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But if I went to these places, embraced them instead of avoided them, maybe I could recall other long-forgotten, tiny moments that illuminated just how amazing both my wife and our time together were. I could share these memories with our daughter and hopefully create some damn good new ones, too—in Minnesota, Los Angeles, and around the entire world.

Chapter 17

starting to feeling like a

divorced parent,

sharing custody,

arranging pickup/drop-off times,

carting baby supplies

from house to house.

this is weird.

and not how i

pictured fatherhood.

damn it.

After the difficulty of leaving Maddy behind for Liz’s second funeral in Minnesota, I was thrilled to finally bring her with me when I went back for my cousin Josh’s wedding in June. It would be her first trip anywhere outside of Los Angeles. Attending the event was going to be incredibly difficult, but Josh had asked me to be in his wedding party, and in going I would be keeping a promise I had made to Liz—or rather, a promise Liz had made for me.

Madeline’s original due date fell just before Josh’s wedding, but Liz definitively told me, “You’re going to his wedding.” She was adamant because she knew how important the event was for Josh. We thought Madeline would be barely a month old, so the plan was for my girls to stay behind in Los Angeles while I headed to the wedding in Minnesota. So now, even though it would be painful to face all of the reminders of the life I no longer had, I was determined to be there for my cousin. I didn’t want my bad days to cast a shadow over anyone else’s good days, and I certainly didn’t want to disobey Liz’s orders.

A family friend took it upon herself to call the airline and tell them it was Madeline’s first flight. When we boarded the plane, the flight attendants presented us with a First Flight certificate and a book in which we could record all her travels. I knew already that this would be the first of many trips together. Of course we’d be regularly visiting family and friends in the Midwest, but a list was already forming in my mind of everywhere else I wanted to take my daughter. The world was full of places where Liz and I lived together and loved each other, and I pledged then that I would take Madeline to see all of them.

Thanks to the advice of my blog readers I was well prepared for the flight, but I might have overdone it a bit. A few people had suggested I bring an extra outfit for Madeline, in case of the dreaded diaper blowout—I brought five. They told me to bring a few extra diapers—so I brought eleven…for a four-hour flight. Though I was physically overprepared for the trip, I was seriously underprepared mentally. I hadn’t even considered how difficult it would be to face the stares and whispers of the other passengers who were expecting my baby to be the crying, whiny horror story they could tell once they landed in Minneapolis. I tried my best to ignore them and focus my attention on Madeline.

Thankfully, she slept almost the entire way to Minneapolis. I didn’t need any of the extra outfits, and I didn’t have to try to change her diaper on the plane. But I was the mess, spending the entire flight awaiting the expected meltdown or the promised diaper explosion, so I really didn’t get a chance to enjoy Madeline’s perfect behavior.

One of the first events of the weekend was a round of golf as part of Josh’s bachelor party festivities. When I arrived at the course to the company of twenty or so guys, many of whom I’d known since fourth or fifth grade, few of them said a word to me. Most gave a polite wave and avoided eye contact, not knowing how to talk to the guy whose wife had died. I felt as though I was a ghost they couldn’t see. It was just fucking weird for some of my oldest childhood friends to treat me like an outcast: I expected this kind of reaction from the strangers I encountered, but not from them. Thankfully, A.J. and my good friend Nate were on the golf course, and they were perfectly willing to talk to me. I just wanted people to be normal, but nobody