Everything Reminds Me of Her

It's almost noon. I'm at the library. I supposed to be working on my freelance writing assignments, but my mood is plunging and I find it hard to concentrate.

Hi. I'm a widower. My wife died a year-and-a-half ago this week.

I noticed early on that there are two types of questions people ask when they say, "How are you doing?" -- the short answer and the long answer. Some people genuinely care and want to know. Others, though, see that we all have our troubles and it's best not to dwell on them. I suppose those in the latter group are right. I try not to dwell, but everything reminds me of her.

I can tell which answer people are looking for by the way they phrase the question, whether they shoot it out in one so-how-you-doin or whether they carefully pronounce each word. 18 months later, fewer and fewer are interested in the details of a grieving, 37-year-old widower.

They want me to be over it. I want me to be over it. I'm not.

I've been thinking about starting this blog to really explore and express my grief. I've done a bit of it in my other blog but my family and friends read that one. I want this to be just about grief and only for those looking for solace, hope, and/or commiseration.

I came into the library today thinking of the Elliot Smith song, "Everything Reminds Me of Her":

I never really had a problem because of leaving
But everything reminds me of her this evening

So if I seem a little out of it, sorry
But why should I lie?
Everything reminds me of her

The spin of the earth impaled a silhouette of the sun on the steeple
And I got to hear the same sermon all the time now from you people
Why are you staring into outer space, crying?
Just because you came across it, and lost it

Everything reminds me of her
Everything reminds me of her
Everything reminds me of her