I don’t know

If anything came out of this sad, sorry situation precipitated by the death of my wife, it’s that I end up saying “I don’t know” all the time.
People tell me I’m doing a wonderful job of coping on my own, and I probably am, but what I know for sure is I still feel awful, so I feel perhaps I’m not doing that well.
My cleaning-lady tells me my wife would be extremely proud of how well I cope, that I get up every morning and perform my daily routine as if nothing happened.
“Well believe you-me,” I tell her; “I know something happened.”
I make my bed every day, I cook for myself, I do laundry.
I also do other things to distract myself from utter sadness. I walk my dog, I mow lawn, I work out at the YMCA.
But to me, that’s what they are, mere distractions from utter sadness.
I still have a house full of stuff that needs to be dispensed, plus the two cars we had, when I only really need one.
Both problems are more logistics than anything. But I can’t seem to be inclined to pursue them.
So surveying all this, I say “I don’t know.......”
Everyone tells me I’m doing a wonderful job, but I don’t know.
The other problem is my dog.
People tell me I’m doing a wonderful job of taking care of that dog, but I don’t feel like it.
I walk her a lot, at least twice a day, and one of those walks may be very long at a nearby park.
But that has to be interleaved with long periods of down time when I can’t pay any attention to the dog at all.
I wonder if there were long periods of down time when there were still two of us, my wife and I?
Perhaps, but I can’t remember. In other words: “I don’t know.”
I also know those telling me I do a wonderful job of taking care of that dog are not me, and were not living with that dog beforehand.
“She just wants to be with you,” I’m told.
Well yes, but that includes long periods of inattention and non-play that didn’t seem to occur before my wife’s death.
“I can’t play,” I tell my dog. “I have to eat my own supper.”
The dog must languish while I do things.
And now that I do everything the two of us previously did, I have little time to pay attention to the dog.
Yet I’m told I do an exemplary job of taking care of my dog.
I don’t know.
She’s a high-energy dog. When there were two of us we could render lots of attention.
We could play with her, something I can no longer do.
My perception is the dog has noticed. I’m not being held to account for it, but the deficit is noticeable.
Beyond that I’m always crying. I wonder what the dog thinks of that? —Is there any way to actually make him happier?

• My current dog is “Scarlett” (two “Ts,” as in Scarlett O’Hara), a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s seven, and is my sixth Irish-Setter, a high-energy dog. (A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. [Scarlett was from a failed backyard breeder.] By getting a rescue-dog, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't bad. She’s my fourth rescue.)
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named the “Wellness-Center,” usually three days per week, about two-three hours per visit. (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where I live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 14 miles east. —I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield, southeast of Rochester.)