A widower groping his way

It is no other human beings or any kind of creed that keeps me going through this meaningless life. It is Mozart's music that keeps me stand this life. When I was taking care of my wife during the three year battle against cancer, nobody was able to comfort me. It was Mozart's music that I played in my car everyday during my commute hours that gave me the consolation and the strength to get by another day. Even now, when my wife has been dead for four years and I am living a lonely widower's life, the only and faithful companion I have is Mozart. I listen to his piano concertos, violin sonatas, Requiem everyday. I may skip washing my face or having breakfast, but not a day goes by without me listening to his music in my car or alone at home lying on my single bed. It was Mozart who showed me there can be an order and a clarity that transcends this ugly world when I was a teenager with no bearing in my life. It was Mozart who taught me to regain the strength and courag...

Every month, I go to my wife's cemetery. Once a month. I have been there one hour ago. I stand in front of the wall behind which lies the urn containing my wife's ashes. I always take a photo of my hand over the wall for a record. Every time I drive to the place, I think about many things. The life we had, her body I touched, her kiss, her painful last days, my stupid mistakes. Today, I remembered the touch of her body. While driving in the past, when she was sitting beside me, I used to caress her thighs and even her breasts playfully, and she would say no but with a smile. The reality that I cannot touch her anymore is one of the most miserable parts of my life as a widower. It definitely includes sex but more often than not, I simply miss the experience of touching her that used to soothe my restlessness. I found a blog written by a 30 something widower who lost his wife to cancer just like me but two years before I lost my wife. He wrote a post about his " ...

 

Thoughts come to me and I see them coming. I live a day and another day and I realize four years have passed since my wife died. I cut connections to people one by one. Now I have only one person that I meet regularly. A divorced friend. I live a life of quiet despair. I behave like a normal person at work. I am not normal, however, in my heart. I keep this hatred about my life, my existence itself all the time. I just have nobody to show that hatred because it would reveal my problem of not being a good fit for a normal society. I just play along with the world to make a living but inside I am just like a wolf in the wild just like the hero of the novel by Herman Hesse.