Month: October 2026

The First I Never Saw Coming

~ rdicarne ~ 10 Comments

Grief is a ninja who sneaks into your days without warning. I foolishly thought all the “firsts” since Chuck’s passing had come and gone once the anniversary of his death and funeral date had passed. WRONG!

Over the past two weeks, I have been dealing with a health issue.  I am pretty healthy overall, but my skeleton doesn’t always behave the way I would like.  I have spinal stenosis, osteoporosis, and fibromyalgia – a trifecta!  Thankfully, most days are good, but recently I started having groin pain, which was very disconcerting. To put it into context, the last two times I experienced this level of pain, it was discovered that I had pelvic fractures – spontaneous combustion fractures. Even after my most recent DEXA scan came back with normal bone density (after several not-so-good ones and years of treatments), I couldn’t shake the memory of those pelvic fractures.

I took myself to the local orthopedic urgent care, and an X-ray showed no sign of a pelvic fracture, but the PA ordered a CT scan to double-check (my last fracture did not show up on initial X-rays). Those results also came back negative for a fracture. It was certainly a relief not to have a new fracture, but the pain was not budging, and for several days I had to resort to using a walker to get around the house. With no new fractures, I am chalking the pain up to a super ouchy groin pull that I probably caused myself by being too zealous on one of my good days and lifting something I shouldn’t have. For now, my cane is my constant companion, and I will be back at PT on Friday.

My point isn’t to have anyone feel sorry for me or my aches and pains; everyone has their own struggles. Instead, I want to say there are so many “firsts” that have nothing to do with holidays, birthdays, or anniversary dates. This is the first time since Chuck died that I was really not feeling well, and he was not here to support me, to take care of me, to commiserate with me. Don’t get me wrong, my kids and siblings are great and would help me in any way they could or needed to, but it’s just not the same as having your person.

In some ways, entering this second year feels so much worse than it did this time last year.  Last year, I was numb. I moved through my life in survival mode. Now the numbness has worn off, and I feel Chuck’s absence deeply every day, but even more so on the days I need his shoulder to lean on, his words to calm my fears, and his loving touch to reassure me that everything will be okay.

I don’t know how many more “firsts” I will encounter, but I have no choice but to feel the feelings, cry the tears, and remember just how strong I am.

Lessons from Widowhood

~ rdicarne ~ 10 Comments

What I’ve learned in my first year as a widow is nothing I ever wanted to learn, but here I am. These are some of my observations and lessons learned this past year.

  1. We were the perfect couple – for each other. No one is perfect, and Chuck and I certainly had/have our faults and sometimes got on each other’s nerves, but we were perfect for each other. We loved each other unconditionally and didn’t put unrealistic expectations on each other. What you saw is what you got. Putting each other first was a huge part of our longevity. Let’s face it, we were kids when we fell in love, and that young love often doesn’t last. I am forever grateful that we grew together instead of apart. Over the years, whatever was important to one of us was important to both of us, whether it was my writing and dream of being published, or Chuck’s passion for cooking and catering. Over the years, we faced many challenges, but we figured them out by leaning on each other. We were always a team, ready to tackle things head-on. I miss being “we” and hearing my biggest cheerleader’s voice, but I believe he is still cheering me on from heaven.
  2. I am more capable than I thought or gave myself credit for. Chuck did almost everything for me because that was his love language. He wasn’t a man of many grand gestures; instead, he made ordinary moments and tasks feel more meaningful. I do almost all of those things now, maybe not as Chuck did, but the best way I can. I think he is proud of how I have handled most things since his death, and I am sure he is having a good laugh about some of the other things.
  3. My expectations of others were not always met because I was using an unrealistic metric. I was remembering how Chuck reacted after the death of a family member or close friend, and I forgot that not everyone is like Chuck. People do what they can or are willing to do, and expecting anything else is unrealistic.
  4. Grieving takes time – its own time – my own time. I will never get over losing Chuck and will be sad until the day I die and am hopefully reunited with him. That doesn’t mean it will always be as hard as it has been this past year. Grief is now my constant companion, but I don’t let it consume me every day. Some days it still does, and that’s okay. Other days, I can make it through most of the day without tears. One is not better than the other, just different. Nights are still the hardest, wanting to reach for him and finding only the space of his absence.
  5. I can be grateful and sad at the same time. I am so appreciative of the family and friends who have been there for me this past year. I don’t know what I would have done without them. Yet sometimes, when I am with them doing something Chuck would have been part of, a sense of melancholy floats around me as I remember the past and wish he were still here. It is all okay – the laughing, the remembering, the longing; it is all part of the process of grieving.
  6. I am not alone. Only another widow or widower can truly understand what it is like to lose a partner, especially if they were truly the love of your life. Stepping out of my comfort zone and interacting with other grievers has been so helpful. Whether it is the bereavement group at church, the books I have read on the subject, a Facebook group, or Anderson Cooper’s podcast, “All There Is,” being connected to others who understand what I am going through and feeling is very helpful and reassuring.
  7. My life is not over, but the life I knew is. The story of our life together had a plot twist I never saw coming. As a writer, I know revision isn’t always easy, and this is the hardest revision I have ever had to do. Now I spend time discovering who I am as “me,” not “we.” Honestly, I hate it, but I know I need to do it; it’s like exercising and eating healthy.
  8. Being Chuck’s wife was an honor of a lifetime, and carrying this grief isn’t a burden but a love letter I’ll keep writing for the rest of my life.

I am sure I still have a lot to learn about navigating life without my partner and best friend, but I am trying to just take each day as it comes. Now that I am retired, I have all the time in the world to figure things out, and I am sure that eventually I will.