The Widower’s Rant: Wake Me Up When '24 Ends

The final stop on Grief Tour 2024 finds me in Australia. It’s a holiday, a respite, and an attempt to flee the memory-intensive period of the first Christmas/New Year without Beth by my side. 

Here comes the rain again

Falling from the stars

Drenched in my pain again

Becoming who we are

- Billy Joe Armstrong, Green Day, Wake Me Up When September Ends*

It’s the eve of nine months (still counting). Each day is as surreal as the day before, and now I expect the following days will continue the Dali-esq repetition. I’m healing, but unlike the scab that eventually falls off the deep cut to reveal smooth skin, my underlying wound remains open. Increasingly, I don’t notice the cut or the scab. But then it brushes up against something that triggers a memory, and the raw pain returns. I accept the loss and the change but am weary of feeling the raw emotion on rinse and repeat. I have not yet become immune to the kick in the gut. I don’t think I ever will. And that’s okay.

I am embraced by the good wishes of friends who console me about this difficult time. At first, I was doing what I do and living my life, so I (naively) thought I was already in a better place. But it snuck up on me. At first, slowly, and then, like a lion that takes down its prey, it seized my throat. Over and over. Everywhere I turn, I’m reminded that this holiday is like no holiday before. When I see families out in town, I’m reminded. When I hear certain songs, I’m reminded. When you begin familiar rituals, I’m reminded.

Since we were first married, I liked the ritual of sending out our holiday cards. We had a simple Costco photo card in our early years, and Beth wrote a rhyme about the year’s highlights. Rhyming was her gift. She didn’t have to work at it; it flowed from her pen like water from a faucet. I took care of the production of the holiday cards. I organized our contacts and printed address labels. I picked the photos, made the layouts, and wrote the captions or titles. But it was a team effort. Beth was a great editor, and the resulting production was better than what I started with. I took the reins to start the cards because I always had a more pressing sense of urgency about deadlines. Or perhaps in a strong Ju Jitsu move, Beth knew that I’d just have to do it, and she’d have more time for reading books by the fireplace or playing with her doggies. 

One year, when we were running late to get the cards out before Christmas, we both realized that we technically were not celebrating the holiday in the Christian spirit, so a New Year's card felt right. New Year’s Day is forward-looking and full of promise and potential.

We shared 40 New Year's Days together. Each year that followed are a tapestry of memories I'll treasure forever.

I loved sitting at the dining room table with Beth, dividing the stack of cards into “people I know, people you know, and people we know, but you should do.” We’d be at the table with some music on, often a glass of wine, and write a short note to our friends. Doing this always made me feel like the holiday was beginning. I liked thinking about each recipient. And I liked getting cards too.

This year, I tackled the stack of cards by myself. Twice as many cards, but it took four times as long. I still like penning the short note, and it was not as overwhelmingly sad as you might imagine. A few caught me off guard as I thought about their loss, our memories together, and the memories we planned to make. It also took me a lot longer this year to create the card. I can’t find my editor. 

Our family is ruled by pragmatism. We do what makes sense logistically and financially. The Dr. Spock (From Star Trek, not your parent’s parenting book) of family life. For example, we’ve time-shifted many holidays to take advantage of ski trips. Decades ago, Beth and I stopped exchanging holiday and birthday presents. We had what we wanted, and we got what we needed throughout the year. Our presents were the trips with our kids. As the kids got older, we gave them only very small presents, “token gifties” Beth called them, and reminded them that our real gifts were our trips and our time together. I’m so glad we did that. The memories are the gift that keeps on giving.

This year, the timing made sense for me to fly out on Christmas day. It’s a great day to travel and an even better day to ski, so C/R had plans to have fun, and L/D usually worked. Like our other time-shifted holidays, this year was no different. But it was really different. At the time of writing this, I haven’t had a chance to review with our kids whether this was a smart thing to do this year or all. I thought it would be best for me to avoid the holiday altogether by being on an airplane. I hope I wasn’t being too selfish. 

It’s not just the first Christmas holiday for me without Beth, it’s also the first one for our kids not to have mom around. Baking cookies and listening to a Charlie Brown Christmas by Vince Guaraldi. The singed reindeer on the stocking hanger. The Christmas Moose perched on the tree.

Oh, the Christmas Moose and our legendary leper Christmas trees. More memory and rituals disrupted. We routinely managed to buy a tree with some sort of major deformity. The trunk with Scoliosis. The missing limbs. The needles that fell once we brought it inside. It was as if we thought having a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree would help cement the spirit of Christmas in our home. On our second or third Christmas, we needed a tree topper. We were not keen on having an angel. None of the stars looked right. We were hunting for a tree topper at the Christmas boutique in South Coast Plaza (remember Malls?), and there it was - a comically large felt moose head with huge wooden antlers. It was perfect, and it was ours. It was so big and heavy that I often had to rig support, or it would bend the tree like a gale-force wind in the living room.

Eventually, we replaced all of the typical ornaments with wine corks. Moderately well-curated wine corks from producers we liked. And a lot of Soliste corks to fill in the blanks. 

I loved those trees. One year, when money was particularly tight, spending money on a tree that would live in our home for a few weeks didn’t feel right. So, I floated the idea of buying a new indoor plant to keep and enjoy. The Christmas Ficus, I called it. This was loudly voted down. Our family doesn’t have many traditional traditions, but Christmas trees were Pine.

Our friends sent me a box of home-baked Christmas cookies. As I took the first delicious bite, I scraped against the sudden realization that Beth’s Rainy Day Bakery didn’t open this holiday. And that it never will again. The kitchen covered in a dusting of flower. Batter on the faucet. The sticky refrigerator door handles. What I’d give to clean up her sticky mess one more time. Lauren has taken on the baker’s apron, and perhaps I’ll give it a go one day. Still, the permanent closure of Beth’s Rainy Day Bakery is another small but significant loss in a year of loss. 

Years ago, we were discussing our stuff with the kids, and that one day, they’d be dividing it up. And it was made very clear to us that the only material object in the Plumley household that either of them cared about was the Christmas Moose. They both wanted it. So Beth and I did the pragmatic thing. We cut it in half. 

Just kidding. Trying to bring a little Bible humor into the Christmas discussion. I’ll be here all week, don’t forget to tip your waiter.

Oh man, Linus and Lucy just started playing. In my mind’s eye, I clearly see Beth doing the dance in our living room, with her arms straight down beside her, her head bobbing up and down, and skipping to the beat. It broke me. To know I’ll never see that joyful dance again is to know pure misery. 

Back to your regular programming. The Moose. With Solomon-like foresight, we updated our Will. Curtis would have the Moose on even years and Lauren on odd ones. This matched their birth years. And they would have to exchange the Moose in person. By doing this, we hoped that they’d see each other at least once a year. Control from beyond the grave. 

The perfect plan hit a snag. With the kids gone, we stopped having a tree. Lauren had her first tree and knew we didn’t, so she asked if she could use it. It seemed all wrong for the Moose to sit in the box of unused decorations, so the Moose flew to Santa Barbara. The next year, Curtis hoisted the Moose in Dallas. Who has the Moose and how it is getting from one kid to the other is about the only thing of substance that the two of them talk about, as far as I know. It’s our Living Will in living color.

The day before Christmas, snow gently fell most of the day. Linens were laundered, sheets changed, and the house tidied up, ready for my absence. I packed for my trip to Oz. Not knowing how long trip prep would take, leaving time for last-minute unknowns, and the snow falling on the pass, we agreed I would not go down to C/R’s house for Christmas Eve. Very pragmatic and practical. With the packing complete, I made myself a nice dinner and sat down with holiday music playing in the background and a small fire completing the picture. A holiday postcard, but with a vacant seat next to me. Oh, that truly sucked. 

Whenever Beth and I traveled, we had a simple rule on departure days: Our only job that day was to be at the designated gate in ample time. Nothing else mattered but being early to the airport. Travel, particularly flying, is something with so many factors out of your control—weather, mechanical issues, flight crews, and so on—that the only thing we could control was being early. We single-mindedly followed this rule.

Looking at the freshly fallen snow around my house, I impulsively decided that making a snow angel was necessary. Don 1.0 would never have done that. Time spent on something other than the primary objective, plus tracking snow into the house. Don 2.0 is different. Something changed. As I lay on the snow, arms and legs moving about, I stared into the blue sky above the snow-covered pines. And sent Christmas greetings to Beth. She’s there. I snapped a photo and sent it to our kids - their token giftie this year. And I tracked snow into the house.

The trip over the pass and down the hill went smoothly. At SFO in plenty of time. Then

Beth gave me an unexpected Christmas gift this year. I wear my Widowerhood on my sleeve. I don’t mind talking about my loss, and perhaps it helps with healing to say it aloud repeatedly rather than hear it echo silently in my head. When chatting with the agent about traveling on Christmas Day, I mentioned why I was avoiding the holiday. At the gate, the agent met me, and I was surprised by an upgrade to Premium Economy. Beth broke our “no gifts” pledge this year. Thanks, Bethie. 

I’m in a lovely corner of the planet, again. I’ve touched yet another coastline. This time, my feet are in the Tasmanian Sea. I’m so lucky to have C/A host me, hold me, and help to bring a sense of normalcy in the most abnormal of years. Beth loved Australia. It’s a place we considered how fun it would be to live here. Though I’ve been to Oz many times, this trip is at a new house in a new part of the country. A fresh start to 2025.

I played pickleball for the first time. It was fun. I used to play tennis and badminton, so I was only mostly pathetic. But C/A asked; I said “yes” and had a good time. This caused me to unwittingly scrape against a memory of Beth wanting to play pickleball. Aside from a terminally stupid name, I don’t know why I was such an idiot and declined to participate with her. Beth knew me well enough not to contest it, so she went on her own to have fun. She had fun, met new people, and tried a new thing. Until she tore her ACL. That must have been my reason. To not put my knees at risk for ski season. In perfect 20:20 hindsight, I so badly regret that choice. Why didn’t I simply say yes and join her in something she wanted to do? It would have made her very happy and would have been so easy. I was terminally stupid.

We had a wonderful trip to Oz in January 2020. Right before Covid shut the world down. We went to Singapore first, then rented a big house on the Mornington Peninsula and were joined by our kids, their partners, and C/A. It was a glorious time. Every adventure was a priceless gift. These memories can never be taken away. 

Years ago, our friend’s father told me a story about his years working in Rochester, New York, while having a residence in California. Whenever he drove to the airport to return home, he said, “Happiness is Rochester in your rearview mirror.” I am looking forward to seeing 2024 in my rearview mirror. 

What. A. Year. I’m so grateful and so lucky. I’ve wanted to live up in Tahoe most of my life. Each day, I see trees, the lake, and I can ski on a whim. I’ve been mountain biking, hiking, and traveling to see friends. I’m Living the Dream.

I’m living the dream built on the foundation of a nightmare. 

I’m living a wonderful life despite not being the life I envisioned. This does not make the positives any less bright. Fun is still fun. Joy is found. New memories are created. So I begin a new year, this one like the others before, full of promise and potential. For me to make the most of it, but this time, flying solo. I'm optimistic the pain will become less sharp and less frequent. Wake me up when '24 ends. 

Merry Moosemas and Happy New Year!

I miss you Beth. I love you forever.

Donald

*In this video, Billy Joe shares how this song came about from losing his father at a young age. It’s a powerful performance. I was fortunate to hear it live earlier this year.