Summer

"You seem a little sad," Lou observed.

Harper sad, I told him. Baby sad.

Today is the first day of summer,  and it stretches out with plans that have all been reworked for lack of a baby.

This weekend is a wedding near New Hope, a romantic getaway at a beautiful B&B, that we weren't supposed to be staying at because I didn't want to leave the baby for that long. Except now there is no baby.

Last time we were in New Hope I was pregnant. Lou and I discovered alcohol free wine and used a picture of us toasting with it to announce we were having a baby.

Every summer plan,  every moment to look forward to, is shadowed by the knowledge that we are only doing this because Harper died. Because without a baby,  without having to worry about  whether this or that is ok before heart surgery,  or whether we can handle it with two kids,  we can now go. It serves up every moment of happy with a side of sad.

I cried again two nights ago,  sobbing for no good reason. "It's ok," Lou tried to soothe me. "It's totally normal."

I lashed out at him. I'm not worried about not being normal. I am just tired of being sad. 

It's a beautiful summer day,  and I want nothing more than to enjoy it.

I have an email in my inbox,  from a colleague I haven't seen a while and don't know very well. "How's work?" it says. "And the baby?" I have not been able to bring myself to reply.