I've written a lot of posts on this site about places I've been. Sixty countries now, markets I wandered into on purpose, cities I got lost in and loved getting lost in. The deal-hunting and points talk, that's usually a podcast conversation, not a blog one. This post isn't either of those things.
Three and a half weeks ago I was in Paris, doing normal Tuesday things, when my phone rang and my life split into before and after. My brother Robert had died. The funeral was going to be in Miami, and it wasn't happening next month or even in two weeks. It was happening in days.
I want to talk about that trip, because nobody in the travel space talks about this kind of travel. We talk about bucket lists and bleisure and the best window seat for sunrise over the Alps. Nobody talks about the flight you book with your hands shaking, staring at a fare that makes no sense, while you're also trying to figure out what you're going to wear to bury your brother.
So let's talk about it.
The price
I opened my laptop that night and the first quote out of Paris was north of $2,000. One way. Economy. A seat that, on any other week, I could've had for a third of that if I'd booked six weeks out. I sat there doing the math nobody should have to do at a moment like that. Is this the fare, or is this the fare because grief has a deadline and airlines know it.
I know exactly why last-minute fares spike. Yield management, unsold inventory, whatever the algorithm decides. I understand the mechanics. What I don't understand is why, in a country and an industry that loves to talk about compassion in its marketing, there's so little actual compassion built into the pricing when the reason for your trip is a death in the family.
I spent that night calling around, and here's the truth I found out the hard way: real bereavement fares are basically a myth at this point. A handful of airlines still have a program on paper: Delta, Alaska, Air Canada, Hawaiian, WestJet, Lufthansa. But even when you qualify, you're usually looking at 5 to 10 percent off the lowest fare available, not the deep discount everyone assumes exists. Most of the big US carriers, American and United included, killed their bereavement programs over a decade ago and never brought them back. And if you're flying out of Europe like I was, don't assume your home carrier has your back either. Air France, for example, only offers a bereavement rate between mainland France and French overseas territories, which does nothing for someone booking Paris to Miami.
So the fare I paid was close to the fare everyone else paid that day. Grief doesn't get you a discount. It just gets you a shorter window to find one.
The part nobody wants to talk about
Here's where it gets uncomfortable, and I'm going to say it anyway because I think a lot of you have lived this too.
While I was trying to figure out how I was going to afford a last-minute transatlantic flight, a hotel, and time off, I had more than one family member assume money simply wasn't going to be an issue for me. Not because they asked and I said it wasn't. Because they'd seen my Instagram. Country 55, country 56, a beach here, a rooftop there. In their minds, a man who travels that much clearly has endless money sitting around for whatever comes up.
I get why it looks that way. I really do. But posting a trip to Bali doesn't mean I'm not budgeting for it for months beforehand, or that I didn't earn most of those flights with points I've been stacking for years, or that I don't say no to plenty of trips that never make it to a caption. Nobody posts the flights they didn't take.
What people don't factor in is that I'm single, I support myself, and there's no second income sitting behind me if a $2,000 flight shows up out of nowhere. When you're the only name on your lease and your accounts, the math is different every single time. You don't get to default to "it'll work out." You have to actually make it work out on your own, every time, without saying much about it. And when the people closest to you assume that's not your reality, it's isolating in a way that's hard to explain to someone who's never had to carry it alone.
I called a couple of family members that week just needing someone to say "this is a lot, and we're glad you're coming." What I got instead, more than once, was a version of "well obviously you'll figure it out, you always do." That's not cruelty. I don't think anyone meant harm by it. But it stung in a specific, quiet way, and it's the kind of thing that puts real strain on a family when nobody says it out loud.
What actually got me there
I ended up flying out through a mix of a positioning flight, a chunk of transferable credit card points I'd been sitting on for a trip that was supposed to be fun, and a fare I found by widening my search to nearby airports instead of only checking a direct Paris to Miami flight. It wasn't elegant. It wasn't the kind of booking I'd normally brag about on this blog. But it got me to Miami in time to stand next to my family and say goodbye to my brother, and that's the only metric that mattered that week.
I think about that trip differently than every other one I've written about here. There was no cuisine to rave about, no skyline to marvel at. Just a version of travel that exists for all of us, whether we admit it or not: the trip you take because someone you love is gone, and you have to get there, whatever it costs.
If you've ever had to book that flight, I see you. And if you haven't yet, I hope you never have to. But since a lot of us eventually will, here's what I wish someone had told me before I did.
If You Ever Have to Book This Flight: What Actually Helps
Call before you assume. Even with bereavement programs mostly gutted, a few carriers still have something on the books. Delta, Alaska, Air Canada, Hawaiian, WestJet, and Lufthansa currently offer some version of a bereavement fare or compassionate exception. Ask specifically for that department by name when you call, not just the general line.
Don't expect a discount. Expect flexibility. The real value in most of these programs isn't a lower price, it's waived change fees and looser cancellation rules. Funeral dates move. Flights get rebooked. That flexibility can matter more than the 10 percent.
Have your documentation ready before you call. Most airlines want the deceased's name, your relationship to them, and contact info for the funeral home or hospital. Having that ready speeds up the call considerably, which matters when you're already exhausted.
Check your home carrier's actual coverage, not just its name recognition. If you live outside the US, don't assume your national carrier has a bereavement policy that covers international routes. Air France's, for example, only applies between mainland France and its overseas territories. Ask specifically about your route.
Points and miles are often your fastest real option. If you have a stash of transferable points through a program like Amex Membership Rewards or Chase Ultimate Rewards, check partner airline award space before you buy cash. Last-minute award seats do open up, especially in premium cabins that cash buyers are avoiding at those prices.
Widen your airport search. I found real savings by checking flights a few hours outside Miami and driving in, and by looking at connections through cities I wouldn't normally consider. Google Flights' flexible date and "nearby airports" tools are worth the extra five minutes.
Ask for a supervisor if the first answer is no. Front-line phone agents often have very little discretion. A supervisor can sometimes approve a compassionate exception, a fee waiver, or a standby seat that the first person you talked to couldn't.
And if you're the family member on the other end of this call, ask instead of assuming. If someone you love has to travel for a loss, ask them directly if they need help, instead of assuming their life looks like their timeline. You have no idea what someone is actually carrying just because their feed looks full.
That's my two cents, from a trip I never wanted to write about.
~Paul