Forty-six Days and Counting

~ rdicarne

Forty-six days ago, I lost the love of my life. A trip to the ER for what we thought were simple GI issues began an 18-day hospital stay that ended with his death. As it turns out, Chuck had a rare upper GI cancer that had spread to his brain and bone marrow before he even exhibited any symptoms. He never had a chance.

Those days in the hospital were frustrating and exhausting. We began with such hope, and every day the red tape of the healthcare system eroded it. Waiting for bloodwork results, scans, procedures, and pathology reports was excruciating. By the time we had a diagnosis, it was time to say goodbye and let him go.

I thought that night was the worst night of my life, but little did I know the days ahead would be even harder. Once the numbness of the traumatic hospital experience and the funeral wore off, the grief took hold of me.

Chuck and I met when I was fifteen and he was seventeen. We were high school sweethearts who stood the test of time and celebrated our 45th wedding anniversary this past August. This coming December would have been 52 years together—practically my whole life – and he was my entire life! I don’t know how to do life without him.

Although my commute home from school is only 10 minutes, I called him every day, and we talked until he saw me pull into the driveway. We loved being together and were best friends. Every facet of our lives meshed together like a well-oiled machine. Now my life has come to a screeching halt.

Even though I am back in the classroom, and my students brighten my days, I am struggling to make sense of the unimaginable loss. How will I find the strength to move forward without Chuck by my side? My head knows that grieving takes time – lots of it, but my heart is broken, and the sadness often consumes me.

Writing has always been a way for me to process life and feelings. Below is the first poem I wrote since Chuck’s death. I am sure that writing will help me through this grieving process. Thank you for letting me share some of it with you.

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.

Love you forever!

29 thoughts on “Forty-six Days and Counting”

  2. Oh Rita, I am so very sorry for your loss of Chuck. His story is so sad and I believe that the very special love that you two shared helped you to write your beautiful words. Your beautiful poem epitomizes your love. It is an extraordinary poem. I am sure that your wonderful memories of the lives that you shared guided you in creating your excellent poem. My deepest sorrow is with you and I will pray for your healing. ❤️‍🩹

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  3. Rita, I am so gripped by your story this morning that I had to read all the comments. What a sweet community of support which wouldn’t have been here for you if you hadn’t chosen to write. Grief over such a quick and ruthless loss is brutal. Give yourself grace. Keep writing. We learn our own strength when we share and connect with others. I’m so sorry for your loss.

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  4. Rita, I read this early this morning. I was searching for the right words when my son came by and asked who the man in the photos was. He’s nine, so I explained that one of my fellow Slicers lost her husband quickly after being together with him for 52 years. “That’s older than you, Mommy!” Yes, but not by much.

    52 years, Rita. And in 18 days, you had the proverbial rug pulled out from under you. It happened so quickly. I don’t want to offer platitudes, so I will say this, I am truly sorry for the sudden loss of Chuck. It’s clear that he was your best friend, confidant, husband, and soul mate.

    Sudden losses hurt and shake us to our cores. I hope that I, and the rest of this writing community, can lift you up as you navigate the months ahead.

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    1. I forgot to say something. Your comparison of cancer to a maurauding pirate is the most accurate simile I’ve ever read about cancer. It plunders and pillages. It is awful.

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

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  5. Rita, keep on writing, I am listening. Your story really hit my heart. I am so sorry you are going through all this. It makes me appreciate all my friendships, especially my husband even more. I lost my cousin last year and still haven’t got over it. He always treated me like his little sister. Even though I have 2 brothers, I was very close with him, like he was my brother. He had ALS, and gave us all a year after he was showing signs of the disease. We didn’t know he was sick, he didn’t want us to treat him any differently. I look back on the 3 years before we found out and wish I could replay it differently. Spend more time with him before he couldn’t walk. He made the most of those 3 years doing all kinds of things on his secret bucket list. I wish I was a part of some of it. That is life, we need to appreciate it more before it is too late.

    You cherish all those memories of Chuck, and hold them close in your heart, Life isn’t always fair, but I’m sure God has bigger plans for him. You poem is beautiful. Keep writing to lighten your heavy heart.

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  6. You are a beautiful writer Rita. Thank you for sharing these personal feelings and thoughts.
    This summer my daughter Erin was talking about how much she loves classic rock and “oldies” music and she turned to me and said,” You know who is responsible for that? Mrs. DiCarne.”

    Keeping you in my prayers, Rita.

    Eileen

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  7. Rita,

    I am so sorry for your tremendous loss.

    Thank you so much for sharing your writing and poetry of deep love, loss and grief.

    I hope that writing eventually provides some balm.

    These lines resonated with me:

    Cancer came like a marauding pirateCunning, ruthless

    whirling in an eddy of grief

    My body anchored to the weight of my grief

    I hope you won’t mind if I recommend a book that you might be interested in at some point. I’m reading Renegade Grief: A Guide to the Wild Ride of Life After Loss by Carla Fernandez. The book is helping me to understand what is happening in my brain as I grieve the loss of my Mom who died last October of ovarian cancer.

    [T]he “system glitch” that happens as we subconsciously search for our person on the mental map we keep of where our people are in the world.

    Fernandez, who lost her dad to cancer when she was 19, also provides insights into how contemporary Western society often makes grieving harder.

    She also bears witness to the many creative ways individuals deal with their grief. I’ve put a couple of them into practice.

    This interview is how I found out about the book.

    You might not be looking for something like this right now, or ever, but if at some point you are, I hope you find it helpful. I have.

    Sending peace and love.

    I’m going to hold with me the image of you talking on the phone to your husband on your short commute home. Beautiful.

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  8. Rita – Your words hit my heart, and when I saw your beloved Chuck, my eyes welled with tears. Your love (Chuck and yours) lives on. What an incredible touching tribute to your husband. Sending you a virtual hug.

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  9. Rita, There are no words. I am in tears reading this. Every time you spoke of your husband, I could sense the love and connection between you. No loss is easy, but sudden loss simply pulls the rug out from under you. I know this not from personal experience, but from watching my sister go through it…twice! You are daily in my prayers and I hope your family, your students, your friends, your faith and your writing are all sources of relief and blessings as you navigate this most difficult time. Reach out any time at all. God bless you.

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  11. Rita,

    I am so deeply sorry for your loss. I understand the grief and think about how we learn to live when s much is taken away. Your husband was your soul mate. You two became one completely the way God intended marriage to be. The. there is the tragedy of our awful health care system that inflicts even more pain on us It’s awful. Your poem is exquisite and painful. I suspect you will never stop grieving but pray you will find a way to grieve while also finding new meaning in life. Hug and peace to you.

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  12. My sister passed in September and I have not been able to write about it. So much frustration with so many facets of health care. So many feelings – but the disorientation of losing your anchor to life, You have captured it so well.

    Give yourself grace. There is an ebb and flow to grieving. It’s a tough road, but your poem shares your strengths.

    So sorry for the loss of such an important person in your life!

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  13. It was truly an honor to read both your slice and your poem. A ship being attacked by the cancer pirate is the perfect metaphor. I do hope you keep writing. I do hope when you need to, you take a day from work. Be good to yourself during this transition time as you continue to process. Truly sorry for your immense loss, occurring so suddenly.

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  15. Oh, so sorry to read about your loss. It sounds like you really had a special love. Writing will give you an outlet and a way to hold tight to the emotions and memories. Wishing you strength in the challenging days ahead and so sorry for your loss. We are here for you.

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