I heard about Justice Scalia’s death at one of my last dinners with my beloved, if complicated, father. Months on, as the justice’s seat sat unfilled, so did Dad’s.
When my daughter died, I hated the sun for rising without her. I wept as the world turned green and flowers burst open. But the backyard birds were a different story.
Maybe someday the season won’t feel like someone is taking a melon baller to my heart, but for now getting through it is about knowing what to avoid and what to embrace.