My husband, Amal, used to spend a lot of time in helicopters, his bow tie peeking out of his flight suit. Amal worked in a hospital’s intensive care unit, and part of his job was flying with very sick children who needed to be transferred by air. When I expressed worry about him doing this, he would point out that more people die in cars than helicopters. The ensuing grief, for me, felt like being near one of Amal’s landing helicopters — a swirl of noise and confusion, the earth vibrating. In the years since his death, my grief subsided — enough for me to consider dating, of all people, a helicopter engineer.

Source: New York Times September 04, 2020 03:56 UTC