Suddenly, October.

And now it is October. It seems to have come out of nowhere. After a summer spent waiting. Waiting fruitlessly for the weather to get hot and muggy, for the season to feel like summer and for the brutal heat to ease and obliterate the frigid and lengthy winter that was our last.

Waiting for the plantings to yield edibles. Waiting for zucchini to grow, for broccoli to head, for lettuce that goes all too quickly into bolting. Feeling gratitude when that waiting came to an end.

Waiting for my last miscarriage to pass away and leave me. Waiting for the yearning and the wish to turn back time to pass away with it. Holding my babies and appreciating the delicacy of the lives I have been entrusted with. I am afraid that the ending of the story of my fifth pregnancy loss is a mere whimper.

Waiting and preparing and anticipating our trip to the beach, which finally did come. The first week of September we camped for four days at Assateague Island. It was the hottest week the Island experienced all summer, with temps in the upper 90s. So we got our summer all at once, smashed into 4 days of sunburn, invisible biting flies and hot breezes with no shade. But we swam and we played, we had campfires, and we sat together on the beach. We laughed when Celeus "kissed" the ocean for the first time as the sand was washed from beneath his feet while he stood on the shore. We buried Cyril and chased our rebellious, non-ocean-loving Ali off of the fragile dunes. We watched the sunrise and saw the way the water seems to glow as the sun shines on it anew in the early morning. We let the waves wash us clean in that way that only the ocean can.

Waiting again for the agonies of vacation stresses to blur enough to allow me to appreciate having gone. Waiting to forget just a little about the woman who totaled her car because she was watching Ross change a flat tire instead of looking where she was going. Thankfully, I am feeling this now. After so much waiting, I am feeling grateful that waiting is something that does not need to be actively participated in. Time will pass and things will change and the wanting of one thing or another will not necessarily alter the outcome.

But it is October, my favorite month. Now, my sadness over the summer that never-quite-was is fading away. It helps that we have just celebrated "The Decade of Cyril," when my first little baby turned ten. I think we had about 30 friends, all of them special to us. I am appreciative of their presence at this joyous time in our lives. And soon two more birthdays, when Ali is 3 and I am 36.

We are just a few days past our first frost. I anticipated it, dreaded it, but now am relieved that it has come and gone. It seems always the end of gardening season is a mix of both sadness and joy. Winter will come, but we will be together, keeping each other warm in all the ways that count. I am not waiting for it. It will wash over me, over all of us hopefully, like waves on the shifting sand.