I was feeding my 5-month-old baby on a plane when the woman beside me yelled, “Have some shame! Go do that in the bathroom!” — then my older daughter stepped in and teached her a lesson

and stared out the window while clouds passed beneath us.

At one point, I caught myself thinking that Dean would have loved the view.

Then I remembered there would be no more flights with Dean.

No more vacations.

No more terrible airport coffee.

No more arguing about whether we had arrived too early.

Grief was cruel that way. It hid inside ordinary things.continue reading …