Diary of a Widower

Daily entries by a husband, who stayed behind with his two sons

Where to start? The end

TUESDAY, March 16 – The alarm goes off at 6:15.  I’m tired but fulfilled, as they say. I don’t feel guilty.  At least, I don’t think so.

I walk around the house like a chicken without a head. Don’t know where to start, what to do, which direction to go, and haven’t a clue where it’s all going to end. Administration, taxes, car papers to transfer… there are documents lying around that I have to deal with, but I can’t find the right ones so I can cross them off my list. I focus on Jenn’s car.

Where the fuck is the registration certificate for the Mini Cooper? I decide to give the house a good going-over. Then, after spending an hour and a half vacuuming and giving the toilets a good going-over, I remember that the cleaners are due this afternoon. Bizarre. I’m in control, but not capable of exercising control and I still can’t help crying.  As I search for official paperwork, I come across photos, objects of hers, notes, and memos.

Each discovery is accompanied by memories. Each object, no matter how inconsequential, pierces my heart like a dagger. This is my life, but I’ve lost it. I want her back, but first I have to clear away the final remains of Jennifer’s life and, really, I don’t know how to cope with it all? How to replace her? How to come to terms with all this, and ease the excruciating pain?

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