Another rotten day

“And so begins another rotten day.”
I say that every morning as I roll out of bed, usually at 6:04 a.m.
If that sounds early, I’ve been awake since 5-5:30 with my clock-radio on a nationwide classical music-feed from Minnesota.
The clock-radio does a dip at 5:40, what its alarm was set for.
Then at 6 a.m. radio-station WXXI, the public-radio classical music station out of Rochester (NY) I listen to, begins local programing by transmitting bird-song.
The birdsong lasts until 6:01, when WXXI transmits National-Public-Radio’s short new update.
That ends at 6:04, usually with a short report of national stock-futures, and stock-performance abroad.
“I wish there were some way we could make you feel better,” say various friends.
But they can’t.
“So begins another sad, sad day without my wife,” I say to myself through tears.
My beloved wife of over 44 years died almost a year ago. She had cancer.
My dog has accepted that, but not this kid.
I know in my head, but I can’t crunch it yet. I guess I just don’t wanna.
I attend a grief-share.
The other day I met its facilitator at the grocery.
She was thrilled! “How are you doing?” she bubbled.
“Well, okay I guess,” I answered; “but I feel like I just exist.”
Ever the stick-in-the-mud. I put a damper on everything.
Recently the guy who daycares my dog while I work out at the YMCA asked how I was. He asks just about every time I drop off my dog. —He’s concerned for my wellbeing.
“Well, I haven’t burned down the house yet, and I’m still on my feet,” I said.
“And you’re still fully clothed and fed,” he added.
“In other words, you’re fine.”
“I am not,” I said. “I cry all the time, and I’m always sad.”
Almost a year has passed, and I’m still affected.
Perhaps not as devastated and numb as at first, but enough to limit my doing anything.
I still have a house full of stuff that needs to be dispersed. And it took 10 months to downsize from the two cars we drove to only one.