When Barry died, he traveled to a place I could not yet go. His passport was stamped Heaven; mine was stamped Heartbroken. I was thrust into a country I hadn’t booked a reservation for. Each time I asked my GPS ( God Prayer Service) for a ticket to Life Before, the answer remained the same—no return flight.  Some of you understood that implicitly. You didn’t ask the gate agent when I’d be returning home to Life Before, or ask a flight attendant to switch your seats for more comfort. You rushed to my new country without hesitation.  Some of you arrived without words, tentatively, but you stayed and listened, even…