After my wife died, I decided to go to Kenya for ten days. I needed a new place to think and to fully step out of reality. That journey helped me profoundly, and I met some amazing humans who will forever hold a place in my heart.

 

Once I was back home, reality hit me very hard. I was overwhelmed with grief, and dark thoughts consumed me. The only thing that kept me going was a promise to Laura, my wife. In her last days, she made me swear I’d take care of “our girls,” Bailey and Cleo—the two dogs we adopted from southern Italy.

 

Living day by day on junk food, one evening, I decided it was time to cook something. Here’s the problem though—Laura and I loved cooking together, and I couldn’t even dream of starting, not even with something as simple as peeling an onion. But there I was… about to cook for the first time since she passed. What do most recipes call for? Yes, an onion.

As soon as I started cutting it, I completely lost it. And no, it wasn’t because of the onion. I cooked something—I can’t even remember what—and ate it as if I were in another dimension. A couple of days later, I cooked again. And again. Each time there were tears, but each time, there were also smiles. Slowly, I managed to cook again with joy. Not every time, but most times.

 

In December, I decided to spend a month in our happy place in Tuscany, where, in winter, they rent apartments at an affordable rate. It was one of our dreams to spend winters there, but it was a dream Laura and I never got to realize together. Going back there was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Everything reminded me of her—our favorite restaurant, the gelato in San Gimignano, and the Cortona views she loved so much because of the book Under the Tuscan Sun.

But each time I did something hard, it got a little better. Each memory hurt a little less. I learned that if you’re willing to sit with the pain and face the unimaginable, you will eventually come out the other side with a smile, both on your face and in your heart.

And this is what happens every time I "just cut the onion." I see Laura’s smile. I know how happy and proud she would be of me. And so, I take our camper, travel to Spain again, and spend her birthday at the restaurant by the sea, where we celebrated her last one. I do it for both of us—I do it to see her smile, and I do it to heal my heart.

 

This is why I started Just Cut The Onion. It’s not just about my journey. It’s about sharing the tools, stories, and reflections that have helped me through grief. I hope they can help you too.

If you’ve found this page, know that you’re not alone. Whether you’re here to read, share, or simply find comfort, I’m so glad you’re here. Together, we can navigate the layers of grief, one tear, one laugh, and one onion at a time.

 

Where to go from here?

Grief is a journey, and no one should have to walk it alone. Make sure to check out the blog for more heartfelt stories and insights, as well as Instagram for more regular reflections and updates.

And if you ever feel the need to talk to someone, you know where to find me.