Eye Drops

~ rdicarne ~ 7 Comments

Yesterday, I had an appointment with my ophthalmologist for my yearly check-up after cataract surgery several years ago. I had taken the day off work and felt calm and relaxed when I left the house. Little did I know that the first exam room would trigger me and have me do mindful breathing before seeing the doctor. The tech did preliminary eye checks, including checking the pressure in my eyes. I asked her what my pressure numbers were, and they were great. So, where is the trigger, you ask?

My husband, Chuck, who died in September, also used this practice, although he saw a different doctor. He suffered from glaucoma, and so he was always looking for a good eye pressure number, and we would often compare numbers. Hearing my pressure numbers was enough to bring the tears that fall so unexpectedly these days. I was desperately trying to hold them back until after my appointment.

When the doctor came in and asked me how I was doing, I told her about losing Chuck and how the pressure numbers had set me off. She was very kind, and I made it through the appointment needing only one tissue.

As I was leaving the exam room to go to the front desk to check out, the young woman who was scribing for the doctor said she didn’t want to trigger me again, but that she usually worked with the doctor Chuck saw. She told me that “Chuck was great” and how much she enjoyed it when he visited the office. (He had been going there for years, but hadn’t been there since October 2024.) She also said, “Don’t worry, he won’t be forgotten.”

Now we were both crying, and she asked if she could give me a hug. Through the tears dropping from my eyes, I said that Chuck and I were high school sweethearts, and she said, “I know.” Of course, he had told her; he told everyone, I am now discovering. He was so proud of “us” and of our longevity as a couple and as soulmates.

My joy today is learning of yet another way Chuck brought joy to everyone he met.

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DAY 3

A Day at the Museum

~ rdicarne ~ 10 Comments

On Saturday, I had the opportunity to be part of a group sponsored by the West Chester Writing Project exploring place-based writing at the James Michener Museum in Doylestown, PA. Our facilitator for the day, Kaitlyn, shared a quote from the museum’s website introducing the exhibit.

“When Eric Carle was a boy, his father took him on walks in nature, peeled back the bark of a tree to show him the tiny creatures who lived underneath. “I think in my books, I honor my father by writing about small living things,” Eric Carle said. Animals and insects were a central theme in Eric Carle’s long career as a Picture Writer, a title given to him by a young reader. “To me pictures need writing and writing needs pictures. A child once called me a picture writer, and that’s a good way to describe me,” Carle wrote.”  

Kaitlyn shared Eric Carle matching game pieces and postcards as inspiration for our writing and then asked us to write about the bark peelers in our lives. Even though I am afraid of being too close to birds in real life, the bird drawings stood out to me.

I wrote about several people who have inspired me to go deeper into specific areas of my life. As I wrote on Saturday in my notebook, the bark peelers in my life believed in me and encouraged me to dig deeper and spread my wings.

As I enter this new chapter of life as a widow searching for joy, I am going to keep peeling back the bark to find it. On Saturday, I found joy in slowing down and looking at the art. Perhaps one day, the collective joy will give me the strength and courage to spread my wings again.

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DAY 2

It’s Back!

~ rdicarne ~ 11 Comments

Today, I am beginning my 10th year participating in the Slice of Life Story Challenge sponsored by twowritingteachers.org. I am so grateful to have this place to share my stories and to read the stories of so many people around the country and the world.

Since my husband, Chuck, passed away unexpectedly at the end of September 2025, I have been blogging about him on the Tuesday Slice of Life page. Losing the love of my life after being together for 52 years, married for 45, has been the hardest thing I have ever had to experience in my life. I was devastated, and learning how to navigate life without him has been so difficult. Going from “we” to “me” is something I never wanted to do, but it has been thrust upon me, and I am trying my best to honor Chuck and the life we built together.

So, with that in mind, I am going to focus my stories this year on seeking the joys in life. Chuck brought so much joy into my life, the lives of our children and grandchildren, and really everyone he met. I hope my search for joy brings new positivity to my days, especially on the really hard ones when I miss Chuck the most.

Please join me on this journey to find joy. I would love to read your thoughts and comments on my daily posts.

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DAY 1

Snow Angels

~ rdicarne ~ 5 Comments

This winter has been the snowiest in the Philadelphia area in a decade, and of course, it’s also my first winter without Chuck. Eight years ago, Chuck was medically prohibited from shoveling snow, but he still cleared my car, swept light snow, and spread ice melt. I tried to shovel, though it grew harder for me. That’s when my “snow angels” stepped in. A neighbor from our cul-de-sac would shovel our walkway and driveway when I couldn’t.

This year, the “snow angels” are working overtime. Four families are collectively taking care of snow removal at my house, and I am deeply grateful. This weekend’s snowstorm brought the greatest snow totals this season, about 12 inches. Yesterday, once the snow had almost stopped, neighbors emerged from their homes to begin cleanup. Armed with one snowblower and many shovels, the “snow angels” helped each other and then made their way over to my house. Once the front of my driveway was cleared, one person pulled my SUV into the street, and people began cleaning it off while others cleared my walkway and the rest of my driveway, making sure I had a clear path to my car and access to my trashcans.

“Many hands make light work,” says the proverb. I don’t think there was anything “light” about yesterday’s work, but the many hands of my “snow angels” got many driveways and cars ready for travel. There aren’t enough words to express the way the core families on this cul-de-sac look after and lift each other in times of need. I am truly blessed.

Before & After

~ rdicarne ~ 12 Comments

There are moments in our lives that split time for us—we remember things as before and after these lines of demarcation. Some are simple and unrecorded in history, but they stand out vividly in my memory.

Before and After Color TV – I remember we were among the first to have a color TV because my grandmother lived with us and wanted one, so she bought one. We were so lucky to be able to watch Lawrence Welk and Ed Sullivan in color (just kidding… not so happy), but the trade-off was seeing the Saturday cartoons in living color!

Before and After the Remote Control – Before the remote control, parents treated kids like a remote control, having us get up and change channels for them. Afterward, there were squabbles over who got to control the remote.

Other instances drew a deep, heavy line that stayed with me forever.

Before and After the Assassination of JFK – I was in kindergarten, and I can still remember the day over 60 years later. It was a sort of loss of innocence in the sense that now I knew there were bad people in the world.

Before and After the Internet – I can still hear the dial-up service sound in my head. How exciting that we could look things up without going to the library, searching in the card catalog, and stretching our Dewey Decimal System muscles. Now, the Internet has places I want to protect my students and grandchildren from exploring, which is not as exciting.

Before and After Covid – Sometimes it is difficult to remember the world before Covid hit in 2020. Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine such a pervasive virus, with people wearing masks and isolating. I realized how much I took for granted before the virus reached me here in Pennsylvania.

Before and After Chuck’s Death – This is obviously the most devastating “before and after” for me. Before, I was part of a couple, a pair, a team. Now, I am going solo. Before, Chuck handled all household maintenance; now it’s up to me to deal with contractors and service providers. Before, I had my other half, my soul mate, my best friend to confide in, ask for advice, lean on. Now, I need to learn to lean on myself, trust myself, and believe in myself now that my biggest champion is gone. I have family and friends to lean on and support me, but ultimately it is up to me to keep things going.

Before and Afters are hard. Change is hard. Life without Chuck is hard. I am not the same person I was before Chuck’s death. I am not quite sure who I am, but I know that my “after” self still has a lot to process and learn, but I also know that I can figure it out.

An “Engaging” Evening

~ rdicarne ~ 12 Comments

It was Wednesday, February 14, 1979—Valentine’s Day—and I was in my junior year of college. Chuck worked for the Reading Railroad (now SEPTA) as a conductor. We had plans to go out to dinner, but I don’t remember where. It was probably because we never made it to that restaurant. At this point in Chuck’s career as a train conductor, he was working the Extra Board. That meant he would be called for a job as it became available, without a regular schedule. We had to be flexible and improvise.

When Chuck got off work, he picked me up for a “romantic” dinner at Pizza Hut! I didn’t care where we ate as long as I got to see him. We pulled into the parking lot. I was sitting next to Chuck. In those days, we didn’t wear seatbelts, so instead of sitting in the passenger seat, I sat next to him. As we sat in the Pizza Hut parking lot, Chuck pulled out the little black box and asked me to marry him. He may not have finished the whole question before I answered! After all, we had been together since December 1973, and I couldn’t wait to be his wife and start a life together.

Of course, I wanted to go right home and show my parents and siblings the beautiful marquis diamond ring. But that would have to wait. Chuck had worked a long shift, and he was hungry. There was no way he was leaving without something to eat. We went in and ordered food. I am sure I didn’t eat much because I was busy admiring the shiny diamond on my left hand.

Our engagement set the tone for the rest of our marriage. We were not a couple who made grand gestures or gave expensive gifts just for appearances. We gave each other what we needed. Usually, that was a listening ear, a gentle embrace, or words of support—in other words, love.

We fell in love with each other over and over for 45 years of marriage. Chuck always said we should “never let the honeymoon end,” and we tried to do just that. It wasn’t all rosy and easy-going, but we had a good life. We put each other first, knowing that as a team, we could conquer any problems that came our way.

In August, 1980, we first danced as husband and wife to Barbra Streisand’s “Evergreen.” Its lyrics capture the essence of our love story.

“Love ageless and evergreen
Seldom seen by two…

You and I will make each night a first
Every day a beginning
Spirits rise, and their dance is unrehearsed
They warm and excite us
‘Cause we have the brightest love.”

On the days that are difficult, when tears stream down my cheeks in sadness, I try to bring to mind one of Chuck’s tender or funny memories, and I fall in love with him all over again.

“Snow”body But You

~ rdicarne ~ 9 Comments

Snowstorms hit differently now that Chuck is gone – now that all the preparation falls on me. I didn’t panic, though; instead, I methodically ran down a list of things I knew Chuck would have done and started there. I picked up groceries, filled my tank, and bought an extra flashlight in case we (I) lost power. I was ready to be snowed in for a couple of days.

Several friends asked if I’d weather the storm at one of my children’s houses, but the idea never crossed my mind. I love my kids and grandkids, but didn’t want to be snowed in with 8- to 12-year-olds. Books, blankets, candles, and flashlights were all I needed. My neighbors had already said they’d handle the shoveling; four families on my cul-de-sac look after me whenever it snows. I can’t imagine living anywhere else, snow or no snow.

Sunday came, and the snow began to fall, as did my tears. I was hoping to read peacefully by the window under a comfy blanket, but my plan was thwarted by these unexpected tears and my inability to concentrate. Each time someone called or texted to check in on me, I cried again. Why was I unable to control these mini-meltdowns? I was safe and warm and still felt so sad – missing Chuck so much.

This was another “first” without my person. This first major snowstorm of the season brought back memories of being snowed in with Chuck. That usually consisted of Chuck making several trips out to shovel to keep up with the mounting snowfall. After his open-heart surgery eight years ago, when he was not medically cleared to shovel, he would anxiously look out the window while I shoveled – worried about my aching knees and back. Once back inside, I knew there would be some warm and yummy meals Chuck had prepared. We might watch a movie, but more than likely, we would be watching the news, endlessly updating the local snow totals. Then the predictions about whether I would have school the next day began. Simple memories of a simply wonderful partnership.

The tears overflowed into Monday, but were not as frequent. That’s when I started being annoyed with myself for breaking down so much on Sunday. Totally irrational, I know! It has only been four months since Chuck died, and I don’t know what ridiculous standard I am trying to hold myself to, but I should try giving the grace I give to others to myself.

On Tuesday, I received a CareNote from the funeral home in the mail. They arrive once a month. This month was all about crying and how good it is for you to cry while experiencing grief. I took that as a sign that I am doing okay in the grand scheme of things. I know I will always be sad that Chuck is not here physically by my side, but I am hopeful that, in time, my memories of our happy life together will bring more smiles than tears.

Open Mic; Open Heart

~ rdicarne ~ 13 Comments

Last Friday night, I did a thing. I read three of my latest poems at an open mic night at the Horsham Township Library, where I belong to a Poetry Writing Group. The last time I read was probably a year ago, and about 15 people were listening. This time, about 40 people attended. The large number in attendance was mostly due to a fellow group member debuting his first chapbook of poetry (very exciting).

What made this experience a little nerve-wracking was that I was reading three poems that emerged from my grief processing. Since I was reading to so many people who were not in the group and did not know my story, I had to preface my reading by telling them about Chuck’s death and how long we had been together.

When it was my turn to read, my hands were shaking more than normal. (I have familial tremors that really kick in when my adrenaline is high.) At first, I placed my hands flat on the podium, but that felt very unnatural. I remedied that by clasping my hands behind my back as I read poems two and three.

I managed to make it through my backstory and all three poems without tears, and received very nice feedback from several attendees I had never met before. Below are the three poems I shared, and I would like to share them with you. You may have read the first one in one of my first posts about the loss of Chuck, the love of my life.

Piracy

Cancer came like a marauding pirate
Cunning, ruthless,
Pillaging my lover’s body
Plundering life as I knew it.

No time to climb to the crow’s nest
And plan for the fight
No time to batten down the hatches
We were hit broadside.

Casting me into a sea of devastation,
I am a rudderless vessel,
whirling in an eddy of grief
unable to fathom the loss.

A veil of sadness covers my days
Marooned on an island of despair
My body anchored to the weight of my grief
Dehydrated from the deluge of tears.

Adrift and disoriented
I am lost in the daily struggle
of disbelief and loneliness
Drowning in heartache and pain

Now That You’re Gone

Our keystone has been removed.
Now what?
Who will hold the family together?
Who will hold me together,
Now that you are gone?

Who will –
Sniff the milk and tell me not to drink it,
and leave paper towels scattered around the kitchen for me to put in the trash,
or cook me five-star dinners
Now that you’re gone?

Who will –
I tell to pull up their pants and use a belt,
And watch Phillie’s games with me
Or yell at the TV on football Sundays
Now that you’re gone?

Who will –
Have me watching WWE on Monday nights because I am too lazy to go into another room,
Or start watching a movie with me and then fall asleep
Or steal the covers
Now that you’re gone?

Who will –
Water the plants and prevent me from murdering them
And listen to me vent
Or be my biggest champion
Now that you’re gone?

Who will –
Fill my car with gas
and tires with air
Or my life with purpose
Now that you’re gone?

You Got It

You got it.
You got it.
You got it.

That’s what everyone keeps telling me,
but I don’t got it.
I don’t want it.
I may never have it.

They tell me how well I am doing,
and I deflect with a joke
Too afraid, too vulnerable
To reveal what’s going on.

You got it.
I don’t got it!
You got it.
I don’t want it!

A perfume bottle from 1995
stares at me from the dresser
daring me to cry.

You got it.
I don’t got it!
You got it.
I don’t want it!

What was once easy –
without a second thought
has become complex and tiring
getting locked out
a broken storm door handle
dashboard lights I haven’t seen before
All can invoke tears.

You got it.
I don’t got it!
You got it.
I don’t want it!

People offer advice
for a fresh start I never asked for.
But who are we to decide?
Who are we to choose?

You got it.
I don’t got it!
You got it.
I don’t want it!

But, I’ll try.

I believe I am on an endless journey that will take me to many parts of my heart and memories – familiar and unfamiliar. Grief does not have a destination; it is more like a traveling companion that you have to learn to live with.

This is What Grief Sounds Like

~ rdicarne ~ 9 Comments

Music has always been an integral part of my life, having the power to evoke emotions, make me want to move my body, or conjure moments from the past. While driving back and forth to the hospital during Chuck’s 18-day stay, everything changed. Once I learned the gravity of Chuck’s condition, I could no longer listen to my usual music. Listening to the music of the 70s, 80s, and 90s—which once brought back so many happy memories of our dating days and early married life—now felt too painful, especially as I dealt with the uncertainty of the present. Yet a silent car ride left my mind open to spiralling into the deep, dark thoughts.

After Chuck passed, everything was heartbreaking, but especially listening to music. Classical and jazz instrumental music filled some of the musical void, but I needed more. I am not sure how it happened exactly, but I began a “grief” playlist on my music streaming service, and oddly enough, it was very comforting. Listening to these songs made me feel less alone – like someone else knew what I was going through – how much my heart was hurting.

The first song on my list is “I’m Not Okay” by Jellyroll. I remembered seeing him perform this song on a Grand Ole Opry special with a group of local Nashville students. Some songs came to mind organically, while others were researched online. You’d be surprised how many you find when you Google “songs about grief.”

Then I remembered one of my former students had messaged me shortly after Chuck’s death, sending me “Bigger Than the Whole Sky” by Taylor Swift because it had helped her through some difficult times, so that went on the list, too. Right now, my list stands at 53 tunes. It is a mix of musical genres. Some songs I knew, some were new to me. A few of the songs are not really about grief, but brought me solace, so they made the list as well.

These are some of my favorites.

  • “Supermarket Flowers” – Ed Sheeran
  • “I Will Not Say Goodbye” – Danny Gokey
  • “If I Would Have Known” – Kyle Hume
  • “Memories” – Maroon Five
  • “Beat You There” – Will Dempsy
  • “Slipped Away” – Avril Lavigne
  • “Beloved” – Mumford and Son
  • “Dancing in the Sky” – Dani and Lizzy
  • “For Good” – Kristen Chenoweth and Idina Menzel
  • “Never Not Remember You” – Cooper Alan

I listened to this playlist all the time, especially when the thoughts of listening to Christmas music made me sick to my stomach. It’s funny how these songs never made me feel sad, only seen and understood. I am about four months into my grieving journey, and I have just started to be able to listen to some of our old favorite stations. Sometimes a song will make me melancholy, but little by little, I am finding some of them bring a smile to my face, especially when I hear Chuck’s inappropriate lyric changes in my head. (IYKYK)

Everyone’s grief is different. I lost my spouse and best friend, but maybe you are grieving another family member, a friend, a beloved pet, or the loss of a job. Whatever it is, there may be a song for you out there that will bring you some comfort. Why not try crafting your own list?

Now What?

~ rdicarne ~ 18 Comments

Well, I survived the holidays – went through the motions at least. As expected, my heart wasn’t really into the holidays this year, but I did my best to put on a good front for my grandchildren. After all, who wants to put a damper on Santa’s visit?  

When NYE rolled around, I did in fact make myself shrimp scampi over tri-color penne.  If I do say so myself, it wasn’t bad – certainly not as tasty as Chuck’s but pretty good for someone who hasn’t cooked in over 20 years. I think he would have been proud.

The holidays have come to a close, decorations are slowly being taken down, and life moves on. The world around me seems focused on returning to regular routines or making resolutions for personal improvement.  Not me, though. You see, when you step into a new year without your person, you aren’t sure what you are supposed to do.  I didn’t want 2025 to end, because it would always be the last year that Chuck was physically present in our lives, the last time I laughed with him, the last time I held his hand, so many lasts.  I wanted to hold onto those “lasts.” But time moves on with or without you.

Yesterday, I went back to school.  Boy, did that 5:30 alarm sound extra harsh after so many alarmless mornings!  Going back to my routine was anything but normal because there is nothing “normal” in my life without Chuck.  Grief is a heaviness you carry with you every day, all day.  It is a weight that you carry in your heart, in your head, in your bones. When Chuck lost his life, mine changed forever. I lost my identity as a wife and am not sure what my new identity as a widow will be.  

Life as I knew it will never be the same; I will never be the same.  There is a sadness that has settled into every cell of my being that wasn’t there before. Yet I am still here, plugging away each day, attempting to do all the things. Weariness has become a new best friend who hits me every evening, tying me to the chair and leaving me unable to do much more than eat dinner.

Grief is a beast.  It crashes in on you in unexpected waves, taking you to your knees.  There is nothing anyone can say or do to help with the process. It is just something I have to go through without a road map.  It is not something anyone wants to experience, yet it is the result of great love. So if this is the price I have to pay for having Chuck in my life for almost 52 years, for loving him, for being loved by him, for building a beautiful family and life with him – then so be it.

Don’t get me wrong – I hate every part of this grief journey so far, but I am hoping I will learn to let grief live next to me and not consume me. I hope my days will become less tear-filled and more joy-filled as time goes on. I still don’t know how I am supposed to function in this world without Chuck by my side, and I still don’t know what “normal” will look like for me, but I am working on it.