Letters To Elijah: Entry 8

July 25, 2018

By Sanda Rathamone



"A baby fills a place in your heart that you never knew was empty." 

But what if a baby leaves your heart empty and nothing can fill its place?

"Dear Elijah,

I have been wanting to write you this letter, but not sure why or what to write about. It has been five months since I have last written a letter. I have succumbed to the habit of placing the thought of writing letters to you in the back of my mind.

I wish I was more consistent as I was before. If I was, it would have been amazing to see the commitment of writing to you every month, for the rest of my life.

Since I don't know what to write about, I'll start with what today is.

Today is July 25th. Today marks six years and seven months since your daddy and I have decided on embarking this journey called "life together."

"Monthiversaries" used to excite me. It became less exciting when I started counting the months after you died... But after maybe three years of life with your daddy, I didn't care so much about the months. Our yearly anniversaries on Christmas was something I looked forward to even more. But ever since you died, it's not the same anymore.

I think its because two Christmases ago, you would have been celebrating our anniversary with us. Ever since you died, I somewhat dread Christmas. (How ironic am I for talking about Christmas when it is currently summer.) Christmas has always been my favorite holiday - our anniversary made it more special - but since you're gone, Christmas, like every other holiday - sucks.

Only you can return that special feeling on holidays, especially on Christmas. I'm not looking forward to this year's Christmas... or our 7 year anniversary. I know that it is way too early to be saying that, but I know that I would be happier if this Christmas... If this year's Christmas included a baby in my belly.

Sometimes, I wish you were in my belly again. I wish I could rewind time and re-live those moments when your daddy would mumble things to you through my belly and when I would look in the bathroom mirror every day, checking to see if my belly had gotten any bigger.

I wish I knew how hard you would have kicked me and how it looked to see your elbow, hand, or foot, poking through my skin.

Like always, I have been seeing pregnant ladies with their pregnant bellies.

Just yesterday, before I shook hands with a lead supervisor who would interview me for a job, I saw this woman waddling with her huge pregnant belly. I was sitting on a chair, waiting, and she was walking towards me with what I presume is her husband.

I wanted cry so bad. I wanted her to see the sadness in my eyes, but my eyes were too fixated on her huge moon of a belly.

I wished it was me, waddling with you in my belly, in the store with your daddy.

Today also marks another day without you. Another day that I wish I was pregnant. Another day that I ache for a baby. Another day that I wish someone would say your name.

If you were here, every day would be the perfect gift. I wouldn't take a single day for granted if you here.

I wouldn't leave you with grandpa and grandma, just to go on an anniversary date with your daddy. If you were here, our anniversaries would always be a family outing. We would never celebrate anything without you.

But let me tell you what today isn't.

Today isn't a day that we hold you, while we watch Peppa Pig or Curious George. Today isn't a day that we feed you mangoes or bananas. Today isn't a day when we sit and eat together as a family. Today isn't a day that we let you sit on the stool out in the back and breathe the fresh air. Today isn't a day that we clean after you and your messy toys.

Today isn't a day that we get to hear your voice and how loud you can scream and cry. Today isn't a day that we touch your curly or straight hair. Today isn't a day that we teach you new words or repeat your babbles.

Today isn't a day that we do things with you that we do with Jazmine. Today isn't a day that we get to see you play with your cousin.

(Related Read: I Couldn't Do It)

I wish today was a day that we could enjoy the summer sun at the beach, with you.

I wish words could express how much I miss the excitement of living the rest of my life with you.

Love, Mommy."

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.


With love,

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