When love is louder than grief, and other important musings

I'm having some feelings this week. Please check the intro for TWs before you read

Cross-posted on my website.

I have so many things to celebrate. I am so fortunate, and I am truly so, so happy. But I can’t let this weekend pass without acknowledging something really huge and sad. It’s not my typical post today, but… I don’t know. I’m feeling called to write about this, and who am I to argue with that?

TW for discussions of pregnancy loss on this one. If you’re feeling vulnerable about that, skip this one. Or scroll past to the Updates section.

Also, please be aware that I have turned off comments on this post. While I know it’s tempting to reach out and share stories or even express sadness over a loss, I’m just not in a place for that this weekend. I love you for even thinking of it, but I appreciate you respecting that boundary.

IT IS PUMPKIN SPICE SEASON. I have purchased pumpkin spice flavor for my at-home coffee. I have had a pumpkin chai, a pumpkin cold foam cold brew whatever it is, and a nutty pumpkin coffee already. Mac from The Write Place is wrong. Pumpkin-flavored everything is where it’s AT, and I’m not going to lie, I wrote her distaste for pumpkin coffee into her character simply because she was getting to be a little to much like me, so I had to add some separation and that felt like the best way to do it. I like to think she secretly loves pumpkin lattes and has at least one on the sly every year. (Just kidding. She probably doesn’t.)

Okay. Big, deep breath.

On September 5, 2018, we lost a baby. I was seventeen weeks along. We knew she was a girl. Her name was Olivia. Today (since I’m writing this a day before it goes out) is the anniversary of the day we found out we lost her. Sunday, the 8th, is the anniversary of the day she was delivered.

I don’t talk about it much anymore, but there isn’t a day I don’t think about her. I’m acutely aware of every milestone we’re missing (she would have just started kindergarten). One of my dear friends who experienced a similar loss told me once that, after the initial pain of grief fades, it’s mostly like a constant buzzing. A white noise behind every thought that you didn’t ask for and you can’t get rid of. I think that is really accurate. Except for this time of year, I don’t wake up or fall asleep thinking about her. I’m not Big Sad all the time about her. But she’s there. She’s here. She’s with me.

But it feels appropriate to be thinking about her now when I have so much to celebrate, because none of this is possible without her. We wouldn’t have my son if it weren’t for her loss. I wouldn’t have finally taken the plunge and written my first book. I wouldn’t be so motivated to be here, doing these incredible things, meeting such amazing people, if it weren’t for her.

My therapist at the time wanted me to write about her, and I never did. But now, I try to honor her in every book, in some way. Mac lost a sister in The Write Place, and so did my daughter. Jenny teaches Twelfth Night in The Write Time, and Olivia was named for one of the characters in that play. Katie and Brandon in The Write Choice have kids with a significant age gap like we do. Emery and Trevor struggle with grief and loss and finding love in spite of it all in Common Grounds. In my next full-length novel coming in the spring, my female main character has been making decisions with others in mind her whole life and wants more, just like I did when I started writing.

Because of Olivia, I will always write women with complicated backstories. They might not always have something traumatic in their backgrounds, but they will always have history. And they will still put themselves out there, banter with their love interests, and be generally funny. They’ll still have fun and be silly and fall in love. Because women who have complicated histories deserve to be loved, too. And they deserve to be able to talk about their pasts without shame or judgment. Just like me. Just like all of us.

So, this weekend, I’m thinking of her and acknowledging the bittersweet nature of parenthood, writing, and life in general. But I, personally, think it’s pretty cool that I can do that now, after six years. It’s what I hope for my characters. It’s what I hope for all of us: that we can move forward. That we are products of our pasts, but not beholden to them. That we can live and love and laugh, and that all of it is louder than the white noise of our grief.

I finished my fifth full-length book this week!!! And I did a title reveal over on Instagram to celebrate. Did you catch it? Coming Spring 2025!

I’ll also be at Romance Con this weekend. Come say hi!

And, of course, a reminder that you can pre-order Christmas by Design and add it to your holiday TBR!

Trust me when I say you need to RUN, not walk, to get Hannah Bird’s newest release. The Cost of Forgetting You came out yesterday, and it is a brilliant, beautiful masterpiece of a book. I had the pleasure of being her critique partner on this one, and every time I got to the end of a section, I was BEGGING her for more.

Here’s the summary:

Falling in love with a Parker must be genetic. It's the only way Delilah Ridgefield can make sense of the mess that is her life.

Some other things that are genetic? The hazel eyes she shares with her mom, the need to care for others that she gets from her dad, and her father's dementia diagnosis, which brings him back into her life after years of radio silence.

The truth is, after he had an affair that imploded her life, Delilah thought she had more time to be angry. But time is a finite resource, one she'd like to make the most of while they still have it.

Returning to her hometown means facing those feelings head-on, along with the ones she never fully let go of for Truett Parker, the boy she's loved since childhood. And the son of the woman her dad cheated with.

Delilah's falling into the exact life her father led: caring for an ailing parent, putting her own dreams aside, and falling in love with a Parker. Is history doomed to repeat itself, or can it ever be changed?

More importantly, does she want it to?

Thanks for being here. May your love be louder than your grief, and may your next read be five stars.

-Allie