through my maternity clothes. I didn't cry, I almost felt like I had to force it, but as I picked up a shirt or a pair of pants, I became angry. Angry at myself, God, or what happened to Elijah, I don't know, but I felt anger burning inside of me.

I became angry as I realized that some of my maternity clothes were like Elijah's - unworn, starchy, and still tagged. I started to dig faster into the box, hastily grabbing out clothes that I had yet to wear. What hit me the hardest was a pair of maternity jeans I got from Old Navy with the tag still on it. I remember buying it after months of using rubber bands to keep my jeans on.

At five months pregnant, my belly was at this stage where I couldn't fit my jeans anymore, but still had a way to go to fit into maternity jeans. Most of my pregnancy with Elijah, I wore leggings which overtime became uncomfortable at the mid-line. I even bought maternity leggings that were also yet to be worn because I needed time to fit the belly part.

Regular "Large" leggings were too big on the legs part.

But it wasn't the unworn clothes that made me angry, it was realizing that I was waiting. I was waiting to wear this shirt. I was waiting to wear these jeans. I was waiting for a bigger belly. I was waiting for Elijah. What I didn't know was that I had waited... for nothing. NOTHING!

My baby died before I could wear a size 4 maternity jeans. 

I don't remember if I bought those jeans on the same day I went maternity clothes shopping with my husband, but do remember being at Old Navy and trying on this grey spaghetti-strap maternity dress. It was in this maxi-length and had so much room in the belly part and felt like wearing a thin, flowy blanket - probably the strangest way to describe it, but we both really liked it.

When it came to purchasing, the cashier couldn't find the tag. Sadly, it was the only dress they had available in-store and there was no way that they could find the dress in any other store. They couldn't sell me the dress and I was disappointed. I looked forward to wearing it when I was "bigger," or for the baby shower that I was trying to convince my husband to throw.

If this was a sign, I wish I knew it at the time. 

I didn't get the dress because I wouldn't have needed it. If I had gotten it, it would have been siting in a box - unworn.

Some of the clothes in the box were hand-me-downs from a counselor I saw long before we were pregnant with Elijah. I remember my husband saying that her clothes were superstitious and "bad luck" - if it was, who knows? I was grateful for them anyway. But I'm still angry and don't know if I could go through the maternity box for a second time.

However, there was a sweater that brought happy memories.

We were at Target one day and went to the maternity section. I was looking for clearance items and found a very soft and stretchy purple sweater. It was my first "maternity purchase." I wore and washed it so many times while I was pregnant with Elijah that fuzz balls grew on it. The last time I remember wearing it was when my husband and I went paddle boat riding. I was about three months pregnant at the time, feeling better after finishing up the first trimester, and less tired to be out and about. That memory is now fleeting.

Ever so slowly, I am losing memories of the mommy I was. I want it back, I want it all back. I want to remember what it was like to be excited about maternity clothes.

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

Photo: unsplash

The holidays are not always the happiest for everyone. Some of us are struggling to survive through the holiday cheer and Christmas season without our loved ones.

Two full moons later and five days before the third is 98 days or 3 months. My womb did not have a cycle for three long, silent months, but I am glad that the bloodshed is over - at least for now.

Unfortunately, the past few days have been difficult as I am just realizing the emotional pain of the eighteenth loss. 

For those of you who have not read about my battle with unexplained/secondary infertility, I have started to name menstrual cycles after stillbirth "losses." Each cycle is a "loss" and the score for me is still at a dead zero while - you guessed it - infertility is at eighteen.

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

Photo: maxpixel

"Dear Elijah,

Thanksgiving night turned out to be cold and rainy, and I love it. The rain reminds me of heaven's tears and how heaven is crying with me. Yet, I am grateful that the house was warm with loads of food and lots of family.

Still, you are not here to be a part of our family gathering and that is what makes this holiday so difficult for me.

This Thanksgiving is the second I have spent with everyone, since we have lost you. It should have been the third - I missed the very first because I couldn't bear spending time with family knowing that you couldn't be there with me.


Although, I was very close to missing out on this one because I was afraid that I couldn't pull off my smiley-happy "I'm Okay, Everything is Fine" poker face and pretend like I am not hurting.

But did it, I got through it, I am proud, and I pulled it off. I even made mashed potatoes for everyone. And I think have I fooled everyone with my poker face.

Unfortunately, the only person I couldn't fool was myself. Despite having a good time, my heart still hurts. Your absence was felt the entire time. Seeing your cousins Jazmine and baby Shane enjoying the attention from everyone and all the smiles and laughter and love surrounding the two of them made me feel so left out.

I should be among five mothers in the house, but all I could see were four. I should also be one of three mothers with children under 3, but I wasn't. It hurts that I will never see everyone's loving faces of when they see how cute and chubby you are (like Shane) or how adorable it is just being your toddler self (like Jazmine). It also hurts to feel so broken inside, not knowing if I could ever have a baby to hold or see others hold my baby, too...

Your daddy and I was watching this T.V. show called The Last Kingdom. One of the characters, a woman named Brida, said something about how she couldn't have a baby. I felt so bad for her because I knew how bad it felt to long for a baby. She said, "A child refuses to grow in me." 

Uhtred, a man who long ago loved her, took a moment to tell her how sorry he was. I know the guy is just an actor (a really good one), but the way his eyes had shone with honesty and sorrow, it was so sincere and empathetic, caring and heartfelt. It was a look in his eyes that I longed to see when I tell others about you, but most importantly, in family.

Perhaps my poker face did not allow this sincerity, but I wished everyone acknowledged my effort to be fully present, while also wanting to be alone and cry about how I am still baby-less. It was difficult seeing baby Shane than Jazmine, probably because he was just so small... the small ones are the hardest...

I am trying so hard to refuse those words:

"A child refuses to grow in me."

Did you refuse to grow any further? ... I know it wasn't that... I know you love me as much as I love you. You wouldn't refuse to be my baby, would you? Could you??

The more I smile when I see baby Shane and the closer Jazmine is to me, the more that those words repeat in my head.

A child refuses to grow in me. My womb is unhabitable. I am broken. I am a woman that cannot do the one thing she was born to do. 

And then, I remember listening to a podcast from a woman explaining that the way we speak to ourselves plays a huge role in our self-esteem. She said that speaking to ourselves in a way a best friend would is how we should be talking to ourselves when we are alone. Instead of criticizing and judging ourselves of how we are not good enough, remembering that doing our best is good enough.

I have done more than my best since you were gone and did the best I could on this Thanksgiving day without you. I also held baby Shane (who is now 6-7 months old) for a second time, enjoying that moment, while also wishing that instead of Shane, I would be holding you. I should be holding you.

I remember when Jazmine was a baby and how she would look at me as if there was something following or floating around me. She would look at me with these big eyes and they would follow me in a way that was fascinated or amazed of something. I have always thought that in some magical way that she could see you. Her eyes led me to believe that babies could see spirits or angels.


Since Jazmine is now months away from turning two, she doesn't look at me in that same way anymore. She is now more excited to play with me than to observe what's around me. But Shane brought back that same strange, yet, intriguing look that Jazmine used to give me.


Shane was baby talking directly to me as if he was telling me something interesting and funny. He smiled throughout his whole little baby speech and looked so excited. I wasn't even sure what I was doing that made him talk to me, but knew that whatever he was saying, it was with so much glee and joy. He made me feel as though he knew that you were here, probably sitting on top of my head, making silly faces to make him laugh. He was showing me your message of joy and laughter, even in the rain, even in tears.

I don't know if I could dance in the rain, but one day, I will get there. One day, I will. 

Happy Thanksgiving, Elijah. I will always be grateful for the time we had with you. I miss you.

Love, Your Mommy."

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

Photo: maxpixel

Will You Bring My Baby Home?
by Sanda Rathamone

God, do you hear me?
Do you hear my cries?

I am crying out to you,
asking 'Where is my baby?'
My pillows yellowed with tear stains,
aged with prayers to fill my womb.
My body, an empty vessel,
deserted and unwanted.

God, do you feel my pain?
Do you feel the depth of my wound?

There are scars in my womb
that will not heal.
My baby left me, wondering
'Have I done something wrong?'
Was I not quite ready?
Did he not feel safe?

God, do you see me?
Do you see what I have done?

Through the bleak and the cold,
I march on when the wind is blaring.
My heart is not graceful,
I promise it is gentle and strong.
My heart aches for strength
as I solider on without my baby.

God, where is my baby?
Where is my baby to love?

There is this love that has
nowhere to go.
This love belongs to the baby
I once held, dead in my arms.
Why has my baby abandoned me,
to love silently and alone?

God, am I still a mother?
Am I still the mother of my baby?

My world is full of grey,
grey clouds and grey skies.
One day I am a mother who lost,
another I am a woman with no child.
Who am I now that my baby is gone,
silent, still, and forever?

God, will I ever hold my baby?
Will I ever hold my baby in my arms?

I am crying out to you,
help me heal my womb.
A box full of prayers,
all for the baby you held and hold in your hands.
My arms are full of heavy tear-stained emptiness,
they ache and tremble as I cry out to you.

God, will you bring my baby home?


With love,


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

Photo: maxpixel

Here is part two of my "Twenty-Six Things" series. If you can, please share this list to raise awareness on how we can better address pregnancy and baby loss.

Twenty-Six Things: Not To Say To Someone Who Has Suffered A Stillbirth:

1.  "It happened for a reason" or "Everything happens for a reason."