it’s official.

I am now a fucking Dirty Old Man.

Will need to get that pair of white leather shoes, cream colored gabardine bell bottoms, satin hawaiian shirt, and gold jewelry.

all of a sudden, all her friends are calling, leaving messages, professing love and support. inside me is this cynical asshole shouting – where the fuck were all of you when she was alive and needed to hear all that?

but it’s all good, better late than later.

grief – it comes at you unexpectedly and in waves. all you can do is let it course through you and ride that fucking thing until it subsides.

it’s only been a fucking week that she died.

you start by packing her things into little boxes, one memory at a time. you try to get everything out of your sight because every item reminds you of her and it breaks your heart every time.

it’s been a week that she’s gone and I’m still waiting for the phone call asking – where are you, have you eaten, are you ok, and all that shit wives ask their husbands when they’re apart from each other.

I know that’s not going to happen anymore and there’s this big bottomless hole in my heart.

there were times at the hospital when I was too tired and it showed on my face. she’d see it right away, console me, and give a warm embrace. now I’m fucking regretting that she had to do that. she was the one with cancer.