The Widower’s Rant: A Titanic Opportunity

In the last installment of the Widower’s Rant, I was undecided about what to do for Beth’s birthday. To pizza or not to pizza was the cliffhanger.

I thought through the practicalities and the emotions and had a constructive conversation with Lauren. She has been a source of great support for me. By this time in our lives, we have all experienced the unsettling “child-becomes-parent” change. I’ve now experienced it from both sides of the aisle. Unfortunately for our kids, it frankly comes too young. When we were in the hospital with Beth, you could feel the dynamic begin to shift suddenly and irreversibly. Lauren was my rock in the room as the three of us talked through the situation, well-known wishes, and likely outcomes. Lauren gets the “matter-of-factness” from Beth. At least I know she’ll return the favor for me one day if necessary. While morbid, trust me, it is more than necessary that everyone around you is unreservedly dedicated to letting go. Don’t take it for granted. Say it out loud in front of them, rinse, and repeat. Don’t rely on the written word. Look them in the eyes; it makes it so much easier for them to have clarity and confidence if you one day are so unlucky to slip on my uncomfortable shoes. But I digress. The kids and I will cycle in and out of this new dynamic. It’s nice to know they are concerned about me. At least they have a reason for the eye roll now. Oh, Dad...

A good friend and new confidant (who also lost their spouse—nothing makes immediate kindred spirits more than another widower) have counseled me that for the foreseeable future, I have an unlimited-use “Widower Hall Pass.” While the price of membership is unimaginable, this lovely card entitles me to say and do almost anything and, importantly, change my mind as my mood/emotion/comfort requires. Okay, saying whatever I want to say is hard, if not impossible, for the Japanese half.

Drum roll...I decided to stay in Tahoe and spend the day creating new memories. This year, at least. I’ll hang out with Curtis, go on a hike, walk the doggies, watch F1 Quali—less memory intensive. I am fond of sharing our backyard with our Geyserville friends, but I am redeeming my Hall Pass. Rain check for now.

Today, I went for another big singletrack trail ride. I grin like a little boy as my bike squirms on the loose dirt on the trail overlooking the blue waters of Tahoe. I kept my promise to keep the downhill speed in check this time. A few people are breathing a sigh of relief. We’ll see how long that lasts...

On a less challenging section, my mind drifted into being grateful for the time, health, resources, and interest in doing something as exhilarating as this ride in the mountains. If Beth did not die, I might not have tried it for a long while. We would have been content riding the electric couches on the bike trails along the lake. Gravity is strong. Doing what’s comfortable and familiar is more accessible than trying something new. Especially as I approach Medicare territory. I would have gladly traded trail riding for lakeside bike paths with Beth. But when Option A is no longer available, you must make the most of Option B. That philosophy came to me courtesy of my therapist. She, in turn, quoted Sheryl Sandberg’s book (“Option B”) about her journey with profound grief after her husband died, leaving her adrift with young kids. It seems she had a much rougher time than me. While her resources as the COO of Facebook/Meta are slightly different than yours and mine, grief does not care. Grief is an equal-opportunity employer. I’m not a fan of Ms. Sandberg and her front-seat role in the erosion of our social fabric and, in particular, the precipitous decline of the mental health of young women. The book is slightly redeeming.

My favorite part about the movie Titanic is the closing scene in the stateroom of the aged Rose. Okay, the painting scene with Kate Winslet (Boobies!) wasn’t bad, but the one that has stuck with me is Rose’s nightstand. Picture frames all over her nightstand. Picture after picture shows the amazing life that Rose lived after Jack slipped into the depths of the Atlantic (there was room for two on that door!!). Everything she was going to do with Jack. Fly a plane, ride a horse like a man, ride a roller coaster until she throws up. It left an indelible impression on me a long time ago. I’ve always wanted many nightstands overflowing with memories of exceptional experiences.

Beth and I lived that mantra. She was a willing enabler, setting up an aerobatic and soaring flight lessons for birthdays in my 30’s. Or she was hoping to collect insurance. “Let’s set up another flight lesson,” she said. Quite literally pushed me out the door to buy my first 911, leading me to eventually build a race car and become an instructor. We trekked to the top of Huayna Picchu, dove down to a wreck in the BVIs, and traveled to amazing places. Beth was a cheerleader for each of my adventures and the happiest of sidekicks in our picture frames. She’s the one who never looked back when we started a winery against all (financial) logic and adopted my love of food and great dining as if it were her own. Beth said, “Yes” before she heard the rest of the question, “Would you like to…” Of course, this explains our engagement and marriage in ways I should not dive deeper into. It's a good thing I asked her before anyone else. Have I recently mentioned I am the luckiest guy on the planet?

Option B for me is to continue, if not accelerate, on the trail we started together. Make new memories, and fill a few more nightstands. There is no choice. And here you thought the subject line “Titanic” was a reference to drowning.

I miss you Beth. I love you forever.

Donald