The Widower’s Rant: Sweat is a Solution

Oct 25, 2024

4 min read

Following my last East Coast swing to visit friends in Maine and The Commodore in New Jersey, I spent a week in Incline before returning to Geyserville. I brought the doggies for their annual exams and to plot my next steps with the Farmhouse. My previous trips to G’Ville have been challenging. I couldn’t wait to leave.

As I drove back from Tahoe, it was a familiar movie from the past year replaying on my retinas. I’d be at our new house at the lake and head Home. Over Donner pass. Down the Sierra foothills to Sacramento. Past UC Davis, where we met and began our life journey. Then Petaluma, Santa Rosa, Windsor, Healdsburg. The exit signs are familiar friends. West Dry Creek Road. Lytton Springs. The Hwy 128/Geyserville exit beckons me. I pull into our garage and walk across our deck overlooking Geyser Peak. I look through the door, and Beth is on the couch with her doggies. She smiles, and we hug and share a quick kiss to welcome me Home. I’m Home in Geyserville, and all is well in the world.

But the script has changed. The house is dark. There’s nobody to welcome me. The house full of furniture and belongings is so empty.

I thought to myself, “Oh no. I won’t be happy here.” But as each day passed, I found myself happy. Content. Walking Ronin around the neighborhood. Seeing friends. Riding my bike along the Alexander Valley vineyards. I was finally at peace in Geyserville. Whew!

I took care of an important loose end: Scattering Chip’s Ashes at the family vineyard. Chip died a decade ago. Beth and I talked about doing this, but life (and death) got in the way. When I cleaned out her closet, I rediscovered the box with Chip’s ashes. In an empty closet, they stood out (I’m coming for you next, Eileen!). So I took Chip for his last walk through his beloved vineyard. Chip was a game-changer dog for our family. We met our winery partners, C/E, because of Chip (and Gabby). Without Chip, we don’t have Soliste, some amazing adventures, or some very important friends. That’s why there are two paw prints on all of our corks. One for Gabby. One for Chip. Dogs are important.

Scattering Chip was emotional but also comforting. It felt good to close this chapter and to know Chip is running around the vines, digging for gophers, and barking at the birds, forever. He was the bestest doggie. Woof.

I woke up this morning happy. It was four great days in Geyserville. I turned the page. I can be comfortable here. Finally.

Now, the purpose of the week. I took Holly to the vet first (two dogs, two trips. Double the pleasure, double the fun. At least that’s what Wrigley’s said). We have a great Vet in Healdsburg. They love our scary (looking), leash-reactive, complicated doggies. They let me bring the dogs in through the back door to avoid creating a scene in the waiting room. I told our Vet that the dogs are mostly with Curtis in Carson City, so perhaps I should find a local Vet. She offered a few referrals. Then she said how much she enjoyed Beth and that regardless of their care arrangements, she’d always be available to me to talk about Holly and Ronin. As I sat alone in the exam room, the bricks fell on my head, and I began to weep silently. Driving Home, I was a wreck.

Grief has a wicked sense of humor. Okay, he thinks he’s in charge. I’ll show him.

I walked Ronin around our neighborhood for his daily Sniffari. Okay, I’m fine. Back at the Vet, Ronin was uncharacteristically clingy. As he was examined, he jumped on the bench next to me. I had to help coax him out of the room with treats. Then it hit again. Grief was having her way with me. Driving Home, I was a wreck, again.

More errands. Wine club pickups. I don’t need more wine, and perhaps surprisingly, I’m not drinking that much of it. But I like supporting a couple of local wineries, so off I went to collect the club shipments. Familiar stomping grounds. Then I decided to visit the garden at Lambert Bridge and see the Japanese Maple they planted for Beth. It was as beautiful, wonderful, and as heart-wrenching as you might imagine. I left a kiss on the tree trunk, promising to return in the Spring when the leaves are new.

What to do? I couldn’t just wallow in my sadness, satisfying as that might sound. I was tired of being unhappy in our happy place. So, I made my fourth trip to Healdsburg, this time by bike. As I pedaled past the vineyards, sweat began to drip from under my helmet (Yes, late October in Northern California. Thank you, climate change). As the miles fell behind me, I could feel the dark clouds begin to part—a genuine smile formed under my cheeks. Contentment returned.

I’ve used this prescription before. Physical exertion to clear my head. To sweat. Sweat is a clear, hypotonic solution. About 99% water, and 1% salt and fats. Slightly acidic. I think a lot about fluids of late. I’m more familiar with Lacrimal fluid than I thought possible. Similar to sweat, tears are about 98% ultrafiltered plasma, salts, proteins, and lipids. The tracks of my tears down my cheeks leave a snail's trail of salts and proteins. The sweat from exertion cleanses my agita, it washes away the intensity of loss.

It was a good day, after all. So, instead of cooking and eating at home alone as I typically do, I walked down the street to our favorite local restaurant, Diavola. When I was there earlier in the week with our neighbor, I spotted a couple of dishes I simply had to eat: Hokkaido Scallops and Mafaldine with Duck Ragu. I haven’t eaten alone at a restaurant in 29 weeks (still counting). The dishes were as delicious as I had anticipated. So much so that the planned leftovers never left the restaurant. And I finished with a tribute to Beth.

It’s been a good week. Grief reminded me that healing is not a linear progression, and the sawtooth ridge of unexpected emotions shouldn't be unwelcome. Because I know one solution to help: to sweat. Then, I can reset and more quickly return to enjoying the life that I’m grateful to have.