The Widower’s Rant: Silver Linings

I’m feeling particularly grateful right now. It’s a nice feeling as the weekend rolls around. It’s a welcome change from earlier this week when I had a few more sad moments than typical. I was still having fun here in the trees and by the lake. But Thursday was generally a Meh day. I had my Covid vaccine the previous day and developed a reassuring immune response. That might have contributed to my general feeling of low energy. But in the middle of the day, for no good reason, my mind wandered back to the last morning and the last moments of Beth’s life. 

I have written and talked about the day when it all unwound earlier. I’m comfortable doing so, and it’s an essential part of accepting the finality of the change. We were lucky I was at home and not away. We were lucky that the day before was picture-perfect. We were lucky that my last words with Beth after we both woke were, “How are you this morning?” she responded, “I feel great.” She was lucky that her last moments were taking her doggies outside no differently than any of the mornings of the previous nine years with Holly and Ronin. She returned inside immediately, fell onto the couch, and lay there for some minutes. I assume she first thought this episode was no different than the previous ones and that it, like before, would soon resolve. But it did not. She never did catch her breath. What did she think about, if anything? Did she call out for me? Did she have enough breath to do so? Did she think of her doggies? Knowing their wagging tails were the last thing she saw makes me smile. Did she think of her babies? I’m sure of it. She was so proud of them and the lives they created for themselves. Did she know? The Silver Lining of sudden cardiac death is you quickly lose consciousness. We are lucky she never regained consciousness. Perhaps her life ended like candles blown out on a birthday cake, one by one, slowly dimming the lights...61…60…59…58…57…56…55…forever.

Writing about this now feels clinical and matter-of-fact. Pondering it last week was gut-wrenching as if my heart was being ripped from under my sternum. I hear myself crying out, “Why?” But there’s no answer forthcoming. There never will be one. It was painful, and it sucked. A hug would have been great, but nobody needs to see the Widower in that state. I knew I had to do something to escape that feeling, definitely something outside. I ran an errand on my bike and marveled at the beautiful September afternoon. The need to be at play embraced me, so I changed into my swimming costume (Beth and I love this very English expression), got my chair, and rode down to the beach. As I sat there soaking up the last summer warmth with the sun flickering on the water, a few thoughts danced in my mind. How nice it was to be on a nearly empty lakefront beach, bathed in electrons that escaped the sun about eight minutes before. How Beth would have enjoyed this so much. How fortunate I was to have the flexibility and freedom to go there on a whim. The lake water was crystal clear, cleansing, and warm enough to be refreshing. The next day, I went on a very long singletrack ride with sweeping views of the lake. I mentioned before it is a Silver Lining that I can enjoy the mountain bike rides today—except for the unfortunate off-piste expedition down into a steep gully. But I digress. 

We have enjoyed Tahoe summers before, but only for a week at a time and only as a visitor. I’ve been here for four weeks as a resident, and the lovely Tahoe summer has exceeded every expectation and every dream. I realize that I have never been away from “home” for four weeks at once since I left for college. Few people pre-retirement can say this. Some lucky ones have a sabbatical or can take off a significant amount of contiguous time (such as those who work for more civilized countries). But I haven’t, until now. I decided to stay here and experience the Tahoe summer—and I’m so glad I did. We would not have been able to spend this much time up here for some years.

Because we purchased the Tahoe house, our son bought his home nearby. Now, I can see him as frequently as I wish. This is an incredible gift. To have our son just 40 minutes away. To have the flexibility of time to go and see him and our daughter. These are the Silver Linings of this terrible situation. Being able to spend time with our kids and knowing they enjoy my company. To have the time, flexibility, and means to travel to see friends. To have the option to linger in our home in the trees, to be outside, to be at play. 

I’m living an exceptional life despite being in an unimaginable situation. I’m fortunate beyond belief. I don’t want to be charting a new course. I didn’t ask to be put on this path. I would give it all up in a heartbeat to rewind and have a do-over. But the finality of death is just that. She’s gone. I’m here. I’m having a different do-over—one with so many Silver Linings. 

I miss you Beth. I love you forever.

Donald