Finding My Way

~ rdicarne ~ 6 Comments

We were on a path together that included retirement, more time with family, more time with each other, and casinos – always casinos. This time last year, I had no idea that the path would end abruptly, and I would have to find my own way. This time last year, we were dreaming about what adventures that path would take us on, imagining a life of no alarm clocks and making our own schedules. But here I am having to find my own way, not sure which way to go.

People ask how I like retirement, but the truth is I don’t know yet. I’m used to having summers off, so the change won’t feel real until September, when the school year doesn’t begin. This summer is a time for self-reflection, as I face two major changes: building a life without teaching and life without Chuck.  

Nearly nine months since Chuck passed, I am still learning how to be on my own. Survival mode has kept me moving, but as numbness fades, the reality and emotions of loss become clearer. I know I must learn to manage the house and my time on my own, and I’m considering how to spend my days meaningfully instead of just distracting myself.

September will be here before we know it, and I want to find a rhythm to my days. My main questions: How do I want to spend my energy as I move forward?  What is important to me?  Who is important to me? Losing Chuck has made me realize that life is much shorter than we think, and that time wasted on unimportant things that don’t make a difference in our lives isn’t worth our time or energy. I have less tolerance for bickering over silly things and fretting over small details. Situations and things that once held a prominent place in my life have lost their luster. I may not have a “new normal” yet, but there certainly is a “new me.”

This summer, I am leaving myself open to the possibilities, the spontaneous invitations, the unscheduled days. I am exploring what life as a retired widow could look like. I have definitely lost my path, but I am hopeful that I will find my way.

Every Good Thing

~ rdicarne ~ 7 Comments

Last week, I was watching the Hallmark movie, To Philly With Love. One line struck me, and I wrote it in my journal.  “Every good thing in my life traces back to the day I first met you.” It has been rolling around in my head all week because it rings true for me.  Every good thing in my life traces back to the first day I met Chuck. Everything. He was my “once-in-a-lifetime” love.

This first week of summer is feeling different. This is my first summer in 52 years that I won’t be spending it with Chuck, another “first.” I don’t like these “firsts,” but I think I will like the second and third even less. I know that life will never be the same for me, and whether I like it or not, life keeps going.

I am doing my best to practice living in the moment and learning to relax while still accomplishing what needs to be done. These past eight and a half months, I have been in survival mode, working and doing the minimum to keep the house and myself running. Even with my great support system, it has been hard as hell. Now it is time for me to begin to figure out what my life is going to look like.  I hate even typing those words because I want my old life, but as the Rolling Stones say, “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, well, you just might find, you get what you need.”

While I was sitting on my deck this morning, I saw a beautiful bright red cardinal swoop across my yard not once but twice, into the arborvitae at the far edge of the property.  I wanted to believe it was a sign from Chuck, saying he was happy I was using the deck we had refloored last summer but had never had the chance to sit on together. Not long after, a female cardinal flew out of the arborvitae and perched on one of the fence posts. She was quickly followed by her partner, who seemed to check on her, then fly off, with her following behind. That is my sign. I know I need Chuck, and I know in my heart he is looking after me.

Here

You should be here for the next leg of the journey.

It was never yours or mine but always ours.

I refuse to carry on without you.

I only know how to live with you.

your strength

your encouragement

your smile

your love

You were the glue when I was falling apart,

my cheerleader no matter what the score.

You believed in me when my confidence faltered,

and lightened the mood when I was too serious.

You spoke the words I needed to hear,

and listened when my only words were tears.

So I carry you with me,

in my heart, my head, my soul.

I am forever yours.

You are forever mine.

This once-in-a-lifetime love is ours.

From Chalkboards to New Horizons

~ rdicarne ~ 13 Comments

I am on the cusp of retirement.  Thursday will be the last day of my 40-year career as a Catholic School teacher. It is hard to believe that a day that was so far off in the distance is upon me. I have loved being a teacher; I think I will always be a teacher.  Not every year or every class was wonderful.  There were certainly challenges along the way, but the treasured memories outweigh the difficult ones.

Retiring is bittersweet.  I will certainly miss being in the classroom, but I won’t miss the 5:30 alarm.  I will miss the camaraderie of my colleagues, but not grading papers. My colleagues have gone above and beyond to support me through this most difficult year, and I am overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and well wishes they have extended on my retirement. They celebrated my retirement with a surprise party a couple of weeks ago at my favorite local restaurant.  It was wonderful.  Many former teachers were there, including my former “work kids,” who were my grade partners when they were teacher newbies and learning the ropes.

As if that weren’t enough, they celebrated me again yesterday during our end-of-the-year luncheon, complete with a baseball theme and more gifts!  I told them yesterday that on the days after Chuck died, and I felt like I couldn’t get out of bed, knowing that they would all be there to help me through made all the difference. I have been blessed beyond measure to be part of this caring community.  

While I am very excited about beginning this next chapter of slower mornings and new opportunities, I am so very, very sad that Chuck is not here to celebrate with me and be by my side on this new adventure.  It was always our plan for me to retire this year, and I stuck to the plan because it was time. Even the best-laid plans sometimes have to be revised. These last nine months have felt like being stuck in a tornado of emotions. I know Chuck would be so happy for me, and over the moon with the various ways so many people beyond my work family are celebrating me. I can picture him beaming his bright smile down on me from heaven.

I have learned a great deal about myself and about life these past nine months. My goal in retirement is to keep learning, stretching, and growing, and I am certain Chuck will keep watching over me and cheering me on from afar.  

This painting is matted and signed by all the students in my last class.

Coming Home

~ rdicarne ~ 6 Comments

Homebody – a person who likes to stay at home, especially one who is perceived as unadventurous (Oxford Language) – one whose life centers on home (Merriam-Webster).

These words accurately describe Chuck and me. When we got married in 1980, we were fortunate enough to purchase our first home together in Northeast Philadelphia. It was a 16’ airlight, red brick rowhome. We spent the months leading up to our wedding getting the house ready – cleaning, scraping, painting, breaking  down the chinchilla cage supports (that’s another story), and gathering furniture from friends and relatives to make the house our home. It didn’t matter to us that the only new furniture in the house was our bedroom set; I used to kid that our design style was the “early borrowed look.”

We loved that house and the memories we made there. We brought both of our children home from the hospital to this humble abode. Some of our best days were Saturdays when we were all home, watching WWE (WWF at the time), The Frugal Gourmet, or Professional Bowling in between chores. I would be folding laundry on the couch, and Chuck would most likely be washing and waxing the cars in the driveway out back.

Chuck was always ready to host family and friends for dinner, and he always made so much food that he could have fed a whole other set of people!  You could find us barbecuing out on the front patio or cooking up mussels and crabs with our neighbors, Mario and Sarah, for summer evening feasts.

After nine years in the city, we moved to the burbs to be closer to Chuck’s work and to get a backyard for the kids.  This time, we moved into a twin house with beige vinyl siding on a cul-de-sac with 16 homes. We were the youngest and newest residents in 1989. Over the next 36 years, our little twin played host to countless birthday celebrations, Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas Eve Feasts of the Seven Fishes, and casual get-togethers.  Sometimes, I thought I felt our little house exhale after the last guest had gone home. Chuck and I loved every minute of having family and friends visit us.

Some may have considered us unadventurous, and maybe we were, but being home together was all we ever really needed. Our home was our sanctuary, the place where we could truly be ourselves and build memories, our safe haven. No matter where we went, whether we were out for the evening or on an overnight trip, the best part was always coming home.

Now that Chuck is gone from sight, his essence remains a part of our home.  When I look around, I can visualize him in the kitchen cooking, walking up the path after running errands, or watching sports on TV from his spot on the recliner. If I listen closely enough, the walls echo with the sound of his voice, his love, and laughter, and I never feel alone.  I miss him terribly, but every time I walk into the house, I feel his presence still surrounding me with his love, and I am happy to be home.

Still Loving, Still Learning

~ rdicarne ~ 5 Comments

I’m not going to lie, this weekend was rough.  On Sunday, which would have been Chuck’s 70th birthday, there were tears, lots of tears. My morning was full.  I went to mass twice because there were two masses for Chuck at two different churches, one at 9:00 and one at 11:00. I don’t share this to suggest that I am so very holy, but rather to say that being present at both masses was in a way a birthday gift to Chuck – a way to honor him. Church is still difficult for me because it was something we did together.  I don’t think I have made it through one mass yet without a few silent tears.

These were followed by a visit to the cemetery with flowers and a small birthday balloon to mark the special day. It was hot and windy, so getting the flowers and balloon in place took a little ingenuity and a great suggestion from my daughter. I brought my collapsible stool, sat at the grave for a while, and talked to Chuck, letting him know what was on my heart, but then it got really warm, and I retreated to my car.  I love him, but this fair-skinned woman forgot to put on sunscreen.

We’ve heard the “firsts” after losing a loved one are really hard, and they are, no doubt about it.  I can’t imagine it getting any easier, but they say that it does. Next week marks eight months since Chuck passed, and I have learned more than I ever wanted to know about grief.  Grief has stages, but they are not linear; they are more like a spiral staircase to nowhere.

This weekend, I felt thrown back into the gut-wrenching stage when the initial shock wore off, and I realized that Chuck was really gone. It is more than sadness and tears.  It is a physical reaction that makes your stomach twist and turn, and your chest feel heavy through the sobbing, but that’s okay. It must have been what I needed, and I let myself feel all the feels. I am slowly learning that grief isn’t something to get through; it is something I am going to have to learn to let walk beside me.

Echoes of a Celebration

~ rdicarne ~ 12 Comments

May has arrived, bringing a specific memory of Chuck and a smile to my face. Chuck’s birthday is May 17th; he would have been 70 this year. Chuck loved his birthday. Once May 1st hit, he began the countdown to his birthday with childlike exuberance.

We would always spend a weekend in Atlantic City, NJ, to celebrate, and by now, Chuck would have called his casino host at the Golden Nugget to book a room, hoping she would upgrade us to a suite for his birthday. Next, he would create an itinerary in his head and share it with me several times.

His list included:

  • What time would we leave on Friday (I had to be sure to be ready to go as soon as I got home from school)
  • What offers he was getting from the casino (free play money, birthday money, food comps)
  • where we would eat each day of the trip
  • how much money we would bring to gamble
  • What snacks he would be packing (He never went anywhere without water and snacks in a cooler bag. You never knew when they would come in handy.)
  • what time we would leave AC to come home on Sunday

I didn’t always have the capacity to share in his excitement until it got closer to the actual day of departure, but watching his genuine joy made me so happy (even when I was hearing it for the umpteenth time and wasn’t quite listening as intently as he expected).

There will not be a casino trip this year; in fact, I haven’t been to a casino since our last trip together last August. I don’t know if or when I will visit a casino because it was so much of a “we” thing rather than a “me” thing, but the memories of our casino adventures bring me more happiness than sadness. For that, I am grateful.

First Words

~ rdicarne ~ 1 Comment

Today’s #Verselove prompt was to borrow the first words of each line of a poem. I chose the first words from the poem “Those Winter Sundays” by Robert Hayden.

Sundays Remind Me of You

Sundays are days for church and rest
and contemplating the week ahead.
Then why does my mind find it hard to focus?
From morning until night, the day is
banked by the memories of you.

I’d give anything to see you again
when I open my eyes in the morning
and enjoy a Sunday breakfast you made with love
fearing it would all be a dream.

Speaking about you and our life together reminds the world
who you were, who you loved, who loved you,
and the differences you made in the lives of others.
What a lucky woman I am to have had a life
of love and laughter with such a wonderful man.

Nature’s Call to Explore

~ rdicarne ~ 2 Comments

Today, the #Verselove prompt was to write a poem containing onomatopoeia (the formation of a word from a sound associated with what is named, e.g. cuckoo, sizzle ). I coupled that with writing with my 7th-graders about nature in honor of Earth Day.

Can you spot the onomatopoeia?

Take me to the ocean
to hear the swish and splash of the waves
where seagulls swoop and call
cow-cow-cow as they move through their days

Take me to the forest
where leaves crackle and crunch neath my feet
trees forming canopies
where I can find respite from the heat.

Take me to the mountain
where the red-tailed hawk calls kee-eeeee-arr
where fearless eagles fly
from peak to peak over elk and bear

Take me to the river
where the water ripples without end
babble, gurgle, murmur,
as it gently rolls around the bend.

Take me to the canyon
where rock formations forge down deep
where rattlesnakes slither
and coyotes and foxes find sleep.

Take me to the valley
to its lush lowlands between the hills
arid or acuqatic
when day is done the wildlife stills.

Bring me out to nature
from chirps and tweets to honks of the geese
it is here in nature
where I am able to find my peace

Standing in the Silence

~ rdicarne ~ 14 Comments

There are many different religious traditions and opinions about visiting cemeteries. Being raised Catholic and still a practicing Catholic, I routinely visit cemeteries for holidays, other special days, and sometimes at the spur of the moment. When I was young, I was intrigued by the very old gravestones at the cemetery where my paternal grandparents are buried. I wondered about the time period in which these people had lived and felt a twinge of sadness when I came across a child’s grave. Chuck and I would make our cemetery trek to St. Dominic’s Cemetery, where my parents and grandparents are buried, and to Resurrection Cemetery, where his parents and sister are buried, bringing flowers, sharing memories, and saying a silent prayer before we left. Sometimes we felt sadness, but mostly it was reflective and cathartic.

Last week, Chuck’s headstone was set on his grave. I received a message late Tuesday afternoon that it had been placed earlier than expected, and on Wednesday after school, I took a ride to St. John Neumann Cemetery to see the stone. I wasn’t sure how I would feel or react to seeing his name (and mine) etched in stone, but it was somehow very comforting.

I know that Chuck is not in that grave, that his body is present, but his soul is in heaven, yet, with the setting of the stone came the peace of knowing that Chuck’s name is sent out into the world every time someone reads the memorial. Some people who read it will have memories of Chuck; others might wonder who he was, like I did when I was a child visiting St. Dominic’s.

Standing at Chuck’s grave, looking at his name on the stone, brought me a sense of connection. The stone was one last gift to my beloved, honoring the bond that remains between us. It turned out better than I could have hoped, and I think Chuck would approve because it is simple in design, just the way Chuck lived his life.

Some days, when I visit Chuck’s final resting place, I cry and feel deep sadness, thinking about the huge void his passing left in my life. Some days, it is a silent cry with tears gently rolling down my cheeks. Other times, it becomes an ugly cry that has me retreating to my car so as not to make a spectacle of myself. But last week, I felt calm knowing I would keep his legacy and story alive.

Love Lives On…

Hinge

~ rdicarne ~ 2 Comments

#Verselove Prompt:  the golden hinge: a form in which a borrowed line can be read horizontally as the first line of the poem as well as vertically down the left spine, as the first words of each line.”

I borrowed the line “Though we need to weep your loss” from the poem “On the Death of the Beloved” by John O’Donohue.

Though we need to weep your loss

we need to remember the love

need to keep telling stories of you

to keep your memory and spirit alive

weep we must, sometimes we’re sad

your leaving left a huge, unfilled void

loss is difficult, but remembering the love helps