I was on the toilet late one night and started talking to God. It seems that being on the toilet, alone in the bathroom is a great place to hear myself talk, especially about how much I am so tired of grieving.

Grieving over Elijah and grieving over a closed womb.

The talk started off with, "I don't want to do this anymore." All I could hear was the silence of someone attentively listening.

When I got back into bed, with my husband still sound asleep, I waited for sleep to come. Instead, I could feel that the conversation with God wasn't over - I still had more to say.

I told God: 

"I don't deserve all of this pain. I deserve to feel joy." 

"And please, don't give me anymore dreams about these babies. I don't want to dream about them, unless they're real." 

"I don't want hope anymore. I give up. I surrender." 

"If my baby never comes, then please, take away my sadness. Take away my pain, so that I can focus on something better. Take away my pain, so I can be happy."

Tears were streaming, I silently wept, and didn't fall sleep until 2 a.m. I don't recall if I dreamt of anything that night and if I did, then it's a good thing that I don't remember. I don't want to remember, even if it wasn't about another baby I couldn't have.

That talk with God came about because on my first day back at school last week, there was a petite pregnant woman waddling around with her bulging belly at the front desk. As I walked past her, I could hear my thoughts, I wish it was me waddling like that. I wish I was her. 

A couple of days after my talk with God, I had a dream. I dreamt that I lost another baby and his name was Henry. Although, it's obvious to me why that name appeared. I've been watching too much Netflix before bed - reruns of Once Upon A Time. My subconscious must have gotten the name from the show. Maybe my mind couldn't "make up" a new name.

In the dream, baby Henry was much smaller than Elijah's tiny frame. He was at least a month earlier than Elijah's death and gestation at five months. I held his naked teensy-tiny body in my hands and all I could remember was hearing myself calling out their names together: 

Henry and Elijah.

Henry and Elijah.

I have to bury Henry next to Elijah, right? I kept asking myself that question. Because they go together, right? They're brothers in heaven now, right?

In real life, Elijah was cremated, not buried. The dream didn't make sense. But after waking from that dream, I worried about losing another one. That is my biggest fear, besides never conceiving again. I don't want to lose another one. I don't want to go through this all over again.

That is also another fear in my life: I don't want to repeat the same things. 

The same struggles. The same choices. The same people. The same places. The same lessons.

A day after that dream, I had another one of another baby. So much for telling God not to give me anymore of these baby dreams.

In this dream, I was breastfeeding a baby. It was about the same size of Elijah (10 inches long). Maybe even a little bigger. I just remember how strange it was to breastfeed such a small baby, but there was something even more stranger. My breasts weren't my breasts! I mean, they were, but they did not look anything like the ones I have now. 

No, these breasts were oddly shaped, long, and narrow. They were so odd that even I was repulsed by how they looked. Yet, they were incredible in how I could see through them, as if the skin of my breasts and nipples were transparent. Imagine milk filled inside of a disposable milk liner in a bottle. Yeah, that's how my breasts and nipples looked like, but much smaller in width. 

Sadly, the baby was not liking the breasts or the milk. I understood why. Obviously my breasts were in the wrong shape and size. I wouldn't blame the baby for feeling the same way I felt about my breasts. I don't know how this happened, maybe I gave the baby to my husband, but somehow, the baby was in his arms and liked his breasts. 

HE breastfed the baby. 

I woke up from the dream so confused! 

When I told my husband about it, it just sounded all the more weirder. If God is giving me these baby dreams because I told Him not to give me anymore, then I guess there is hope after all. Because I think God sent my husband another one of these baby dreams right after mine.

A couple of days ago, my husband tells me of this weird dream he had.

He told me that he dreamt that I had all of this stuff hanging out of me. He saw what looked like my insides or intestines and a long cord. It was in this pile right under me. 

He was curious to know what this stuff was and what was inside of it. As he moved away some of the stuff and cords around, he saw this blob with something in it. At that moment, he realized that it was the baby and tried to put it back inside the pile and the pile with the baby back inside of me. 

But it was too late. The baby was already out. 

He said that the baby was born premature and that he was okay with everyone calling the baby "preemie." The baby was going to be a survivor. He didn't know exactly when, but believes that 36 weeks was the baby's gestation. However, there was a catch. The baby wouldn't be a survivor, unless I gave up my life. I had to die for the baby to live. (We both thought "How cliché is this?!"). 

Being me, I most likely would have sacrificed my life for the baby.

When he told me about the dream, I didn't know what to say. I just thought it strange how after my series of dreams would he have one as well, especially about a baby. My husband usually forgets his dreams and doesn't have memorable dreams very often as I do. Hearing about his dream was a surprise, but does not sound like a coincidence at all.

I don't know if God was trying to reach me through my blindness from grief by reaching out to my husband with his dream, but it's interesting to me of how his dream was the complete opposite of my first dream. The baby didn't die, the baby lived. The baby survived. But I would have to die...

It made me think that there was hope for a baby after all, but not without it's challenges. Not that I am not already struggling with the challenges.

When I had my talk with God, I told Him that I didn't want hope anymore. Because it seemed like all I had was hope, but it wasn't enough to put me out of my suffering. Hope didn't fill my arms with a crying baby who needs feeding and changing, two years after my son died. Hope made me feel so disillusioned with myself and my dreams.

On Friday morning, I got to school when the clock struck 8:24 a.m. on the exact day of August 24th. A verse from the bible spoke out to me:

"For we were saved in this hope, but hope that is seen is not hope; for why does one still hope for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with perseverance."

- Romans 8:24-25 (NKJV)

I knew then that God was speaking to me.

That same Friday, I had a meeting with my mentor after class and told him that my husband and I were "trying again." It sounded like a lie, but I wanted it to be true. I don't even know if it is true, but know that we both hope for our baby someday.

I also said that I didn't want to put my focus on it (a baby) as much as I had on my first round of school. Again, this sounded like a lie, but I wanted it to be true. Honestly, I have been disappointed too many times and could never finish school if every month of being on a period and not getting pregnant had brought me so much anguish and misery.

But then again, would I finish my last year of school if I was pregnant? Would my dream of becoming a massage therapist end, if my dream of a baby began?

It now makes sense of why my husband had that dream.

If I had to chose between a career or family, I'd chose family. My dream of becoming a massage therapist appeared not too long after losing Elijah. It wouldn't compare to the dream of holding my sweet baby and watching my baby grow into the most beautiful thing in the world.

My mentor said something like, "You will have one someday. I know it." He had such a convincing face and a voice of reassurance, like I was worrying about nothing. I almost believed him. I wanted to believe him.

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

My husband's uncle walks into our bedroom, holding a baby. His newest granddaughter who looks to be at least a couple of months old. All I could do was flash him with my biggest, fake smile, biting my teeth.

"Oh, HI!" I try to keep my eyes above his arms, but see a hint of the baby's hot pink shirt. At least, I think it's hot pink. I'm not sure because I can't find the courage to actually look at her.

"Hello!"

I don't ask him about the baby. I think he knows why. 

"Where's Sou?" 

"I don't know. I think he's in the backyard or in the bathroom."  I think he's looking for my husband, so he could show him the baby.

"Oh, ok." He turns around and slowly walks out the door.

I let out a breath that I was working so hard on holding in. I wanted to cry. I wanted to pinch myself. And I wanted to run away. I had an idea that there would be kids at the house this weekend, besides Jazmine.

I could hear her crying. She had just awakened from a nap in her grandma and grandpa’s bedroom, right across from our room. Her hair was in a curly mess, like always, but more frizzier than ever.

She saw that our bedroom door was cracked open. Peering at me through the crack, with her pacifier still in her mouth and her blankie in her hand, she looks at me, curious.

I greeted her with a smile and a wave of hello. She smiles back and wave at me and stands there, waiting for me to beckon her in. Waiting for me to give her permission to enter. I open the door wider and she walks in, still looking at me, leaving her blankie on the hardwood floor.

She smiles through her pacifier, excited. 

Her grandpa decides to grab her blankie and puts it back into the room. He walks away, free to roam the kitchen and search for something to eat.


With the pacifier still in her mouth, she murmurs, “up, up.” She tells me to help her up onto our king-sized bed. I grab her and sat her down next to me. She turns to the right and looks for something on my desk: the iPad. She moves herself towards my desk and grabs the device. She flips open the case and tries to press the circles with the numbers on them.

She hasn't yet remembered the password. 

I hold her right pointer finger and press her fingers onto four numbers. The iPad quickly opens to the home screen and I click on the YouTube icon. She sees Peppa Pig and clicks on it. She watches the video for about a couple of minutes, but then looks and feels for something on the bed. She pulls herself down the bed and goes back inside grandma and grandpa’s room.

Feeling a tad disappointed, I thought, “Wow. OK. Such a short attention span on that little thing.”

She comes back to the room with her blankie in her hands, dragging it on the floor. The orange
blanket with patterns in orange, green, and white.

Oh, I see. 

I decide to turn on the T.V. and get Peppa Pig to show up on there, so she doesn’t have to slouch, hunched over, watching at the iPad’s low level on the bed.

When Peppa Pig appears on the big screen, I turn off and close the iPad. She lays on the pillow, still sucking on her pacifier and holding onto her blanket. After awhile, she decides to sit in front of me, on the insides of my legs. We sit there, quietly watching Peppa Pig and her little pig family.

Although, I'm not actually watching with her... I'm watching her. I watch how focused she is.

She takes off her pacifier.

Suddenly, she turns to the right and heads toward my desk. Not again. Thinking that she wants me to switch on the lamp, so that she could try switching it on and off herself for the fiftieth time, I was proven wrong by watching her little hands reach for a photo frame. It was the first time I have ever seen her take notice of that photo frame.

It is a photo frame of Elijah. 

I placed his photo on the right side of my desk maybe a month ago. I switched it from the left side, wanting a different view. His photo frame placed next to the bed, on my desk felt more... comforting? It makes me feel like he is sleeping right beside our bed, like where we had placed his crib months before we knew he was a boy.

She holds onto Elijah's photo frame with a long silence, as if she doesn't know what to say. She silently studies the photo.

Trying to elongate the word, I tell her, "Baaayyy-B." 

She repeats after me rather quickly, "Baby?" She says the word in a way that sounds like a question. 

I say, "Yes, Baby!"

With full confidence and energy, she says, "BABY!" 

I think she knows what "baby" means. 

I tell her, "That's baby Elijah. Bay-B E-li-jah." 

She says, "BABY!" 

I say, "Yes, Baby Elijah."

She looks at the photo for another long minute, quietly studying, like the way she had done earlier. Her legs start to wiggle and I could feel her trying to get off the bed and walk away. She holds onto the photo frame, as if she wanted to take it with her, but I decide to grab it and put it back where it was. She walks away, out the door, empty handed. I could hear grandpa saying something to her.

I wasn't ready to see the photo frame go through any accidents. She's at that stage where things being thrown onto the hardwood floor sounds interesting to her. She isn't afraid to throw things onto the floor very loudly, either.

I don't remember when, but she's known the word "Baby" for awhile now. Ever since I saw her playing with a baby doll and pushing it on a baby stroller. It was adorable to see a baby taking care of a baby. I wondered if she knew that she was a baby herself. Sadly, she no longer plays with it as much as she does with tablets and other random things in the house.

When she was gazing at Elijah's photo, I wanted to tell her his story. I wanted to tell her that he was her cousin. I felt bad about telling her that he was, "Baby." Today, he would be almost 22 months old, 3 months older than her. He wouldn't be a baby, he would be a toddler, like her.

But I wondered why she was so silent. I have never seen her so quietly focused on something, other than on the T.V. or some cartoon or T.V. show.

Did she already know who he was?

I remember when she was a baby, before I held her. She would stare at me walking by, her eyes would follow me. She was curious to know who I was and why I never held or greeted her.


As time passed, I held her and fed her. When I held her, she would look at me, as if something was floating above me; she no longer has that look. When she started walking (running), she would follow me. At times, she would hug my leg or pull on my pants. She says, "Hi" "What's that?" “cute” “OOH” and "WOW" all of the time. She's now learned to say "Mom" and wave goodbye. She also knows how to give a kiss. She gave my husband a kiss and my husband told her to give me one, I said, "Oh, no."

That's too soon for me.

This one day, we were playing by the window and she kissed me. She caught me by surprise and all I could say was, "Thank you."

Some days, it's hard to be around her because I miss Elijah. Other days, she's too curious and uncontrollable, digging and getting into places she shouldn't be.

Most days and probably every day, she is a constant reminder of what happened to Elijah, even though I could never forget anyway. Her presence just intensifies his absence. She makes me miss the memories that I couldn't have with Elijah.


I don't know if there will be a day that I will tell her everything about Elijah. I don't know if she will ever learn to say his name, either. 

But I hope so. I hope that I could tell her the reasons why I find it hard to do certain things with her. I hope that I could tell her that I never meant to ignore her or shut her out. I hope that she isn't mad at me for closing the door and not opening it for her because I'm crying and in pain. I hope she knows that I am doing the best I can to be her aunt.


I hope that she knows that she likes watching Peppa Pig only because I showed it to her...

Yet, a part of me thinks she knows these things. She knows why I find it hard to do certain things. She knows why the door is closed. She knows when I'm in pain. And she knows that I am trying my best. I can see that she reads me, she knows me.

The other part me believes that she has already known Elijah.

And Elijah already knows about Jazmine.

How could they not know about each other? They're cousins.




* Read the full story about Elijah:

"Dear Elijah,

I still cannot believe that you're gone. It is now twenty-six months since you have quietly slipped away from me. Sometimes, I question if you were real, was I ever really pregnant with you? Thinking about it now feels more like it was all a dream... and it hurts.

It hurts to feel like you were just a dream, when all I hope for is that you are real and here and alive. 

As I gaze at all of the photos of your daddy and I, I wonder how you would look like today. I hope that you would have looked like the perfect combination of us, that you would have exactly 50/50 of me and your daddy. Because it would be fair that way.

I want things to be fair, equal.

But being without you makes everything about life so unfair. 

Why do I have to live without you? 

Why couldn't I keep you? 

Why does everyone else get to keep their babies and not me? 

This isn't fair and I will keep saying this. It's not fair because losing you hurts me every day and I don't know how to stop the pain. Why do I have to carry all of this pain?

I don't know why, but I have this image in my mind of me cradling your head in my hands. I want to cradle your head in a way that shows how proud I am of my most perfect creation, which is you. You, by far, are the most perfect and beautiful thing I have ever created in my life. Although, that is most likely a lie because I didn't make you all on my own. I had the help of your daddy and most of all, of God.

I grieve so hard because I will never see our most precious creation come alive and grow. Why did you have to be born un-animated, eerily silent, and frighteningly still? I ask that question every day. 

When I gave birth to you, seeing you in your lifeless form was so unnatural, yet, amazing. But your death is still far too soon for me. I still can't handle it, I can't accept it, and I won't. Because it's not fair!

The other day, your daddy and I was eating in the kitchen and he said that Jazmine was you. He said that you were reborn and that Jazmine is your reincarnation. I wanted to scream. I refuse to believe that you left me and decided to be born from his sister's womb. That's cruel. And I refuse to believe that you would do that to me when I have painfully prayed for so long for you.

I love Jazmine, but I refuse to see you in her. You are not her because I know you. I've known you since I've dreamed about you. You are not her because she is not my son, you are. She is not my child, you are.

But I didn't scream that day. I was silently fuming. I was silent, like you. Instead, my heart was screaming out for you.

I start school again next week. I'm nervous. Taking a three month break from school wasn't as refreshing or restful as I had hoped. So many things have happened over the summer break, but the one thing that I hoped would happen, didn't. I'm disappointed.

Is it because I'm too angry? Too sad? Too hopeful? Am I not putting in enough faith in God as I should? 

I think and dream of all of these babies, but will I ever get to touch them? Will I ever get to hold, carry, and cradle them?

Sometimes, this idea visits me: when I am done with school next year, it will lead me to the babies I have wanted and prayed for. Maybe I should just focus more on building a better life, so that I can welcome my babies home.

I also believe that you are the reason why I decided to go to this school. I know it was you because on that very first day of orientation, your butterfly appeared before I got to school and again on my way home.

You are the reason why everything about that school felt so aligned and perfect for me. I just got in my own way the first time around. But I know that you were there helping me get through it and will again help me on my first day back next week. I know that you will be there with me because I know that you are always near. I feel you near all of the time, even when I'm angry and feel like the world is so unfair.

I remember my first day there. There were at least forty or fifty people in the classroom. Among them were students, mentors, observers, and staff from other campuses. When it was my turn to talk about myself, I was unsure to talk about you. Some of them shared things about their kids, so why couldn't I share you, too?

I will never regret telling them about you, about how you are the reason why I have changed my direction in life, and why you are my guide and inspiration. I decided to become a healer because of you. Because losing you broke my heart, so that I could learn how to heal it. So that I could learn how to heal others.

I will never forget how sharing you with these strangers who were to become my peers, made an impact in their hearts. I will never forget that I inspired this woman who wanted to share a personal aspect about her life and a life struggle, but didn't. Because I decided to talk about you, she felt comforted in knowing that someone else was brave to do what she had wanted to do.

I will never forget how another woman who sat next to me, told me that she wanted to cry and said that she was touched by my loss.

I will never forget how days after my first day, I sat next to a peer, who told me that she was amazed by my strength.

When your daddy thought it was appalling that I would share things about you on my first day, I didn't care. He thought that sharing you so early would be pointless because people would forget anyway. You are never "too personal" to share with the world. You are my son. You are the reason why I continue to live every day. You are the reason why I seek the light and a way out. You are my motivation and you are a huge part of my every day life.

I share you with the world because I'm not afraid to. Because I'm not afraid to show the world how much I love you and how much it hurts to live life without you.

Thank you for all of the beautiful, wonderful reasons. I have loved you since I knew you were inside of me. I know you because you were inside of me. And I love you because it is my duty to love you.

Love, Mommy."


Must Read: 
* Read the full story about Elijah:

Starting my period yesterday wasn't as emotional, like the past two cycles. I wasn't crying about it in a bath and my expectations weren't as high as they once were. Maybe that's why I handled it calmer than usual - I was expecting it.

Yesterday was a new moon. "During this phase the Moon is to close to the sun in the sky to be visible. The moon rises and sets with the sun and is not present in the night sky. Because of this the night sky is darker and an excellent time to view other celestial objects." (source: moongiant)

However, today, it's a Blue Moon. 

Ordinary eyes cannot see this blue moon. Why? Because only eyes like mine can. And if you want eyes like mine, you'd have to read the blog I posted yesterday - on the day of the new moon.


If you haven't read my latest blog (which was posted about 18 hours ago), I will explain in short of how I was "1 day until next period." I use this app on my iPhone, called Pink Pad to help keep track and record my cycles. I was blabbering away about how the app wasn't always accurate, but "once-in-a-blue moon the estimation is exact, like on the dot."

Lo and behold, the estimation WAS exact! Hence why today is a blue moon, MY blue moon. A full blue moon. I couldn't believe it. 

I had awakened early this morning feeling dampness. I searched on the bed for any red marks on the cream sheets. I didn't see anything. I didn't feel any cramps either. I walked pretty fast to the bathroom, pulled down my sleeping boxers, and saw the red marks that I was searching for.

This time, my heart didn't sink. I didn't cry. I wasn't angry. I wasn't sad. I wasn't even shaking, like how I usually do when I start my period after a whole month of hoping that it wouldn't show up. No, I was relatively and freakishly calm. I didn't even pray to God to get me through it.

I think it was because I was "already half-disappointed, in case it didn't work." 

I walked back to the bedroom and did the same thing I had done last time: I sat on my rug, opened the app, and stared blankly at the calendar. We "baby danced" four out of seven days of what the app calls the "fertility window." Most importantly, we did it on the day that had a circle with a flower on it, which of course is the day that the app estimates as "ovulation day."

The app was accurate on my period alright. On the dot. Sadly, it was wrong about ovulation. I explained on my latest blog that the app wasn't accurate in the ovulation department. If it was, I would have been pregnant already, after losing Elijah. But I had already known not to depend on it for ovulation, but did so anyway - at least halfheartedly. I was let down so many times that I didn't want to believe in the app anymore.

I know that the app is not my body and it is better to listen to my body more than to a damn piece of shit app that knew nothing about losing a baby, and in my case, on trying to conceive after loss. Yeah, I admit, I'm now angry.

Because it's not fair. 

It's not fair how lots of women could have babies so easily and I can't.

It's not fair how I have to try so hard, educate myself, and be patient, while others could have and pop out babies like it was nothing, like they were being delivered fresh, ripened, juicy fruit on a gold, shiny platter. And all they had to do was have sex on that very one time, while my husband and I do so many times, but nothing freaking happens. I don't understand this. I can't.

My period app says that I am currently one day away from starting my period. I am nervous and full of anxiety. The app isn't always accurate, matter of fact, it's just an estimation based on my past cycles.

Although, once-in-a-blue moon the estimation is exact, like on the dot.

But most of the time, the app is either not too far off (I get my period days before or after the estimated day) or way off (my period skips a month, a month-and-a-half, or two, which the app could never estimate).

I like having the period app because it helps me keep track and record my cycles - I no longer have to mark them on a paper calendar - even though it's not 100% reliable, especially for ovulation. I know this because I have tried using the app to "baby dance" during the estimated windows for ovulation. I gave up after being disappointed cycle after cycle. I secretly tried to do this again for this cycle, half-hoping that it worked this time and already half-disappointed, in case it didn't work.

On the other hand, the period app gives me too much anxiety because even though I want to know the next "scheduled" period, knowing it makes me sad. Because if I happened to not get pregnant before or by that "scheduled" period, the disappointment is overwhelming. I can't deal with myself, moreover, I can't deal with the outside world.

It seems that I always miss that window or the calculations are wrong. Or maybe something is wrong with me or him. I don't know. 

But ever since I looked at my app six days ago, when I saw "7 days until next period," I am having trouble with anxiety and trying to keep calm. I refused to reopen the app, until today (the supposed day before I get my period) because my heart isn't prepared to go through this again.

Periods used to be a natural thing. Now, it's antagonizing. 

When it was a couple of days after "7 days until next period," my breasts were tingling and beginning to become fuller and tender. My heart sank, since this is one of those premenstrual signs I now have after losing Elijah. I never had tingling and tender breasts premenstrually, until my first cycle after stillbirth.

I remember how disappointed I was before conceiving Elijah. I was secretly heartbroken and kept the grief to myself. 

I had never expressed the disappointment to my husband because at that time, we never really decided on having babies or prevented pregnancy either. The baby thing was only an idea we toyed with, but never took seriously, especially because years of not preventing were also years of magically not conceiving. It was perfect for the first few years, but I later realized that I wasn't getting any younger and that this wasn't normal.

I am now 25, going on 26 in a few months. I find it hard knowing that at 25, my mom already had three kids, while I struggle to keep one. 

It wasn't until two weeks before I got my first positive pregnancy test (after a few years of negatives) that I began to really worry about whether or not I could ever have kids. Those two weeks before I received my very first BFP was like going through the darkest hour before the dawn. I prayed to everything and everyone above, even to God, that they would bring us a baby. And they did, but they didn't let me keep him.

Elijah died five months after my prayer was answered. 

I remember that a week before the BFP, I had these really awful cramps. They felt like premenstrual cramps, but 10 times worse. They were so bad and would come and go during the day and night, and lasted for almost a week. The last of the cramps lightened and went away after I found out that I was pregnant with Elijah.

At that time (before the BFP), I googled and YouTubed searched everything I could about these cramps and somehow found that I could have been experiencing implantation cramps. Many of the sites online said that "implantation cramps happen because of the egg burrowing into the uterine lining and the pain should only last up to few days." If the cramping was intense or lasted longer than two to three days, then a doctor should be considered.

I asked my doctor during my then five week sonogram of Elijah about the cramps - she ignored it. Didn't really say much about it. After the stillbirth, I asked her again. Could the cramps have anything to do with my early rupture? Still, the answer was: unknown.

My mind wonders of the possibility that those cramps could have been a sign that something was wrong with my pregnancy since the beginning.

Maybe that was why I lost Elijah, maybe it was because when he was an egg, he had trouble attaching to my uterus. Maybe the way he attached wasn't secure enough and led to my waters breaking at five months pregnant? Maybe the loss could have been avoided if my doctor had listened or if I was more adamant about the cramps and getting tests done?

All of these maybes, but it doesn't answer or change a thing. I hate that. I hate that I will never know what had caused the loss or why we lost Elijah. 

For the past few days, I have been waking up very early in the morning to go pee.

The last time I had these horrible early trips to the bathroom was when I was pregnant with Elijah. Although, I don't remember if it was at 3 a.m., but that's what's been happening lately. The first night, I woke up at 3:45 a.m. - I remember clearly because of the ascending numbers. The second night, I don't remember exactly when, but do know that it was 3-something in the morning and made my
trip to the bathroom.

I thought: "Wow, two nights in a row? Something's going on." 

Maybe I should stop drinking water before bed. But both times I woke up to pee was at three in the morning! How strange was that?

But today, instead of 3 a.m., I was awakened at 2 a.m., not to go pee, but by a very painful cramp.

I have been feeling what I think are premenstrual cramps, but hope that they aren't. Ever since I experienced my first implantation cramps, I have hoped that my premenstrual cramps weren't premenstrual. Yesterday, during some later part of the day, the cramps felt like a dull pain in my lower abdomen and lower back.

That 2 a.m. cramp felt nothing like those cramps yesterday or premenstrual cramps. Oh no, this was different.

The cramp started at the top of my stomach area, called the Epigastric Region (I had to search it up). I felt this odd sensation of the sides of that region (the left and right sides of my body) being pushed together. Imagine putting your left hand on the left of your stomach/belly and your right hand on your right and pushing the sides towards each other. This sensation moved from the epigastric region down to my lower abdomen and it hurt like hell.



I felt like my body was pushing something from my upper stomach to my womb. 

I was holding onto my stomach like I had a very bad stomach ache, but the strange thing was, it was worse than a stomach ache and I didn't feel like I had to go to the bathroom. It wasn't a feeling of a stomach ache at all. It was a cramp mixed with pressure and movement in my body.

Never have I ever experienced this before and when I woke up startled and scared by it, it reminded me of the implantation cramps I had before I knew I was pregnant with Elijah.

Another strange thing was that I was dreaming (I will not go into detail about the dream). After I woke up from the cramps, with my eyes still closed, I was touching Elijah's Bear sitting right above my head. I had put him there before I went to sleep. I was touching the bear's foot, saying something like:

"I would be a better mom, right, Elijah?" 

"Help me be a better mom, Elijah." 

I would repeat saying this for another few times before I fell back to sleep. Unfortunately, the cramping never went away and I was lightly sleeping, dealing with the pain, until 8 a.m., this morning. I realized that I had to bring out my heating pad because I wasn't feeling any better. My belly also felt swollen, pulsating with pain from deep inside my body.

The cramping went away by noon and it was as if nothing had happened. 

A part of me wants to compare the pain to contractions, but it wouldn't make sense to contract starting from so high in the body. I hope that there is nothing seriously wrong with me. The other part of me hopes that by some (painful and strange) miracle, a baby was implanting.

But I'm not looking forward to tomorrow or the days to come. I'm hopeful, then again, I'm hopeless. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Maybe I am, maybe I am not. I hate this.

Could someone please help me put away the maybes, so that I could just keep the hope?







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* Read the full story about Elijah:

My husband isn't the perfect man, nor am I the perfect woman, but the one thing that draws me to him is not based on his perfections or imperfections; it is on how much he cares about things (not necessarily "things" as in materials) and people.

One of those "things" and people that he cares so passionately about is how am I feeling when I am grieving, which is pretty much every day.

I have noticed how he would take a moment in the middle a conversation - and sometimes randomly - ask,

"How are you today?"

or

"How are you feeling?"

It is almost funny to me that I am more of a "feeler" and he the "thinker," but I can't seem to answer his question. Although, there is an occasional role switching... I usually murmur something like, "okay...,"  or shrug.

The truth is: I don't really know. 

I know that he is trying to show me that he is "checking up on me," but I can't explain how life after losing Elijah makes me feel in one word.

I mostly feel hurt. Not physically, but it kind of feels physical, like there's something inside of me that never stops aching, like a constant pain, pulsing through my entire body and I can't pin where it is coming from. If I had to take a good guess, the pain is coming from my heart (the red, blood pumping organ).

Sometimes, I cry so much that my heart feels like it is burning and I can't breathe, like I am having heartburn, or my chest feels tight, like my heart is clenching itself shut, which makes my chest rock solid and unable to expand. Sometimes, I don't cry at all and I still get that feeling. Pretty much, whether I cry or don't cry, it doesn't make a difference.

There are more simple, obvious feelings that you could always see in my eyes, if you took the time to look through them. You would never have to guess that I am sad, disappointed, confused, and hopeless. But if you dive deeper, you would find that I am swimming (more often drowning) in these emotions of anguish, terror, fury, doubt, and exhaustion.

I just hope that once I turn another corner, that there isn't another monster to slay or some obstacle course to get lost in. I'm tired. I'm tired of being in this maze of emotions. Every day, there is a sense of dread of being alone and alive.

I have my days of when I want to give up. I don't want to feel anymore and had enough. It is like eating the same thing over and over again that it makes you sick. The thought of it makes you more sick.

Then, there are days when I feeling absolutely nothing because I have felt everything. This is what I call my "numb" days. That feeling of feeling everything, but nothing at the same time. Everything just swirls into one big ball of air.

But when I think of Elijah, just him, I feel... wonder. 

I wonder all about him. I wonder what he would look like, sound like, feel like, smell like. I wonder what he would be doing or what he would be eating or saying. I wonder who he could be and what he would be like. I wonder how life would be like if I had the chance to be his mother.

Some days, all I feel is wonder because I could wonder all day and think of a billion possibilities... but then after all of that wondering, it starts to hurt. I get that heart thing again, but something else adds to it: love. Wondering makes me love Elijah even more because I didn't get to live knowing the things I have wondered about. I love him more because I want him back, because I don't want to wonder anymore.

I want to know. 

Among the grief and sorrow, I do feel some kind of hope and happiness.

When we got pregnant with Elijah, it was a surprise, it was a miracle that I prayed for. When I look at his sonograms and his photos or his hand and footprints, I feel hope. There is hope because if I had conceived once, I could again. When I remember that he is my son, I feel happiness. There is happiness because he made me a mom.

I have always wanted to be someone's mom and to be his mom makes me grateful.

Elijah is the beginning of how I became a mother. And when I remember that thought, I feel deeply loved. I could feel love coming from all sorts of directions, but mostly from my heart, that very same heart that aches for a baby, hurts for all of the days I will never see or hold Elijah again and the days I have seen every woman with theirs, and clenches shut because the pains are too much to bear.

I look for signs everywhere and when I find one, or two, even three, I could feel Elijah's love guiding me here and there.

Sometimes, I could feel a touch on my shoulder or my wrists and pat them away because I could feel this lingering...

Yesterday, my husband and I was watching a movie on Netflix. He picked the movie P.S. I Love You. I think we have watched it before, I'm not sure, but if we had, then I'd forgotten because it was like watching a new movie. Nearing the end, the mother of the main character says to her daughter:

"You know the worst thing for a parent? Second after losing a child."

"Watching your child head for the same life you had and you can't stop it. It's a terrible, helpless feeling. It makes you angry all the time." 

That "Second after losing a child" had me reeling.

I felt validated. My life was validated. My grief was validated.

That second line reminds me of my husband when we were in the early weeks of pregnancy with Elijah. He would say something like, "I don't want my child to struggle, I don't want my child to live a life like mine."

This had hurt me because he was expressing how we weren't financially ready for a baby. Sometimes, I would go back and hear him yell at me: "Why would you pray to get pregnant?! Why would you pray for a baby?!" Like I was out of my mind, bat shit crazy. I could remember thoughts of abortion and telling my baby that I was sorry. Later on, I went back and told my baby that I didn't mean it. I want you. Please stay. 

Sometimes, I would blame myself for what had happened to Elijah. I lost him because of me, because I wanted him so bad.

Because I was selfish. 

It turns out that losing our baby had cost us everything, especially, all of me. I am still working hard to find those pieces of myself that I had lost from the days after losing Elijah. 

I don't know how to be myself anymore. I feel like someone else with a different life, it often terrifies me. I told my husband one night that I was scared of losing myself. I lost my identity and was scared that I wouldn't be or know myself anymore. I don't know why or where this came from, but the fear was real. Who was I now, since Elijah was gone?

It's strange how at the beginning of the movie, the main character and her husband argues about having/not having a baby.

She argues that they live in a small apartment, there is no room for a baby, and that she hates her job. She goes on yelling at him about how he had said something to her mother of how "she didn't want children" (but she does, just not yet). She has a plan. She says to her husband: "You can't act like everything's just gonna work out by itself."

He later says something like, "Your plans never work out anyway." 

In his early thirties, he dies of a tumor. Before his death, he wrote letters to help guide her, so that she wouldn't feel so alone.

I could remember her face when she goes on a vacation that her late husband had planned for her and accidentally hears of how one of her friends is newly pregnant and the other getting married. She looked lost in her thoughts of that argument she had with her husband.

It was the look of being stuck in a haze of what could have been, the family she would have had.

I never want our child to struggle the way we do, I think that's what most parents want. We want our children to have a better life, better everything. We want their futures to be secure (because we feel insecure). But I also want to have faith in that whatever struggles we have, we have them to overcome them and to become resilient. There will always be some kind of struggle and a test of our faith - that's life.

What's life without lessons learned and most of all, wisdom?

At the beginning, I wanted to tell my husband that "Everything is gonna work out." Maybe not by itself, but whatever happens, we have to have faith that we can get through anything. Maybe losing Elijah was a testament of our faith to each other, to ourselves, to life, to God. I don't know...

The one thing I will never feel is regret for being pregnant and losing Elijah. I love him, even with all the pain and the ugliness. That's the twist to life after loss: love and pain, joy and sorrow. 

I don't know how I am feeling today, nor any other day. If I could, I would hand over a chart with all of the feelings in the world and say, "Here. This is what I am feeling. And I don't know what to do with it."

But I don't want to feel hope today or any other day.

I want to feel like a mother with a living child because every day, I feel like a mother with none.

I want to feel the soft hands and feet of my baby.

I want to feel life.

* Read the full story about Elijah: