Chronicles of a Reluctant Widower – Part No The Day After

Everyone – I asked you to let me be.

No one listened. Thank you.

Obviously, I cannot reply personally to all of you – that will take me 3 years!

“Grief is the price we pay for love”, and yeah, as a measure of love’s depths, I’d say it’s pretty fucking deep!  It was so weird waking up this morning and not worrying how loudly I take a pee.  So weird to go to the master bedroom and see it so empty, so quiet.  So weird to open the fridge and her box of wine still in there.  So weird to see her “quick dial” button on the home screen on my phone.  Everything is just so fucking weird.

And honestly, also a bit pointless right now.  And as I type this, I can feel her slapping me upside the head and tell me not to be daft.  When we knew that she was terminal, I always knew this day would come.  There would be a day my love will die, and that is the most horrendous step to take.  But there will be a step after, and a step after, and sometimes the steps would be backwards, like some drunk idiot trying to dance, going mostly forward, but stumbling backwards into walls occasionally.

Today is step one.  I have no idea what that means, and I take solace in the fact that I do not have to know.  In Defining Giulia I wrote a line (spoken by Giulia) that “there is no point to life, and I like it that way”.  No point means I can assign any meaning to it that I want.  There is great freedom there.  Similarly, there is no handbook on grief.  There is no manual that will say “Day one: piss loudly”.  Nope, you figure this out as you go along, and I find solace in the fact that whatever I do now, will be the right choice.  There is no wrong way to move on from here.  What happens, happens.  What is, is.  What I’m feeling, is just what I’m feeling, and all of it is correct.  No one can tell me I’m wrong.

Many of you asked what you can do.  Right now, I simply do not know.  At this moment in time, I have food and beer (thanks, Christo!), but if you are sincere, and not just basking in the relief of rubbernecking at another’s loss, ask me again next week.  Or the week thereafter.  Or the month thereafter.  When the novelty has died down and your lives have moved on beyond the drama of Gerry’s Current Crisis ™.

This morning, it’s raining where I live.  And it’s perfect.  It suits my mood.  It’s a morning offered by a pretentious movie-maker trying to be deep in his art school oeuvre, and you know what, it works!!

I’m now going to paste this up on FB and my blog, (I type these things out in Word because dyslexia and squiggle lines), and then, I’m going to take the first baby step and then the next, and then the next. And hopefully, after those baby steps, several of them, the newness and fresh-cut hurt will fade, and I’ll be able to breathe and live again.

The biggest insult I can give Andrea is to fall apart and make a mess of my life.  But this morning, today, it’s still hurting.

And that’s okay.

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