Life is long, hard and gets messy too fast

I've said it before, and I'll probably say it again (though my opinion is subject to change with time): I'm not afraid of death. Even after losing my wife, I can honestly say that I face that hereafter or everafter or whateverafter without any squeemishness. I attribute this to the grandfather I never knew, who died twenty-ish years before I was born: as soon as I learned what a grandparent was, I knew what death was. There's no great enigma to dread. It's just dead.

But I'm still pissed off as all hell about losing my wife. Her dying isn't the problem, the problem is that I'm still alive. I would've happily died when she did. Death is easy! Death means you don't have to go to work, don't have to pay taxes or shovel snow. Death means you don't have to deal with some moron in a BMW cutting you off and then driving in front of you 5 miles under the fucking speed limit. Living's what's hard.

If nothing else, I'm glad that my wife doesn't have to endure life's bullshittery anymore. I'm still stuck out here, and I can't kill myself, because it's not the right season anymore (late Spring, according to Maria Bamford). I know that my time with my wife was the happiest of her life because she told me so. But there was a lot of time when she wasn't with me, and from those troubles, she's now free. I just wish I didn't have to still be here trying to survive life. She's dead, I'm not, so my job's waaaaay harder.