My experience made me wish we still lived in the era of Victorian mourning clothing, so that everyone I met would know, without words, that we were missing someone. If nothing else, it would have given an answer to the casual, “How are you doing?” If I answered honestly, it was a jarring reply to small talk. If I kept quiet, I felt like I was lying by omission. I missed the way that the slow progression from jet black to grey to lavender would make our long climb out of sorrow visible.

Leah Libresco Sargeant on her six miscarriages.