Long flight made much longer by the presence of an unholy former boss - the one who so callously ended my career at The Times those months ago - just three rows in front of Miranda. Oh how I longed to throw something at him; instead I glared at the back of his oversized head and eventually lost myself in some British lit. Thankfully we parted ways in Chicago. Seriously, what are the chances??
And now as I sit typing this in a small house in a small Michigan town, life seems okay. Words hastily jotted in my notebook during an extended layover at O'Hare reminded me of the whole reason for this trip: "I'm here to remember my grandpa, but I'm also on a journey to discover my mother. I want to connect with the person she was before marrying my father and long before us children became her whole life. I'm determined to keep my mind open to everything, as I know this will help me understand what makes her tick. I'm doing all of this for her."
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