Grief Level-up!

Yesterday I visited my wife's grave again, and still no headstone. But there's no reason to expect it'd be there, it's only been seven and a half months. The cool thing was that I cried in front of a stranger. I guess the guy lived next door and was walking his dog through the cemetery. But I waved to the friendly older gentleman with tears streaming down my face. I was so stoked.

Actually, I'm really not unhappy about it. I was standing in front of a grave crying, not picking out cantaloupe at the store. If there's a place where crying should always be acceptable, that oughta be it. In fact, I thought about leaving when I saw the man approaching and didn't. If that guy made me uncomfortable by approaching, I wanted to make him uncomfortable right back. Turns out he didn't give a fuck.

I was vaguely hoping he would come start a conversation with me, that he was in the graveyard to visit his own loved one and, seeing me in my state, would share some G.I.A.-certified flawless diamonds of wisdom. Nope, just walking his dog. But I had a secret. I didn't give a fuck either. I didn't let him cut my time short, and I didn't stifle my emotions. I grieved, like a boss, in spite of all Western culture's stigma about men crying and keeping feelings to myself. Who knows what that guy might do in the future? I'm gonna do precisely what I want. Let them deal with me instead of the other way around. I cry in front of strangers now. Suck it.