By Sanda Rathamone


"Joy comes to us in ordinary moments. We risk missing out when we get too busy chasing down the extraordinary." - Brene Brown

My mind is teeming with questions: "Is she pregnant?" "Is that a belly peaking through her dress?" "When was the last time I saw her? Oh, yeah. January. I think it was January." "I swear, she didn't look pregnant in January." 

Three Halloweens have painfully passed...



With love,

“Believe there is a great power silently working all things for good, behave yourself and never mind the rest.” - Beatrix Potter

"Dear Elijah,

I went to Toy Safari today. That store always has the most flashing displays; the front entrance is packed full with all kinds of colorful toys. I walk by that store almost every week or so, but today, I was curious. Today, I decided to take a look inside.

Just as I expected, the inside was loaded - LOADED! Everywhere I looked, toys were lined up in rows upon rows, hanging here and there, gathered behind glass, piled in clear boxes, and stacked on packed shelves. Just about every square inch of that store had something to explore (now I understand why it's called "Toy Safari").

Upon walking into the store, there was small black puppy that was curled up and sleeping inside of a dog bed; it was on top of a glass counter. It looked so real, I had to touch it just to make sure it wasn't. I wondered how you would feel seeing a puppy for the first time. Would you have been scared? Would you be amazed, curious? Would you want to hold it or run away?

I noticed that there were people in the store; parents with their kids. I saw a young dad with a baby girl in his arms, his "dad friend" who had a small boy wandering about, a mother with three children. I was the only one - besides two of the employees - who didn't have a child gazing at a stuffed animal, picking out an action figure, or stoked to see this jungle of a store.

It made me feel out of place like I didn't belong there. Like I shouldn't be there. Like I was lost and made a wrong turn, a very bad wrong turn.

Behind the front window, there was this adorable little nook where kids could play with painted wooden trains. I could imagine you with another little boy, "choo, choo-ing" and having so much fun watching the trains go around the tracks... I read a sign that said, "Keep the trains on the table." Would I have had to remind you of this? Probably.

The store didn't have a beginning or an end, it just went on and on, like a kaleidoscope - it was mesmerizing! There was much to look at, so much to touch and test and hold that I felt overwhelmed. I didn't really know where to begin or what I was looking for. I just kept walking on this safari, scavenging and searching for... memories? The could haves. The would haves. The should haves. The endless possibilities. 

I saw patches of bright pink, pink boxes, pink dolls, pink things. Pink made me wonder if I would ever have a little girl - a little girl who would be your little sister. I saw rows of different kinds of cars: race cars, sports cars, collectible cars in a variety of styles, colors. These cars reminded me of when my mom would buy my brother, Kevin, those collectible cars from the Chevron gas stations when he was a small boy. I don't know if they sell them anymore, but those toy cars were the best, better than Hot Wheels.

I saw other things I loved as a child: slinkies, clip-on plushies, coloring sets, more stuffed animals. And then, I saw a stuffed Peter Rabbit, a character I loved from Beatrix Potter's books; it brought so many happy, comforting memories. I would have bought it for you and tell you all about Peter Rabbit, but I didn't and I couldn't, and that's what made me sad.

My mini safari ended there. 

I was sad to enter the real world again. As I stepped out of the jungle, I looked back. I looked at all of the things set outside one more time and noticed something I hadn't before: wagons. Red Radio Flyer wagons. When my little sister, Amy, was about two or three, I remember my cousins buying one of those wagons and we would put Amy inside, and haul her around in it. And then, Kevin, who loved stuffed monkeys, would haul his "babies" around when he had the chance. I gaze at those wagons today and try to picture you in them, but I can't. And I will never know. 

I love you more than love. 

Love, 

Mama."

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,
Must Read:

• Just One
• Empty Spaces
• Angel Legacy Bears
• Baby In The Sky

By Sanda Rathamone

"It's like something is always missing."

I am writing this letter with the hope that you will understand a little more about what it is like to lose a baby. Some of you may have lost a child yourself, others may know someone who has. And just maybe, some of you have never heard or known anything about loss, until after reading this letter.

Wherever or whomever you are, just know that this is not just my story, but also many others who have had to endure the loss of a pregnancy or multiple pregnancies, grapple with the waves of grief, suffer the weight of empty arms, and even struggle with the endless pain of infertility. These are my experiences within a circle of grieving mothers.

I want you to know that I lost my baby and after losing a baby, I lost many other "things." 

First, I lost my dreams. I had dreams of a beautiful birth with a happy ending. I had dreams of cradling and feeding a newborn. I had dreams of a gathering; a celebration of the life I co-created and birthed. I had dreams of love and the joys of motherhood.

Then, I lost myself. I lost my identity, and for a time, didn't know who I was. Was I a mother, still? Or did I not quite "make it" there? Did I have enough "experience?" Do I "qualify" to be a mother? I didn't know who I was or what I deserved. I didn't know if I had done something wrong or had karma finally caught up with me. I didn't know what my purpose was or if God no longer loved me. I was supposed to be a mother to a living child. I didn't know why I was still breathing when my baby never took his first breath of life.

I have also lost my naïveté, or my innocence. I now know that at any moment, I could lose again. I now know that nothing is ever promised. I now know the darkness of death and the pain of loss; the pain I now live with every single day of my "new" life. I have seen and lost so much, and yet, I am filled with wisdom that I did not want. I am no longer and will never be the woman I was before. 

Finally, I lost what would never be. Every day that I am alive, I lose moments and memories of a life that I will never have. I will never know my baby's eyes or my baby's voice. I will never see the seasons of growth and a fruitful life. I will never know and don't know, and that is the most painful thing of all. My baby is a mystery that I could never solve. 

Losing a baby is backwards; parents are not supposed to outlive their children. And giving birth to death doesn't make any sense, but it is real and I am living proof. 

When I held my baby, he was too small. Too small for this big world, too fragile for life. His eyes were fused shut, his body limp. He never moved, nor made a sound. And he was cold, so very cold. And he was beautiful, so beautiful.

So, do not be alarmed if I am not present: to your baby showers, the birth of your babies, to your baby's first, second, third, even fifth, sixth, or seventh birthdays. Do not be curt or offended if I do not shout with happiness, "Congratulations!" during your announcement or hold your babies. Do not misunderstand me when I say that it is not because I am not happy for you, but that I am sad for me. I often feel that what happened to me and my baby is unjust. I often struggle with feelings of jealousy and envy, blame and shame. Forgive me if I am not compassionate of your complaints of pregnancy and motherhood. 

And despite how hard I try not to, I will always feel the hurt and the pangs of pain when I am watching my dreams unfold for someone else, and not myself. I ask, "Well, why not me??"

I ask that you hold space, not just for me, but also my baby. Remember me and my baby on Mother's Day and Father's Day, and every other family holiday. Remember me and my baby, while you are holding and hugging tightly onto your baby. Remember me and my baby on your baby showers, the births of your babies, and your baby's first, second, third, and forever more birthdays.

I ask that you know that our world celebrates life more than it acknowledges death. I ask that you know that when a baby dies, it changes the meaning of life. I ask that you know the existence of invisible motherhood. I ask that you know and remember and say my baby's name. Please say his name for the silence of his cries. Please say his name to give him a voice because I am tired of doing it alone. I am exhausted and my heart is incomplete, constantly shattering in hope and doubt.

When I am distant, please show me that you care. When I am present, please give me a hug and tell me that you are there. It is not that I isolate myself from you, but that I feel life has isolated me: from joy, from peace, from rest. All I know is that I must survive this new life of sorrow, and even so, it is painful to watch life pass me by without the one person who should be here.

There is no cure for grief and I do not want to be cured. I just want to be loved as a friend, as family, and as a mother. 

Must Read:

• Empty Spaces
• A Glimpse of Being a Baby Loss Mom
• My (Still) Birth Is Not A Horror Story
• Jealousy Feels A Lot Like Rejection

Read Elijah's Story, "From Gender Reveal to a Spontaneous Delivery"

Photo: MamaLamaKids

By Sanda Rathamone


"We'll be friends forever won't we, Pooh?" asked Piglet. "Even longer." Pooh answered. 

Back in February, I wrote the blog post, Transitions, about Elijah's Bear and easing my way out of this attachment to it. Like a small child, his bear was my security object. However, my "progress" came to a halt shortly after.

I posted on Instagram (no longer available) about how I went back to sleeping with Elijah's Bear. Let's just say that grief after baby loss is hard. Healing from loss is a process and a lifelong journey; there's no real progress to be made in grief. It was comforting once fellow loss mothers began commenting about a similar experience and shared the same emotions.

I had a kind supporter about my "bear experience," which led to a collaboration with a bear maker, Jodi Anderson, of Anderson Bears. Jodi was touched by our story from my blogs and social media posts about baby loss. So touched that she had offered to make us an "Angel Legacy Bear" (emphasis on the word "make!). I was ecstatic to hear that Jodi would be making us a bear (by hand!) in honor of Elijah!
In short, Angel Legacy Bears are created for families of babies born sleeping or have passed from SIDS. These bears can be made into the exact weight of a newborn and could wear baby's clothing, which is a way to remember angel babies. Additionally, they have movable joints and are made according to the receiver's request that make them all the more unique and special.

However, the fun part of this bear-making journey was watching Jodi's videos where she explained and demonstrated important details. It was also comforting to hear Jodi mention Elijah's name, which is often rare at home - it was like music to my ears! The simple acknowledgement of Elijah was more than enough and a gift in itself. 

So please, if you are a friend or family member of someone who has lost a baby, please, please, please say their babies names! It is the simplest, most helpful thing to do, and not much to ask!

I must also mention that I have been considering getting Elijah another bear for some time. His original bear, which we call "Elijah Bear" was given to us from a chaplain when we were in the hospital. I have thought about going to a Build-a-Bear Workshop (yes, I know it's for kids), but an Angel Legacy Bear has much more meaning and serves a greater purpose. Jodi has not only made us a bear, she has also sent us her love in the form of a bear!

Top: Isaiah & Elijah Bear Bottom: Certificate of Authencity

Anything that is handmade contains the spirit of love and joy. It has been wonderful and exciting to receive our Angel Legacy Bear; it was comparable to making a baby! From the moment Jodi asked what color I wanted and size of fur to the moment our bear arrived has been an enjoyable experience. I am happy to welcome our Angel Legacy Bear, Isaiah, to our bear family. I hope to someday share this bear with another little one in the future, and tell the story of how and why it was made. 

Thank you, Jodi, for being a kind soul and demonstrating the power of teddy bears. May Anderson Bears continue to bring joy in the lives of those in need of comfort. ♡

Watch Jodi's docuseries on our bear, here.

With love,
Must Read:

• Transitions
• Empty Spaces
• Redefining Self-Care
• A Glimpse of Being a Baby Loss Mom

Read Elijah's Story, "From Gender Reveal to a Spontaneous Delivery"

By Sanda Rathamone

"Imagine a love so strong it made saying hello and goodbye in the same day worth all the pain."

My baby died.

But before he died, he lived.

The story of his life starts off like this:

For years, my womb ached and was eerily silent, empty and bare. My womb had a heart of its own, a heart that yearned for life. Why I had this yearning, I did not know. Perhaps, God had placed this in the depths of my heart, inside of my womb. On the third year, the aching had turned into desperation and despair. So, on one lonely night, I made an honest prayer with tears in my eyes and pain in my heart. I asked heaven to fill my womb with joy and bring us the child of our dreams. I promised that I would fulfill my duty as a mother to her child. I declared my love and commitment to do as I should.

Two weeks later, heaven had heard my cry and answered my prayer.

Slowly and silently, life grew inside of my womb. I lived each day as if it were a dream I could not believe. Had heaven truly blessed me with this? Yet, as my womb began to expand, my body was proof that indeed, there was another life blooming and thriving with a beating heart inside of me. I ate and I slept and I dreamt of the happy family were going to be. I tried different names of who our child would become, until the day that we found out that we would be having a son.

Before we knew his name, I dreamt that things would not go according to plan. I could not save the boy, while his brother was delighted and waited for me. I had twins and God had made me choose. And though he was helpless, I chose Elijah, the one who could not stay.

For five months, my baby lived inside of me. He ate and he slept and he dreamt inside of my womb, where it was once empty and bare, and yearning for life. The heart in my womb throbs and painfully weeps for him and the heart in my mother's body is shattered and scarred. I gained a hole in my body that could never be filled. There is this aching in my arms for the child who would have been. There is this deafening cry I wish I could hear. My baby never cried, not once, but he lived and he died. God gave him wings soon after he was born, so that he could fly in the sky and show me the light.

With love,
Must Read:

• The Dream That Foretold My Stillbirth
• My (Stillbirth) Is Not A Horror Story
• A Glimpse of Being a Baby Loss Mom
• Pregnancy Loss: pPROM Awareness

Read Elijah's Story, "From Gender Reveal to a Spontaneous Delivery"

Photo: pinterest/mobilion

By Sanda Rathamone

“I have come to believe that caring for myself is not self-indulgent. Caring for myself is an act of survival.” - Audre Lorde

Years ago, the term "self-care" popped up on my Instagram feed. It seemed like everybody talked about it and how important it was. It didn't take long to come up with my own list of self-care tips and activities. However, I hadn't really known what self-care meant, so I googled and found a definition I liked.

According to Helen L. Coons, PhD, "Self-care is [how] one's action is around our physical, emotional, relational, perhaps professional, educational, and, for some people, spiritual well-being that reflects the way that we take care of ourselves on the most fundamental levels." On the other hand, my definition of self-care is "a personal approach to caring for oneself that promotes a sense of health and well-being."

In simpler words, self-care is stress relief!

Before losing a baby to stillbirth, my self-care list had all of the typical activities found almost everywhere: going for a walk at the beach (which was my exercise), meditating, cooking my favorite comfort/healthy-ish foods, talking with someone (such as a counselor), taking an epsom bath or a long nap, even "shopping therapy." Later would I add on writing/journaling, reading, de-cluttering, and aromatherapy.

I still love doing these self-care activities, but after stillbirth, much of what I do now is grieving the loss of my baby. And grief changes everything. 

After Elijah died, my perspective of self-care changed. Self-care became all about survival: how to survive the day without sobbing uncontrollably, how to survive emotional triggers, how to survive jealousy and unexpressed anger/frustration, how to survive a lifetime of lost memories, and, ultimately, how to survive life after death. My change of perspective also changed the way I "took care of myself." And I know that, to some people, it may not look or seem to be "healthy" or appropriate.

Self-care after loss became much more personal because I realized how important it was to create boundaries, as well as express myself or unresolved/pent up emotions within grief. To survive the day without sobbing uncontrollably, I would talk to myself or pray in the bathroom (at home, work, or school), take the time to walk outside and look and listen for things that I thought were beautiful, or distract myself with work that required less energy, like laundry or washing dishes.

To survive emotional triggers, I would try my best to avoid it, and that meant avoiding people and public places. I would often stay home in bed and do nothing or go someplace where I knew had the least emotional triggers or less busier places. If I couldn't avoid it, I would give myself a moment to mourn or try to push it away and ignore it, not letting it get to me (until I got home to cry about it).

To survive jealousy and unexpressed anger/frustration, I would let myself unapologetically feel it. I felt guilty of being jealous for so long that nothing helped. Eventually, I learned to love myself more because of it; the jealousy stemmed from the pain of my loss. If I was angry, I let it be known that I was. I admitted to my anger - to myself, and to God.

To survive a lifetime of lost memories, I would create them with hopes and wishes. I would put them in art or place them in crafts. I would write about all that I had lost and would never have. And to survive life after death, I did everything I could with all I had. If I had nothing, I would do nothing. Some days, all I could do was cry and that was the best self-care of my life. Other days, I threw pity-parties and felt sad for myself, and I didn't care what people thought.

Sometimes, I wouldn't eat and had no desire for food, or skipped showers because I had no energy to take care of myself. Other times, it took all the courage I had left after hours of being in bed, just to get up and face the sun. 

Perhaps some of these things are familiar to those who are also struggling with self-care after loss. And if you are, just know that whatever it is you do to survive each day is more than enough.

With love,
Must Read:

• Nostalgia
• The Hardest Part
• My (Stillbirth) Is Not A Horror Story
• Letters to Elijah: Entry 15

Read Elijah's Story, "From Gender Reveal to a Spontaneous Delivery"

Photo: pinterest

By Sanda Rathamone

"Work on being in love with the person in the mirror who has been through so much, but is still standing."

A week ago, I saw my OBGYN, Dr. C, to discuss the uterine ultrasound exam, blood work, and the next steps for TTC. Additionally, I didn't get a call back about my pap smear, making it safe to say that it went well (I would have been notified otherwise).

My goal for these tests were to identify the cause of fertility issues years before and after we lost Elijah to stillbirth in 2016. We have not yet had a subsequent pregnancy.

I also wanted to know if I had Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS), which would explain why I had  super irregular periods/unexplained infertility. I had such high hopes that there would be clear and definitive answers, especially since I had not seen a doctor for years concerning my reproductive health. The results were... disappointing. Well, at least for me it was.

The pelvic exam went well, Dr. C said that everything felt "normal." The ultrasound exam turns out to be another "normal appearance." The only thing that I could count on that wasn't normal were the "slightly elevated levels of testosterone" found in the blood tests. I asked Dr. C if the levels were enough to say that I had PCOS, but she shook her head and said, "No."

This might sound stupid, but I would have been happy to find out that I did have PCOS. Knowing this would help me understand what was "wrong," so that I could do what was "right." Instead, these tests were showing that my body is normal, when I have felt, seen, and experienced everything other than normal! I just wanted some sort of diagnosis; I wanted something to blame. I wanted to blame something for the reason why I had to work so hard to get pregnant. I wanted a name. I wanted a reason...

I tried to get a diagnosis out of Dr. C, but all she could say was that we just weren't catching ovulation day. Since my periods were unpredictable, it would make it difficult to plan sex or to know when I was ovulating. She also said that even though my periods were farther apart (it could range from 31 days to 98+ days), it was still good enough to have at least four periods a year. However, if she HAD to give me a diagnosis, she would lightly use the term PCOS to describe my symptoms. Still, these answers were unsatisfying and left me emotionally wounded.

Maybe I should be grateful that there was nothing deadly serious found or that my worst fear of being barren for life was cleared, but I couldn't help feeling disappointed.

Now, the next steps.

Dr. C suggested a couple of medications I could take to encourage pregnancy. The first one was obvious (I have heard of it before), which was Clomid. I have seen and read about Clomid on many TTC forums years ago, but didn't think that there would come a day that I would consider it. Dr. C mentioned that there was a risk of conceiving twins because Clomid stimulates ovulation/more releasing of the eggs. I wouldn't have minded having twins...

The second mediation was Letrozole, commonly used for breast cancer patients, which like Clomid, induces ovulation. There aren't major differences between the two, but hearing Dr. C talk about planning sex and using these medications as a fertility treatment wasn't what I had wanted. Planning sex would be too stressful, especially if my hopes went overboard, and I didn't want to suffer any long-term effects.

I asked Dr. C if there was a way to lower my testosterone levels and she said that exercise and nutrition might help. Interestingly enough, I agreed. I wanted to stay as natural as possible, and that if necessary, I would revisit to start the treatments. For now, I wanted to focus on health and nutrition. Over the years, I have been geared towards the holistic route.

The next day, I saw a nutritionist, who gave me all of the basics about food. However, she really hadn't said anything I didn't already know: how to portion my food, how many calories I needed, the kinds of meals I should eat, etc. Unfortunately, she didn't have any advice on foods/diets that encourage fertility health, which was what I was looking for.

After my visit with Dr. C and the nutritionist, I feel more empowered to take charge of my own health and fertility. I did not receive the answers I wanted, however, I am being directed to a more personalized approach to getting healthier for pregnancy. Some ideas? Acupuncture, herbs, yoga, exercise, and a change of eating habits. I will also be reading Taking Charge of Your Fertility: The Definitive Guide to Natural Birth Control, Pregnancy Achievement, and Reproductive Health by Toni Weschler. You can buy her book, here.

Thank you for staying with me on this journey. Stay tuned!