This summer has been, I think, one of the best we’ve ever had. As I type that, I feel guilty because, in May, we had a miscarriage. And I never want to give the impression that we haven’t mourned the loss often or felt the grief this summer. I still think of our precious baby often and yearn to hold it in my arms.
But this season has been full of pool nights, with simple lunchbox dinners for McCoy as he sits wrapped in a towel on my lap. It has been one of simple rhythms: going to the library and the pool and the gym. We’ve loosened up on his food a bit, feeding him hotdogs and macaroni sometimes in place of homemade everything, realizing you really, really can’t do it all. We’ve mostly spent our evenings at home, eating adult dinners on the deck, listening to the sound of the cicadas.
It hasn’t been perfect, but it has been slow and simple and beautiful. These days with Mac are precious - the summer he was one. When he loved swimming and eating and exploring. When it was just the three of us.
When I think about the fact that I should be starting my third trimester and planning to meet our baby in November, I could cry. In July, I went to Chicago to host a baby shower for one of my best friends from high school, alongside my other best friend from high school. They’re both pregnant - due in September and October. I felt overjoyed for them, of course!, but it broke my heart not to be delivering in November, the third Muskateer among our fall babies.
I’m learning, though, that things can hurt a lot, leaving us in pain and mourning, with moments of utter sadness. But they don’t, necessarily, have to define the entirety of the season. There is room for both joy and sadness in everything.
I’ve never been more aware of the power of and: things can be both sad and happy. Hard and lovely. I think we are often tempted to make it just one or the other, to give ourselves a sense of control. But the truth is: I’m overjoyed by the summer we’ve had with McCoy. He’s fun and pure love and incredible. Also? I’m sad about losing the baby.
I wanted to share this, especially, for anyone else experiencing a miscarriage right now. I want you to know it gets easier as you go. The pain lessens; it doesn’t always feel all-consuming. You never, ever forget. But you do grow into it, allowing it to become a part of you, but not all of you.
We’re learning to trust God more. We’re learning to dive into the present: our family of three. We’re learning to loosen our hands a little bit each day on the grip we have and, instead, fall, freely into this season. Macaroni and chlorine and all.