We are all one (the loneliest number)

This is the hard part. Well, one of the fourteen-zillion hard parts of grief. Who the fuck am I now? OK, I'm a widower, a writer, a cynic, a fucked-up individual and a capricorn. There's all kinds of personality tests online, if I'd like to join Scientology or have my character defined by which Disney Princess I'm most like. I'm pretty familiar with what I am. But adding up all the 'whats' still don't really help me identify 'who.' I met my wife as a teenager, and I went from being my parents' kid to her significant other without a missed beat. Now I need to know who this guy is that inhabits the body I call mine: all by myself.

I've never had such an open-ended question before. I googled "who am I?" and there wasn't even a snarky Google easter egg. A couple of movies and a Christian song came up. Any religion would love for me to come and ask them who I am, because they all have a canned answer to that. But being one of God's creations hasn't brought me much fulfillment. I need a bit more specific an answer than that. It's kind of like being told I'm a carbon-based life form: it's closer to answering 'what' than 'who.'

The answer to who I am now can only come from me. There's no Wikipedia entry or eHow article for this. So who am I? Mostly, I'm a guy who is hating having to deal with grief and an identity crisis simultaneously. I'm too lazy for this shit. I'm also someone who doesn't want to be me right now. How can I figure out who I am, if I don't even want to be it? I'll have to square with that one day. And on that day, I'll be me, and know what that really means. But until then, I'll just fake it.