Cynicism is my superpower

My wife once told me I was "so goddamn cynical it's unbelievable." I love her. I don't know where it originated, but I've always loved the (paraphrased) quote: "If you scratch a cynic, you'll find a disappointed optimist."  I've always called myself a cynic but never deconstructed it to see what it's made of. By this definition, I don't disagree. Do you know how hard it is to lose a spouse in your twenties and still call yourself an optimist? As much as I say things like "I hate everything" and "life sucks" and "wouldn't it be cool if I died in an impossible downtown tornado," I can't shake the feeling that, disappointed as I am, I still wanna stick around to see what life might do next.

In addition to the long-acknowledged cynicism, I've also learned something brand new about my personality since my wife died. I'm a romantic. How 'bout that shit? I spent my whole life avoiding "The Notebook"-esque movies (which, by the way, was my wife's favorite romance). Now, I'm coming to the conclusion that all the gushy, sickeningly-sweet, googly-eyed dreck in those movies is exactly what I miss. And even when I claimed I hated "The Notebook," I always envisioned that my wife and I would die that way, and the same time, in each other's arms (although minus the dementia). I had a dream a year or two before my wife died where we were actually in a car that was going to be picked up by a tornado. We saw it would be unavoidable, and just held each other as the tornado picked us up, spun us around, and set us down, gently as you please. But in the dream, we were totally at peace with the idea of dying together just then. I woke up glowing.

At least I was able to tell my wife about that dream in health. Maybe it's even why I can call myself an optimist at this point, six months and change after I watched her die. And don't any of you just-trying-to-help people tell me "maybe she died in peace because I gave her permission." I want it clear, for the record, I never gave my wife permission to die. She knew that. To say I'm disappointed is an understatement. But disappointment is nothing new to a cynic of my caliber. We cynics brush our teeth every night with disappointment, spit it into the sink, and head to be. But we still get up in the morning with unexplainable optimism. I guess, when you always expect to be let down, then only time you're surprised is when something's good. I hate being let down, but I freakin' love surprises.