Slice of Life

The First I Never Saw Coming

~ rdicarne ~ 8 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.

Legacy

~ rdicarne ~ 10 Comments

It is hard to believe that it has been almost a year since Chuck passed away on 9/26/25. One year ago today, I took him to the ER with hopes of finding an answer to his symptoms. It was not the answer we were looking for. I can picture him walking down our path to the car. If you had told me then that he would never return to our home again, I would not have believed you.

I have written many things about Chuck over the last 11.5 months, hoping to share what an extraordinary yet unpretentious man he was. He was never happier than when he was feeding his family, friends, and neighbors. Seeing people enjoy what he had prepared brought him great joy. Whether it was a holiday dinner or a random Tuesday, there was always room for one more at our table because Chuck always cooked much more than enough!

Ernie Banks said, “The measure of a man is in the lives he has touched.” Chuck touched so many lives with his culinary creations, but none as much as my life and the lives of our children and grandchildren. He led by example, and we reaped the delicious benefits. Yet his touch rippled in large circles beyond our kitchen. He took food to his eye doctor and our car salesman, and brought snacks to the snowplow drivers and our landscapers, making sure everyone was fed and satisfied. It made his heart happy. With that in mind, my children and I have created The DiCarne Family Table.

What is The DiCarne Family Table? (from our Facebook page)

The DiCarne Family is our family’s way of carrying forward the values that were so important to Dad: family, generosity, connection, and showing up for others.

Throughout the year, we plan to choose meaningful opportunities to support families through food, gathering, and simple acts of care.

The projects may look a little different each time. We might provide meals, collect items for families, support a community organization, or create something that gives families an opportunity to spend time together.

What will stay the same is the purpose behind it.

We want each effort to reflect what our family table has always represented: a place where people are cared for, welcomed, and reminded that there is room for them.

The DiCarne Family Table

Making room at the table.

Our first project is creating Brunch All Day Bags to distribute to families caring for seriously ill, disabled, or injured children. Details are on our Facebook page. This post isn’t necessarily to solicit donations, but if you feel moved, we will gladly accept them. My purpose is to share how we are doing our best to flip the script a bit and focus on how Chuck lived rather than how he died, and what better way to honor him than to pour our grief into action.

As I am closing in on the end of this year of “firsts,” I am doing my best to figure out ways to carry my grief without letting it consume me. It is by far the hardest thing I have ever experienced. I know I will always be sad that Chuck is not physically here by my side; that will never change. I know there will always be some tears, and that’s okay. Yet I also know his legacy will live on in my children and grandchildren, and in the work we do as a family through The DiCarne Family Table. I think he would approve.

The Beginning of the End

~ rdicarne ~ 9 Comments

As the calendar flipped to August, a sense of melancholy descended over me. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but after thinking about it some more, I realized it was probably because this time last year, my life as I knew it began to unravel. I was not aware that it would be my last August with Chuck.

The timeline went something like this:

1st weekend – Chuck got results of a shoulder X-ray diagnosing him with arthritis. That was not hard to believe for a 69-year-old man who spent most of his life in a kitchen, chopping, lifting, and stirring. What was surprising was Chuck’s reaction to the news. His first words were that he was relieved because he thought they were going to tell him he had cancer. I was shocked at his thinking, but maybe somewhere in his subconscious mind he already knew.

2nd weekend – We were away at Mohegan Sun Casino with some friends. We went to dinner at a restaurant there that we really enjoyed. Chuck didn’t finish his one drink or his dinner. That was unusual, but not alarming.

3rd weekend – We were to celebrate our 45th wedding anniversary with dinner at a local restaurant, but had to reschedule dinner plans for the next night because Chuck wasn’t feeling up to par. That was a little concerning, because celebrating our anniversary was one thing we rarely missed. Chuck also skipped dinner plans with a couple of my siblings in the middle of the next week.

4th weekend – We were visiting my brother and sister-in-law for a few days as we did every summer for as long as I can remember. There were plans to go to the casino and have dinner at the steak house there. Chuck decided he didn’t want to go. Now, I was starting to get really concerned. There really must be something seriously wrong if he declined a trip to the casino. He had trouble eating anything that weekend, and we left early Sunday morning because he was so uncomfortable with what he thought was acid reflux.

Chuck’s behavior at my brother’s was concerning. He seemed a little off-balance and wasn’t able to eat much of anything. First thing Monday morning, I made an appointment for us to see his primary care physician. The doctor treated the symptoms and said to give it a week and return if not feeling better. A week became two because Chuck could be a little hardheaded at times. It would be the week after Labor Day that I would take Chuck to the ER, not knowing he would never be coming home.

Chuck did so many things last summer that made him happy. He got the back deck refloored to make it safe for us to use (although we never did sit on it together), he got the driveway recoated, and he took a trip to the casino with one of his brothers and had plans to go with his other one in August (that never happened though). What Chuck loved most was getting me to buy a new car (something he thought he would never see). He was so excited that I was in a new little SUV and would be safer than in my 2010 sedan. I think his love of buying cars was only second to his love of casinos!

In hindsight, all of the little clues to Chuck’s cancer started to slowly appear this time last year until everything just snowballed at warp speed. I think Chuck had a sense of foreboding last year, but I can only see that looking backward. Moving forward with life since Chuck died is the hardest thing I have ever had to do in my life. When I look back on my life since last August, it is mostly filled with reliving those last weeks with Chuck with deep sadness and heartbreak.

This August is bittersweet. On one hand, I am not experiencing any back-to-school angst, but on the other hand, I was supposed to be setting out on this retirement adventure with Chuck. I continue moving forward, carrying Chuck’s love with me and praying for the day that my memories of our life together will bring me more smiles than tears.

Finding My Way

~ rdicarne ~ 13 Comments

We were on a path together that included retirement, more time with family, more time with each other, and casinos – always casinos. This time last year, I had no idea that the path would end abruptly, and I would have to find my own way. This time last year, we were dreaming about what adventures that path would take us on, imagining a life of no alarm clocks and making our own schedules. But here I am having to find my own way, not sure which way to go.

People ask how I like retirement, but the truth is I don’t know yet. I’m used to having summers off, so the change won’t feel real until September, when the school year doesn’t begin. This summer is a time for self-reflection, as I face two major changes: building a life without teaching and life without Chuck.  

Nearly nine months since Chuck passed, I am still learning how to be on my own. Survival mode has kept me moving, but as numbness fades, the reality and emotions of loss become clearer. I know I must learn to manage the house and my time on my own, and I’m considering how to spend my days meaningfully instead of just distracting myself.

September will be here before we know it, and I want to find a rhythm to my days. My main questions: How do I want to spend my energy as I move forward?  What is important to me?  Who is important to me? Losing Chuck has made me realize that life is much shorter than we think, and that time wasted on unimportant things that don’t make a difference in our lives isn’t worth our time or energy. I have less tolerance for bickering over silly things and fretting over small details. Situations and things that once held a prominent place in my life have lost their luster. I may not have a “new normal” yet, but there certainly is a “new me.”

This summer, I am leaving myself open to the possibilities, the spontaneous invitations, the unscheduled days. I am exploring what life as a retired widow could look like. I have definitely lost my path, but I am hopeful that I will find my way.

Every Good Thing

~ rdicarne ~ 7 Comments

Last week, I was watching the Hallmark movie, To Philly With Love. One line struck me, and I wrote it in my journal.  “Every good thing in my life traces back to the day I first met you.” It has been rolling around in my head all week because it rings true for me.  Every good thing in my life traces back to the first day I met Chuck. Everything. He was my “once-in-a-lifetime” love.

This first week of summer is feeling different. This is my first summer in 52 years that I won’t be spending it with Chuck, another “first.” I don’t like these “firsts,” but I think I will like the second and third even less. I know that life will never be the same for me, and whether I like it or not, life keeps going.

I am doing my best to practice living in the moment and learning to relax while still accomplishing what needs to be done. These past eight and a half months, I have been in survival mode, working and doing the minimum to keep the house and myself running. Even with my great support system, it has been hard as hell. Now it is time for me to begin to figure out what my life is going to look like.  I hate even typing those words because I want my old life, but as the Rolling Stones say, “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, well, you just might find, you get what you need.”

While I was sitting on my deck this morning, I saw a beautiful bright red cardinal swoop across my yard not once but twice, into the arborvitae at the far edge of the property.  I wanted to believe it was a sign from Chuck, saying he was happy I was using the deck we had refloored last summer but had never had the chance to sit on together. Not long after, a female cardinal flew out of the arborvitae and perched on one of the fence posts. She was quickly followed by her partner, who seemed to check on her, then fly off, with her following behind. That is my sign. I know I need Chuck, and I know in my heart he is looking after me.

Here

You should be here for the next leg of the journey.

It was never yours or mine but always ours.

I refuse to carry on without you.

I only know how to live with you.

your strength

your encouragement

your smile

your love

You were the glue when I was falling apart,

my cheerleader no matter what the score.

You believed in me when my confidence faltered,

and lightened the mood when I was too serious.

You spoke the words I needed to hear,

and listened when my only words were tears.

So I carry you with me,

in my heart, my head, my soul.

I am forever yours.

You are forever mine.

This once-in-a-lifetime love is ours.

From Chalkboards to New Horizons

~ rdicarne ~ 13 Comments

I am on the cusp of retirement.  Thursday will be the last day of my 40-year career as a Catholic School teacher. It is hard to believe that a day that was so far off in the distance is upon me. I have loved being a teacher; I think I will always be a teacher.  Not every year or every class was wonderful.  There were certainly challenges along the way, but the treasured memories outweigh the difficult ones.

Retiring is bittersweet.  I will certainly miss being in the classroom, but I won’t miss the 5:30 alarm.  I will miss the camaraderie of my colleagues, but not grading papers. My colleagues have gone above and beyond to support me through this most difficult year, and I am overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and well wishes they have extended on my retirement. They celebrated my retirement with a surprise party a couple of weeks ago at my favorite local restaurant.  It was wonderful.  Many former teachers were there, including my former “work kids,” who were my grade partners when they were teacher newbies and learning the ropes.

As if that weren’t enough, they celebrated me again yesterday during our end-of-the-year luncheon, complete with a baseball theme and more gifts!  I told them yesterday that on the days after Chuck died, and I felt like I couldn’t get out of bed, knowing that they would all be there to help me through made all the difference. I have been blessed beyond measure to be part of this caring community.  

While I am very excited about beginning this next chapter of slower mornings and new opportunities, I am so very, very sad that Chuck is not here to celebrate with me and be by my side on this new adventure.  It was always our plan for me to retire this year, and I stuck to the plan because it was time. Even the best-laid plans sometimes have to be revised. These last nine months have felt like being stuck in a tornado of emotions. I know Chuck would be so happy for me, and over the moon with the various ways so many people beyond my work family are celebrating me. I can picture him beaming his bright smile down on me from heaven.

I have learned a great deal about myself and about life these past nine months. My goal in retirement is to keep learning, stretching, and growing, and I am certain Chuck will keep watching over me and cheering me on from afar.  

This painting is matted and signed by all the students in my last class.

Coming Home

~ rdicarne ~ 6 Comments

Homebody – a person who likes to stay at home, especially one who is perceived as unadventurous (Oxford Language) – one whose life centers on home (Merriam-Webster).

These words accurately describe Chuck and me. When we got married in 1980, we were fortunate enough to purchase our first home together in Northeast Philadelphia. It was a 16’ airlight, red brick rowhome. We spent the months leading up to our wedding getting the house ready – cleaning, scraping, painting, breaking  down the chinchilla cage supports (that’s another story), and gathering furniture from friends and relatives to make the house our home. It didn’t matter to us that the only new furniture in the house was our bedroom set; I used to kid that our design style was the “early borrowed look.”

We loved that house and the memories we made there. We brought both of our children home from the hospital to this humble abode. Some of our best days were Saturdays when we were all home, watching WWE (WWF at the time), The Frugal Gourmet, or Professional Bowling in between chores. I would be folding laundry on the couch, and Chuck would most likely be washing and waxing the cars in the driveway out back.

Chuck was always ready to host family and friends for dinner, and he always made so much food that he could have fed a whole other set of people!  You could find us barbecuing out on the front patio or cooking up mussels and crabs with our neighbors, Mario and Sarah, for summer evening feasts.

After nine years in the city, we moved to the burbs to be closer to Chuck’s work and to get a backyard for the kids.  This time, we moved into a twin house with beige vinyl siding on a cul-de-sac with 16 homes. We were the youngest and newest residents in 1989. Over the next 36 years, our little twin played host to countless birthday celebrations, Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas Eve Feasts of the Seven Fishes, and casual get-togethers.  Sometimes, I thought I felt our little house exhale after the last guest had gone home. Chuck and I loved every minute of having family and friends visit us.

Some may have considered us unadventurous, and maybe we were, but being home together was all we ever really needed. Our home was our sanctuary, the place where we could truly be ourselves and build memories, our safe haven. No matter where we went, whether we were out for the evening or on an overnight trip, the best part was always coming home.

Now that Chuck is gone from sight, his essence remains a part of our home.  When I look around, I can visualize him in the kitchen cooking, walking up the path after running errands, or watching sports on TV from his spot on the recliner. If I listen closely enough, the walls echo with the sound of his voice, his love, and laughter, and I never feel alone.  I miss him terribly, but every time I walk into the house, I feel his presence still surrounding me with his love, and I am happy to be home.

Still Loving, Still Learning

~ rdicarne ~ 5 Comments

I’m not going to lie, this weekend was rough.  On Sunday, which would have been Chuck’s 70th birthday, there were tears, lots of tears. My morning was full.  I went to mass twice because there were two masses for Chuck at two different churches, one at 9:00 and one at 11:00. I don’t share this to suggest that I am so very holy, but rather to say that being present at both masses was in a way a birthday gift to Chuck – a way to honor him. Church is still difficult for me because it was something we did together.  I don’t think I have made it through one mass yet without a few silent tears.

These were followed by a visit to the cemetery with flowers and a small birthday balloon to mark the special day. It was hot and windy, so getting the flowers and balloon in place took a little ingenuity and a great suggestion from my daughter. I brought my collapsible stool, sat at the grave for a while, and talked to Chuck, letting him know what was on my heart, but then it got really warm, and I retreated to my car.  I love him, but this fair-skinned woman forgot to put on sunscreen.

We’ve heard the “firsts” after losing a loved one are really hard, and they are, no doubt about it.  I can’t imagine it getting any easier, but they say that it does. Next week marks eight months since Chuck passed, and I have learned more than I ever wanted to know about grief.  Grief has stages, but they are not linear; they are more like a spiral staircase to nowhere.

This weekend, I felt thrown back into the gut-wrenching stage when the initial shock wore off, and I realized that Chuck was really gone. It is more than sadness and tears.  It is a physical reaction that makes your stomach twist and turn, and your chest feel heavy through the sobbing, but that’s okay. It must have been what I needed, and I let myself feel all the feels. I am slowly learning that grief isn’t something to get through; it is something I am going to have to learn to let walk beside me.

Echoes of a Celebration

~ rdicarne ~ 12 Comments

May has arrived, bringing a specific memory of Chuck and a smile to my face. Chuck’s birthday is May 17th; he would have been 70 this year. Chuck loved his birthday. Once May 1st hit, he began the countdown to his birthday with childlike exuberance.

We would always spend a weekend in Atlantic City, NJ, to celebrate, and by now, Chuck would have called his casino host at the Golden Nugget to book a room, hoping she would upgrade us to a suite for his birthday. Next, he would create an itinerary in his head and share it with me several times.

His list included:

  • What time would we leave on Friday (I had to be sure to be ready to go as soon as I got home from school)
  • What offers he was getting from the casino (free play money, birthday money, food comps)
  • where we would eat each day of the trip
  • how much money we would bring to gamble
  • What snacks he would be packing (He never went anywhere without water and snacks in a cooler bag. You never knew when they would come in handy.)
  • what time we would leave AC to come home on Sunday

I didn’t always have the capacity to share in his excitement until it got closer to the actual day of departure, but watching his genuine joy made me so happy (even when I was hearing it for the umpteenth time and wasn’t quite listening as intently as he expected).

There will not be a casino trip this year; in fact, I haven’t been to a casino since our last trip together last August. I don’t know if or when I will visit a casino because it was so much of a “we” thing rather than a “me” thing, but the memories of our casino adventures bring me more happiness than sadness. For that, I am grateful.