On Christmas Day 2015, I was in a nearly deserted restaurant at the Denver airport. Three other women, also by themselves, were having lunch. I was on my way to Milwaukee, where I grew up, to attend the funeral of my dearest friend’s brother. We had grown up together; his death was unexpected. Although I had made plans to have Christmas dinner with another friend and her family, I must admit I was feeling very sorry for myself because I was missing so…