The Widower’s Rant: Just a Sandwich

A whirlwind of a morning after a whirlwind few weeks. I was just making a sandwich, getting ready to go to my son’s house to watch F1. My favorite Sunday ritual. And then suddenly there I was lying across the counter, prostrate with grief. 

It made no sense. It made perfect sense.

How did I end up here, hugging my kitchen counter? 

I haven’t ranted for a while. I’ve been meaning to do it. But I’ve been busy, and honestly, there hasn’t been too much to rant about. Life’s been good. I had my first meaningful solo adventure to France and Slovenia. I really need to write about that. It was terrific, with just a couple of poignant moments to mark the unwanted novelty. But overall, I’ve been in a great place. See:

As soon as I got back, I threw myself into the final phase of training for my November adventure. More on that after it actually happens. I’ve joked with others that the training feels like a full-time job. When you add the hours on the trail and in the gym, plus the gear decisions, travel tweaks, and everything else, it nearly is. It’s a high-value problem, and I know the tiny violins are waiting to be played.

On my way back from Slovenia, I stopped in New Jersey to visit the Commodore. Occasion: his 90th birthday! How great is that? Even better, Curtis and Lauren flew out and joined him in celebration. Selfishly, I got to have both my kids with me. It’s just nice to be together, even briefly.

The kids seem to be living their best lives right now. So am I. I know that makes Beth happy. 

Over the past weeks, I’ve noticed that when I think about Beth, I almost always smile. They’re fond memories, filled with warmth, joy, and laughter. Sure, there are the sighs and the short moments when it’s still incomprehensible that she’s not here. But reality is reality. I move forward.

The other day, I realized the 18-month milestone had passed without notice. (Maybe I’m not counting anymore?) It’s been 18 months and two weeks (still counting). I figured it was healthy not to have fixated on the anniversary.

I stumbled upon books on Buddhism. I’ve always been curious, but it seems like a lot of work, that mindfulness stuff. I’m typically too busy thinking about what’s next, what I need to do…

From The Art of Living, Thich Nhat Hanh writes:

We cannot assert that after death there is nothing.

Something can never become nothing.

It’s just a small piece of what’s beginning to really resonate with me. I’ll get into that another time, but it’s provoking introspection and providing comfort and perspective. Peace even.

Between all of this, I felt something shift. Maybe this is what the next phase feels like.

Our first winter storm hit this past weekend. The mountaintops were covered, and the ski areas are making snow nightly. My roof, trees, and yard had a clean coating of white. I’m excited to go skiing this season. I always am, but this one even more than usual. After the storm passed, the sun broke through, the skies turned blue, and it was suddenly warm enough for shorts. I’m so lucky to live in such a beautiful, magical place.

The price of being gone for three weeks is that things have piled up without a snowplow in sight. Advisory work remains at the same depth and won’t melt. Training takes priority. We’re in the middle of a forced e-commerce platform migration for the winery, consuming dozens of hours in frustrating, repetitive tasks, but they still need to get done. My task list is growing, not shrinking. More projects keep appearing, all equally urgent. But in my heart, I know the training takes priority, and the guy with the responsibility gene still hasn’t figured out how to balance that.

Yesterday I had a great hike with my son. We watched F1. I played with our doggies. A perfect day. 

This morning I woke up ready to tackle today’s adventures: work on the website a bit, get ahead on a couple of advisory projects, go for a short walk, go watch F1 with our son, do some more training at the gym, get some more work done. Oh yeah, then some time to relax, catch up on the F1 news, oh right, I missed SNL, then read a bit.

As I dug into the website fixes, one hour became two, which became three. Every new corner opened up old HTML to fix and new things to improve, and I wasn’t making progress on the core task: the new release newsletter. The race was about to start. I’ve gotta get things going. No time to have lunch with our son, I’ll just make myself a sandwich here. I’ve gotta get that hike in. I know, on my way to his house I’ll go down to the lake and walk along the trail. I can see Beth’s fish. I know, I’ll take the sandwich down there. I’ll have lunch with her.

And wham! The dam broke. Grief is an asshole. That’s what I should call the book.

I don’t wanna have lunch with a cold metal fish looking at the forever view.

I want to have lunch with Beth.

I collapse under the wave. I didn’t see it coming. Why would I? I’m happy and busy and living my best life. But there it is, without warning or welcome. Raw. Painful. Real.

Sandwiches are stupid. Reality bites.

In the milliseconds before the wave hits, you know it’s about to happen. It’s a lot like being kicked in the balls. Ladies, stay with me here. There’s that flash of surprise in the shock of the impact—foot, post, whatever—and for a split second, you know you’re about to be hit by a wave of pain that’s indescribable, but it hasn’t landed yet.

Digging for an analogy, maybe it’s a bit like when a contraction starts. You can feel the muscle tighten, but the pain hasn’t reached your brain yet. I’ll have to check in with some mothers to see if that’s accurate. For now, just go with me.

Knowing a tsunami is about to hit, I grab the counter to keep from being flung around the room. But, like in real life, it’s futile. The waves are too big. I’m dashed against the granite, no different from the rocks at the shore. Drowning, gasping for air, wailing for help. But over the din of the storm, it’s unheard. I just have to wait until the waves subside.

Which, of course, is making me late for what I’m trying to get done today. 

So I decided that having a sandwich with a cold metal fish isn’t in my future today. I wolf it down, I’m pretty sure it tasted good. Oh yeah, a piece of fresh fruit, because you’re trying to be healthy. Gotta get that in.

Now, drive down to the lake for that walk and have a quick visit with her fish.

I kneel briefly before the fish

The fish with the forever view of the lake she loved; with

The mountains dusted with snow she loved to ski.

The fish with a small bald man grabbing on…

The man she loved.

The wind is blowing hard, driving whitecaps across the lake. The lake is angry, mimicking my agita.

But it’s time to go, to be a dad, to see my son, and our doggies. I miss them so much. I shut down the crying, steady my voice, clear my eyes. Nobody wants to see an old man cry, least of all his kids.

Suck it up, buttercup. You’ve got a busy week ahead. Work to produce, founders to advise, HTML to fix, training to hit the next level.

Grief will have to wait for another day.

Take that, asshole.

I miss you Beth. I love you forever.

Donald