June, June Bug, Juney

June 7, 2018

By Sanda Rathamone


"Letting go is hard, but sometimes, holding on is harder."
Of all months, June is the most significant. So significant that November - my birth month - doesn't even compare.

I could remember the anxiety as May came to a close. 

Turning the page in the calendar [to June] means that we have completed another twelve months of living life after losing Elijah. In other words, another whole year has passed by. In some ways, it feels as though time is going by so fast - how could it already be another year?

In other ways, it feels like it has been forever - the struggles and the sorrows make living life feel like punishment for eternity.

When I think of June, memories from two years ago comes flooding back to me. 

June was the month that we were five months pregnant and going to find out if we were having a boy or girl. Just shortly after the big, "It's a Boy!," I gave birth to a tiny, little baby who never once opened his eyes, or cried.

I could remember the frightening, uncontrollable rush of water running out of me. I could remember the overwhelming thoughts of life and death and the choices we never thought we'd ever have to make. I could remember the fragility of our sweet little baby boy's body.

June was the month of silence and the coldest, most numbing winter I have ever endured. 

I used to think of June in pictures of the beach and sunsets.

I could see the glistening of the water under the hot sun, bushes and trees filled with bright fruits and flowers, tall, thick, deep green grass that lures you to walk barefoot and have a picnic. I could even feel the absolute freedom of summer vacation and staying up late at night, gazing at the stars while fishing.

Losing to stillbirth made June a month that is filled with so much warmth and love, as well as doom and gloom. It's all the more confusing because I consider June as Elijah's birth month and I don't know whether to happily celebrate or mourn his death.

Yet, if I take a brief moment to think of Elijah and what he would want for his birthday, he would want us to find the small treasures of joy of living life, the silver lining of our grief, and the hidden gifts of what he had left behind.

June is also the month of when my dad was born and the month that celebrates Father's Day. 

The pain from not being able to give my husband a son to hold makes Father's Day feel so much like Mother's Day. It's confusing mixed with a yearning.

How do we celebrate June?

Do we celebrate June?

When I turned the page to June, it didn't feel like "Hello, June!" It felt like "Hello, June." As if I was greeting the sadness that was waiting just on the other side.

I don't know if this is foolish or makes any sense, but sometimes, I hope that of all months that I would be or become pregnant in June. I want to celebrate June with the liveliness and hope of a new life - not to replace Elijah's birthday, but to continue the journey of pregnancy that was cut short two years ago.

If I was pregnant with a girl, I would name her June because I want to remember and see the month of June in a happy way, like how I had used to. And even though being called a beetle isn't as adorable as being called, "Chunky Monkey" (I would have given that nickname to Elijah because he was born on the year of the monkey), I would want to call June, "June Bug" or "Juney."

I would even call her "June Bug" while she's in the womb.

Unfortunately, I don't expect to be pregnant anymore.

I lost all hopes after my recent period/maybe missed miscarriage experience (read more about it here). Infertility and trying-to-conceive after pregnancy loss has made grief after Elijah more unbearable and after that last period, I felt that I had lost a huge portion of myself that I had worked so hard to heal.

It was the final straw.

I have over-exerted myself that hope became too heavy to hold.

I don't know what the future holds for me anymore, but do know that I cannot keep reliving the hopes and despairs for another baby.

If it's possible, I don't want to die of the heartache of grief and barrenness.

It will be two years on June 16th, two whole friggin' years of not being able to become pregnant again. It is as if my infertility journey years before Elijah never stopped and sadly, I have come to the realization that there was nothing I could do to end or control it.

The dream of having my baby will always be dear to my heart and as much as I hate to let it go, I just want to be like June: warm and loved.

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

Photo: maxpixel

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