The Widower’s Rant: In Pursuit of Happiness

In civics class, I learned that my unalienable right is the pursuit of Happiness. That’s a nice foundation for a system of government. Why isn’t this a cabinet-level position? Secretary of the Department of Happiness. Then, I could write a letter complaining that my pursuit has been unexpectedly curtailed. Dear Madame Secretary (I hope it is a woman has they have both intellect and compassion), my pursuit of Happiness has been badly damaged. I believe it is my right. No, my unalienable right. What resources have my tax dollars funded to assist me in restarting my pursuit? Wouldn’t it be nice if they taught civics in school again? But I digress.

Beth woke up happy. Every day. Truly. I am not beatifying Beth. She was an exceptional human, but I’m not nominating her for sainthood. She had a tough competitive streak and had an unkind word to share when necessary. But every day, she simply woke up happy. Most every morning, especially when her health began to fail and especially once she started Chemo, I asked, “How are you?” The morning she died, she said, “I feel good.” She said it as if she felt better than she should be feeling. I just realized those were the last words she said to me. I don’t remember what I said back. I hope it was something reasonably reassuring. I probably said, “Great!” I picked this up from The Commodore. His response to most events is, “Great!” “I was was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.” “Great!” “They found my lost luggage.” “Great!” I think I should ask, “My chlamydia finally cleared up.” and see if that’s also, “Great!”

My closest friend often said that Beth was the Golden Retriever of people. Given the amount of her hair shed around our house, I agree. I don’t think that’s what he meant, though. Our first dog was Bogey, a Golden Retriever. We got Bogey when Curtis was 1. Kids should have dogs, Beth said. But I knew it was her that wanted the dog. Beth loved her dogies so very much. Beth and Bogey would have contests to see who should shed the most. Bogey won, but it was not a slam dunk. As someone who was losing, and now lost my hair, this was quite annoying how she could lose more hair in a day than I had (at least in linear feet) and still have more for the next day. Growing up with Curtis the people puppy, Bogey thought she was just a hairy family member. This explains why she was disappointed when she didn’t get a bike with training wheels like Curtis and Lauren. Instead, Bogey got put into the kid bike trailer when the kids got their big kid bikes. Beth was a happy pup. She often said she’d like to have a tail so she could wag it to let others know she was happy. We talked about the logistics of having clothes that would work with a tail, but Beth was not practical like that. She was just happy.

I’m not happy being The Widower. I understandably can be quite sad at times, but it is the minority of days (I’m counting). I have a few thoughts on my public persona (he seems so happy!), but that’s for another time. Anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot about my pursuit of Happiness, how long it will take, what dimensions will unfold, and how awkward it can be to see a happy widower. “He seems so happy. He must not miss Beth anymore.”

I will always miss Beth. I will always love Beth. Nothing will ever change this. I will always grieve the loss of my perfect partner, my beloved wifelet (Beth was too petite to be a full-size wife, so she liked being called a wifelet), my best friend. Nothing will change this. But when Beth died, I also changed irreversibly. I went through a portal and emerged as The Widower, and I’ll carry that name tag with me forever. If only the portal gave me some sort of superpower. Not a tail, though. Wings? Invisibility? Perhaps my portal gave me above-average resilience?

What I’m hoping is that while my friends remain concerned about me (I’m an only child, I thrive under attention and affirmation), they don’t regard this changed Don as particularly fragile. As damaged goods. They ultimately they won’t be timid about telling me what they think about me or a situation or my reactions any differently on April 4 than April 6. Well, maybe not April 6, 2024, but certainly by April 6, 2025. Well before, hopefully. I know that few people know what to say to anyone grieving under similar circumstances. It’s fair that some avoid contacting at all, for fear of the unknown. I learned a bit about the care and feeding of The Widower. Maybe that’s a topic for another Rant. More than a decade after my mom died, my father could barely mention her and not get emotional. I’ve now met some widowers, and they carry an air of fragility. It’s likely one of the reasons I’m oversharing in this blog and in my conversations. I want to be comfortable talking about Beth, and my feelings, sooner than later. And I want others to talk about her with me, too. Sure, I might get a little wistful (I use that word a lot because it’s easier to spell than verklempt), but the best way to keep her memory fresh is to freely talk about her. I want to be happy thinking about Beth, as opposed to being sad when I am abruptly confronted with the cold truth that she’s not here. Like Schrödinger's Cat, she’s nowhere and everywhere, all at once. Wrap your head around that. 

My new pursuit of Happiness has several dimensions. I’m trying to learn, and failing at times, to be content, even happy, living alone. I have not lived alone in almost 40 years - since 1985, when we moved in together right after college. Boy, my parents were pleased about this. Not. I was accepted to Med School and was supposed to be going to Chicago, not shacking up with some girl in SoCal. Beth was in New York for training with Prudential Bache when I was in Irvine looking for our first apartment. Alton Parkway. The Irvine Company was our landlord. I was with her mother, Eileen (don’t let me forget to tell you our favorite Eileen story later), shopping for household basics. I explained to her the difference between the nice Rubbermaid dustpan versus the cheap styrene plastic one. I’m not sure that made me a great catch in her eyes, but at least I’d be a tidy one. Until all that hair infiltrated our lives, and I gave up all hope of having a tidy home. She told me later that there she was in Manhattan, wearing her 80’s power suit complete with shoulder pads and a flouncy blouse to somehow feminize it (What a decade for fashion), training to become a bull market stockbroker when her mother called and explained how her boyfriend was shopping with her for a Rubbermaid dustpan. A blue one. I might still have it. Would have needed six or so of the cheap styrene plastic ones. Yup, quite the catch.

Back to the pursuit. I’ve been in pursuit of Happiness by breathing fresh air in the pine trees, enjoying beautiful vistas, hiking in the mountains, and having time with our kids. I’m trying new things, like singletrack eMTB at the lake. This makes me very happy, but I’m also clearly using adrenaline as a substitute for the oxytocin hit I’d get when I caught a glimpse of Beth or had our morning hug and kiss. If there is one thing I fundamentally miss about the before times, is the warm embrace and quick kiss to reinforce that this life was us. Us two. Together forever. Until death do we part. Crap. Did not think I’d be cashing that cheque. Like Oasis said, “You and I are gonna live forever.”

When we said our vows, the commitment to the promise was very real to me. I was all in on Beth. She might have thought of me as the starter husband, the one who would keep the house tidy with a new dustpan. But at 25, the real implications of those promises don’t feel real at all. At 25, you are still invincible. And considering I was still jumping off the odd cornice and skiing far too fast (notice a trend here?), I embodied feeling invincible. Only when you have children or confront the loss of a loved one do you begin to appreciate the fragility of life. 

In sickness and in health. I was 25. I didn’t appreciate sickness, and I took health for granted. The first time I contemplated that sickness could even remotely lead to death was when one of us had some sort of minor procedure and the nurse asked you to remove your rings (oh, my, that’s another topic for The Rant). What if one of us isn’t there to put the ring back on? Gasp. 

When Beth was in the ER after collapsing in our house, I had the presence of mind to ask for her rings. And the earrings that my mother gave to her. My mom loved Beth, and Beth loved my mom. But most importantly, Beth’s most treasured jewerly, a simple silver Chakana (Incan Cross) that she bought from a street vendor in Machu Picchu right after we submitted Huayna Picchu. Beth and I are not religious, but for us, walking among the ruins of the ancient civilization was an unexpectedly spiritual experience. There’s something going on in that spot on the planet. She wore it continuously from that day forward, wearing out multiple chains over the last 12 years. I know she treasured it more than any single possession. What I don’t know is what to do with this precious amulet now. I fear losing it as much as anything. For now, it is draped over this photo of us in Peru.

Back to the pursuit. I took Happiness for granted at times. It embraced our home. It enveloped our life together. Beth woke up every morning happy. So, it was easy to return the favor. I think each of us deserves Happiness. There’s nothing to earn. It’s our unalienable right. Being in pursuit of something means that you might catch it. Now, I choose to learn to build this muscle on my own. So I can catch some Happiness. And over time, it returns to the norm so there’s less pursuing and more enjoying

When I wake up, I look over at the empty spot and say, “Good morning, Beth.” Then, most mornings I think, “Okay. I’m happy. Let’s go.”

I miss you Beth. I love you forever.

Donald