“Your life isn’t over.” My dad says this. “I mean, YOUR life isn’t over. Beyond the kids. You’ll go on living, doing things. This isn’t it.”

I know, I assure him. I have the kids. They need me. They’re my life now.

“OK,” he replies, then grunts — more of a brief hum. He only hums when he thinks I’m full of shit.

Shockingly single. Amy Biancolli’s life went off script more dramatically than most after her husband of 20 years jumped off the roof of a parking garage. Left with three children, a three-story house, and a pile of knotty psychological complications, Amy realizes the dead car battery, rapidly growing lawn, basement sump pump, and broken doorknob aren’t going to fix themselves.

Amy learns that “Figuring Shit Out” means accepting the horrors that came her way, rolling with them, slogging through them, helping others through theirs, and working her way through life with love and laughter.

Amy speaks frankly about suicide and its aftermath. Her humor links the sacred and profane — the spiritual and the down-and-dirty — in a way that’s honest and reflects how real people grieve and, more than that, live.