Month: January 2026

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.