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.

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.

I have always been very transparent with people – I am not high maintenance, but I am a princess.

Over the course of our 45-year marriage, we never had “his or her” jobs because we were a team. Early on, we grocery shopped together, took turns cooking (yes, I did cook once), and divided and conquered household chores as needed. Those jobs changed through the years with the arrival of children, extracurricular activities, and employment changes.

Somewhere along the way, Chuck took over all the cooking, which was really a blessing. What he created from leftovers was better than my “from scratch” endeavors. With that came his solo trips to the grocery store. He said my cart skills, or lack of, were slowing him down. He was a matter-of-fact shopper, not a leisurely one.

It didn’t end there. Chuck voluntarily washed and waxed my car regularly until he was physically unable to do so. Then he took it to the car wash each week when he filled the tank with gas. When it snowed, Chuck warmed up my car and cleared it off. He did laundry, vacuumed, cleaned the bathrooms, and much more, all to make my life easier and keep the house running smoothly.

Many of my friends were envious of my enchanted life and reminded me how spoiled I was. I never took it for granted, and I often thanked Chuck for doing all those niceties for our family.

Now, I am responsible for myself and all of those tasks Chuck so lovingly did for me. Now, I have to decide what to eat for dinner and order groceries for pickup. Now, I pump my own gas and try to remember to warm up my car on these colder mornings. There is a growing list of things that Chuck took care of that were never on my radar, but now need my attention.

Some days it all seems overwhelming, but I will get the hang of it and make it work because that’s what Chuck and I always did – faced things head-on together. We will always be a team, and I will always be a princess because Chuck will always be my prince.

When Chuck was in the hospital and still able to communicate verbally, we had a funny interaction. He kept leaning to the right, almost lying against the bed’s safety rail. I would help him move toward the left and reposition himself in the center of the bed. An hour or two later, we would repeat the process.

After a couple of days of this dance, I asked Chuck why he thought this kept happening. He looked at me seriously and said, “Because you are a magnet, and I am steel.” His hazel eyes were giving me that mischievous look of his. (I usually sat to his right to be out of the way of the nurses when they came in to take vitals or replace fluids.)

FASTFORWARD
October 17th was my first day back to work (half-day). I got into my SUV and started for school. No sooner had I rounded the corner than two lights flashed on my dashboard. Having no idea what they meant (I just got this vehicle in July), my already heavy heart dropped to the floor. What was I going to do? Usually, I would call Chuck at home to let him know what was going on, but instead, I was left to ponder my options in silence. Luckily, both lights went out before I finished my ten-minute drive to work. I sat in the parking lot, checked the owner’s manual, and then went into school.

I left school around 1:15 to go to a doctor’s appointment. Jumping into the car, I turned the radio on and froze. The radio was tuned to Sirius 16, The Blend, and “Magnet and Steel” by Walter Egan was playing! I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but I remember saying aloud, “Okay, Chuck. I guess you’re telling me you are still here with me, and I can do this.”

If it had not been for those pesky dashboard lights on my way to school, I would have been listening to a book on Audible on my drive in and would not have turned the radio on when I left school in the afternoon. Coincidence or sign from heaven? It was a sign, and I am looking forward to receiving many more from my best friend.