It’s been a struggle. I thought it’d be easier because I’ve been bracing for my wife’s death since her cancer diagnosis last year.

When it came though, it came with a fury and with such fucking forceful torment that it knocked me off my feet. I can still function, joke around and somehow show a semblance of normalcy but inside me is a deep, dark, and agonizing pain.

You go to your favorite local donut store and the owner asks how your wife is doing. You smile, say she just passed away, and try not to cry.

Who cries at a donut store? Kids who didn’t get their bavarian delight and grown men who’ve lost their wives.

You wake up each day and wear a mask that’s meant to show strength, composure, and grace so people will see that you’re doing alright – mainly, so that they won’t bug you and ask if you’re alright.

What are you going to say if they do ask how you’re doing?

My wife just died motherfucker and my heart broke into a million little pieces. Leave me the fuck alone.

been re-watching Sleepless in Seattle over and over this past week. it’s research on how to cope with grief and live a widower life.

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.