New Year’s Eve has never been one of my favorite days. I tend to feel more melancholy than reflective, weighed down by the sadness of year’s end and the pressure to make resolutions – something I think is destined to disappoint. This year, as I face my first NYE without Chuck, I realize it was his presence that made the night meaningful for me.  

Neither Chuck nor I is a big partier and especially not on New Year’s Eve. In the early days of our marriage, we would usually spend NYE with his brother and sister-in-law, either at their house or ours. We’d enjoy delicious appetizers and an Orange Julius with vodka, then a surf-and-turf dinner.  Once we had children, the celebrations shifted a little.  There would be an early dinner for the kids with some Martinelli Sparkling Cider and noise makers.  After the kids were asleep, the adults would enjoy our dinner with a little Moscato or a glass of Verdi Asti Spumante. Those were good days.

After my dad passed away, my mom became our NYE date.  We would play some games and eat some snacks, all leading up to the seafood dinner (usually including lobster tail), which Chuck would lovingly prepare for us. Mom would ring in the new year with us, then retreat to the family room’s sofa bed for the night.  Breakfast was another feast prepared by Chuck, and then, of course, watching the Mummers Parade and partaking in a pork dinner. Those were good days.

At some point, my mom stopped spending New Year’s Eve with us.  One of our neighbors on the cul-de-sac usually hosted an open house on the 31st.  More often than not, Chuck and I would eat our special dinner at home and then go over to join the rest of the neighbors.  They loved it when Chuck brought his famous roasted peppers and mozzarella on amazing Italian bread.  It was always a hit.  Sometimes we stayed until midnight, but most years we came home to ring in the New Year – just the two of us.  Those were good days.

That brings me to NYE 2025. I had a couple of offers to spend the night with family members, and I struggled with what I should do until I realized there is no “should” do.  I decided to listen to my heart and stay home alone.  After a quick culinary conversation with my daughter yesterday, I pulled a bag of frozen raw shrimp out of the freezer. I will be making myself a version of shrimp scampi over whatever pasta from the pantry strikes my fancy tonight. (I know this is the biggest surprise many of you will have had in 2025!) This will be a good day.

These are photos of the meal Chuck prepared for us last year – NYE 2024. I may or may not be sharing photos of my creation. This is a hard act to follow!

May your New Year bring you whatever your heart needs – peace, joy, love, and good health.

“You’re a good man, Charlie Brown” means someone is decent, kind, and genuine, often praised for integrity, consideration, and perseverance. It suggests doing your best, finding happiness in small things, and remaining kind and true, even in adversity. (Google AI)

This definition certainly fits Chuck. Now, I may be biased, but many I spoke with shared similar sentiments about him. Below are some of the comments I received in the days and weeks following Chuck’s death.

Former employers spoke of his passion for cooking and strong work ethic. Sara, the gym receptionist, audibly gasped when I called about Chuck’s death, recalling how he always arrived smiling and happy each morning.

Chuck’s chiropractors expressed how much he meant to them—one prayed for and with him and attended his funeral, while the other enjoyed talking sports, food, and life, especially remembering Chuck’s laugh and smile.

Similarly, Chuck’s physical therapist was shocked by his passing, recalling how hard Chuck worked during sessions and how he enjoyed talking about Philly sports.

This pattern continued with Chuck’s primary care physician, who said Chuck’s visits were like talking to an uncle. Chuck always spoke fondly of his family and his pride in us. His ophthalmologist (also Italian) left a voicemail saying she enjoyed their conversations and that her family loved the food he brought.

Sympathy card after sympathy card echoed those sentiments – reminding me of what an extraordinary man Chuck was and how fortunate I was to have shared 52 years of my life with him. It was easy to love and respect a good man who always put others’ needs before his own. Chuck was the epitome of a good man – not a man without faults or annoyances, but a man who led with his heart, loved unconditionally, and gave all he had.

Below are various comments made on the Facebook posts of my son and daughter.

December 7, 1941, is a day that will live in infamy, but December 7, 1973, is the day I discovered my destiny. Fifty-two years ago today, Chuck and I went on our first date. It was a blind date of sorts. You see, I was fifteen and at that time spent a great deal of time reading on my front steps, which earned me the nickname Readabook, a play on my first name. Chuck was seventeen and spent a great deal of time walking past my house on his way to his friend, Ken’s, house down the street to play football. I guess he noticed me on the steps, and I may have snuck a look at him over the top of my book. Coincidentally, Ken had a sister, Karen, who was my friend. Karen and Ken were our matchmakers, carrying messages between Chuck and me. “Chuck would like to ask you on a date. Can I give him your number?” “Sure.” The rest, as they say, is history.

That first date was to the movies to see The Way We Were starring Robert Redford and Barbra Streisand. We saw it at the Orleans Movie Theater in Northeast Philadelphia. We walked to the movies because my dad was very strict, and I was not allowed to ride in a car. It was just under a mile walk to the theater.

After the movies, we walked to the Italian Take Out restaurant, ITO as the locals called it. It was another one-mile walk through the Rhawnhurst neighborhood. Once in a booth, we ordered a pizza and some sodas. I was so nervous; I only ate one slice of pizza. Chuck ate two. We didn’t even take home the leftovers! I was home by 11:00 PM.

December 7th remained a special night for us even after we were married. We celebrated the anniversary of our first date every year in some way. Over the years, when we reminisced about that night, Chuck would say that it was just like Pearl Harbor – I dropped a bomb on him. He told his friends it wouldn’t last because I couldn’t ride in a car and could only see him every other weekend. (The joke was on him because I apparently had staying power.) He would also bring up the fact that I only ate ONE slice of pizza, and he felt he couldn’t eat more than two without looking like a pig. It killed him!!

I was smitten with him after that first date, and Chuck would say, “Of course you were!” He had considerable South Philly confidence. There was something about Chuck that even at the tender age of fifteen, I could sense. He was a true gentleman in every sense of the word and wise beyond his years.

Chuck was my first date, first kiss, and first love. We would spend the next seven years dating before getting married three months after I graduated from college. We spent the next 45 years together keeping the excitement of that first date alive in our marriage. Chuck’s motto was, “Don’t ever let the honeymoon end,” and he made sure it didn’t.  

Ours is a special love story. Not many people get to have the kind of relationship we had, and I will be eternally grateful to have had Chuck love me the way that he did for all of those years. He was truly selfless, putting my needs before his, being my biggest cheerleader and supporter, and modeling unconditional love for our children. Chuck was my first, only, and forever love.

When you get to a certain age, death rears its ugly head more frequently. You notice it more and start thinking about your own mortality. Chuck was not afraid to die. I know this from conversations we had well before he fell ill. He was adamant that God put him on this earth for a purpose. Why else would God have “saved” him three times?

Chuck was born in 1956, five days after his family arrived here by ship. Initially, his family was to sail on the Italian ocean liner, the Andrea Doria, in July of that year, but they were able to secure an earlier passage in May. Thankfully, this was the case because the Andrea Doria was involved in a collision with a Swedish ocean liner, the Stockholm, off the coast of Nantucket. Forty-six people on the Andrea Doria died, fifty-one total. That was life number one for Chuck.

Months later, Chuck’s mom found herself dealing with a screaming 18-month-old who was inconsolable. The doctors found nothing particularly wrong with Chuck, but his mom persisted. He was her fifth child, and she knew this wasn’t normal behavior. Even though his mom could not speak English, she found a way to make her concerns known. Her “mother’s intuition” was correct. Chuck needed an emergency appendectomy. Without that surgery, he could have died as a toddler. That was life two.

Fast forward to 2017. Chuck complained of chest pain (which he had had for a week already). There is a post about this “adventure here:https://ritadicarne.com/2017/09/26/the-heart-of-the-matter/. Long story short, Chuck needed a quadruple by-pass. The main artery of his heart, the Widow Maker, was 99% blocked. The cardiologist said that Chuck was lucky to wake up each morning with the number of blockages in his heart. That was life number three.

Chuck was a good man with a heart of gold. Don’t get me wrong; he was not a saint, and this is not a canonization. Chuck worked hard at his job/s and always gave 150%, working long hours when necessary and taking great pride in a job well done. When it came to his family, it was more like 200%. He would help whenever asked, no matter what the task – assisting a brother with a move, or catering a family event, or one of the countless other favors. You could also find Chuck bringing water out to the landscapers in the heat of summer, or hot chocolate to the plow drivers clearing our cul-de-sac after a winter storm, that was just who he was. Chuck was especially good with older people. He was patient and kind, listened to their stories, and told some of his own, making each person truly feel appreciated.

When Chuck would bring up his “many lives,” I would tease him, calling him a cat with nine lives. I could only hope, but that was not to be. While I miss Chuck beyond measure, I do find comfort in knowing he was not afraid to die. I don’t know if it was the fact that his parents died young (Mom 49, Dad 61) that he didn’t expect his own lifespan to reach the high numbers, but he was very much at peace with how his life unfolded.

There are so many feelings that surface while grieving the loss of a spouse – anyone, for that matter. I know I have felt unbearably sad and cheated, not being able to wrap my head around the question – “Why now?” Someone recently said to me, “Life is not fair, but God is just.” If I lean on my faith, I know that it is true, but I am not there yet. I hope that when my time comes, I can say, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith.” (2 Timothy 4:7), and I won’t be afraid either.