family

Legacy

~ rdicarne ~ 8 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.

Nine Months

~ rdicarne ~ 19 Comments

Nine months.

39 weeks.

273 days.

3/4 of a year.

That’s how long it has been since I held the hand of the man whom I spent more than 3/4 of my life loving. I miss him every single minute of every single day.  Yes, I have been going through the motions, doing all the things, but he is always front and center in my heart and mind.

I miss Chuck more every day.  I miss his physical presence and being able to talk to him about the big things and the small, silly ones. I miss hearing his voice, calling him on my way home, and having him lovingly tease me. I miss opening the door when I get home and seeing him sitting in the recliner or standing in the kitchen prepping for dinner. This leaves me melancholy.

Sometimes it is difficult to stay present in the moment. When I am with my grandchildren, I keep thinking about how proud Chuck would be of them, how happy he would be to see them growing into themselves, and how tenderly they are taking care of me. When I am in other places with people, I look around and wish he could be sharing them with me. This makes me reflective.

As I move through my days, I think about what he would think or how he would react to certain situations. It is not always with sadness, though.  No, the kids and I lovingly add Chuck’s quotes to various situations, mimicking the way he would say them, the inflections. Imitation is the highest form of flattery after all. The last three nights, I have taken up his mantle of yelling at the TV while watching Phillies games. His blood pressure would have been through the roof, witnessing the ninth-inning comebacks. This makes me smile.

I will continue to go through the motions and do all the things until they become easier to do on my own. Grief is a sucker punch to the gut, but it doesn’t have to bring you to your knees every day. On days that it does, I just sit and let it have its way, other days, I pack it up and carry it with me.  This makes me stronger.

Love lives on.

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.

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.

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.

Standing in the Silence

~ rdicarne ~ 14 Comments

There are many different religious traditions and opinions about visiting cemeteries. Being raised Catholic and still a practicing Catholic, I routinely visit cemeteries for holidays, other special days, and sometimes at the spur of the moment. When I was young, I was intrigued by the very old gravestones at the cemetery where my paternal grandparents are buried. I wondered about the time period in which these people had lived and felt a twinge of sadness when I came across a child’s grave. Chuck and I would make our cemetery trek to St. Dominic’s Cemetery, where my parents and grandparents are buried, and to Resurrection Cemetery, where his parents and sister are buried, bringing flowers, sharing memories, and saying a silent prayer before we left. Sometimes we felt sadness, but mostly it was reflective and cathartic.

Last week, Chuck’s headstone was set on his grave. I received a message late Tuesday afternoon that it had been placed earlier than expected, and on Wednesday after school, I took a ride to St. John Neumann Cemetery to see the stone. I wasn’t sure how I would feel or react to seeing his name (and mine) etched in stone, but it was somehow very comforting.

I know that Chuck is not in that grave, that his body is present, but his soul is in heaven, yet, with the setting of the stone came the peace of knowing that Chuck’s name is sent out into the world every time someone reads the memorial. Some people who read it will have memories of Chuck; others might wonder who he was, like I did when I was a child visiting St. Dominic’s.

Standing at Chuck’s grave, looking at his name on the stone, brought me a sense of connection. The stone was one last gift to my beloved, honoring the bond that remains between us. It turned out better than I could have hoped, and I think Chuck would approve because it is simple in design, just the way Chuck lived his life.

Some days, when I visit Chuck’s final resting place, I cry and feel deep sadness, thinking about the huge void his passing left in my life. Some days, it is a silent cry with tears gently rolling down my cheeks. Other times, it becomes an ugly cry that has me retreating to my car so as not to make a spectacle of myself. But last week, I felt calm knowing I would keep his legacy and story alive.

Love Lives On…

Another Sign

~ rdicarne ~ 4 Comments

Today started out a little shaky.  I had a scheduled appointment to have my car inspected and an oil change. It had to be done today because the inspection sticker was set to expire at the end of the month, and I would not be able to take it on Monday or Tuesday. Yes, I know, I was cutting it close, but believe it or not, this is the first time I have ever done this myself. (I’ve been telling you I was spoiled!)

I got to the dealership on time and went into the office.  Of course, I had to go back out to the car to get my insurance and owner’s card because I didn’t know I needed to bring them in. (duh) When it was my turn to step to the counter, the service manager said he wasn’t sure whether they could do the work today because their systems had been down for 30 minutes, and they weren’t sure when they’d be back up. Cue the tears. I apologized for my mini meltdown, explaining that my husband died six months ago and he normally took care of all car-related things. To make matters more complicated, I had to attend the funeral of my cousin in three hours. I told him I would take a chance and wait to see if the system came back up.  

Once seated in the customer waiting area, I began thinking of what I could do if the work couldn’t be done today.  A nice man tried to make small talk, saying he had called his wife and said it might be a long wait, etc.  I was having trouble talking without letting the tears spill, but he was so kind. We had not been sitting there more than five or ten minutes when the service manager came up and said they were good to go, the computers were up and running. I told the man that my husband must be looking out for me.

About an hour later, my car was ready to go.  I decided to say hello to our salesperson, Diego, before I left, because when Chuck took the car for service, he would talk to everyone in the showroom! While telling Diego how much I am enjoying my car (bought it new in July), I mentioned Chuck.  Just then, Diego said he got the chills.  Now I may be watching too much of The Long Island Medium, but that seems to be a sign of a deceased presence.

I paid for the service and drove out to the parking area, where I pulled into a spot and put all the papers neatly in the glove compartment, when what song came on the radio but “Magnet and Steel.” (Those who have read some of my earlier posts will know the significance of this song.) That was my sign that Chuck was with me today when I tackled another one of those dreaded “firsts.”

There are those who may think I am crazy, but I believe our loved ones are sending signs from the other side.  

Eye Drops

~ rdicarne ~ 13 Comments

Yesterday, I had an appointment with my ophthalmologist for my yearly check-up after cataract surgery several years ago. I had taken the day off work and felt calm and relaxed when I left the house. Little did I know that the first exam room would trigger me and have me do mindful breathing before seeing the doctor. The tech did preliminary eye checks, including checking the pressure in my eyes. I asked her what my pressure numbers were, and they were great. So, where is the trigger, you ask?

My husband, Chuck, who died in September, also used this practice, although he saw a different doctor. He suffered from glaucoma, and so he was always looking for a good eye pressure number, and we would often compare numbers. Hearing my pressure numbers was enough to bring the tears that fall so unexpectedly these days. I was desperately trying to hold them back until after my appointment.

When the doctor came in and asked me how I was doing, I told her about losing Chuck and how the pressure numbers had set me off. She was very kind, and I made it through the appointment needing only one tissue.

As I was leaving the exam room to go to the front desk to check out, the young woman who was scribing for the doctor said she didn’t want to trigger me again, but that she usually worked with the doctor Chuck saw. She told me that “Chuck was great” and how much she enjoyed it when he visited the office. (He had been going there for years, but hadn’t been there since October 2024.) She also said, “Don’t worry, he won’t be forgotten.”

Now we were both crying, and she asked if she could give me a hug. Through the tears dropping from my eyes, I said that Chuck and I were high school sweethearts, and she said, “I know.” Of course, he had told her; he told everyone, I am now discovering. He was so proud of “us” and of our longevity as a couple and as soulmates.

My joy today is learning of yet another way Chuck brought joy to everyone he met.

SOLSC#26

DAY 3

Feast of the Seven Fishes

~ rdicarne ~ 4 Comments

The Feast of the Seven Fishes is an Italian-American Christmas Eve tradition “stemming from Southern Italian Catholic fasting practices that abstained from meat before Christmas Day, known as La Vigilia.”

Christmas Eve was Chuck’s favorite night of the whole year! I can’t imagine my favorite night being the night I worked the hardest, but that was Chuck. Food was his love language, and keeping the tradition alive and watching his family enjoy it gave him great satisfaction.

In the early years of our marriage, we had Christmas Eve with my family, whose dinners centered around ham—not Chuck’s favorite. For ten years, we hosted Chuck’s family on Christmas Day, where Chuck recreated the Seven Fishes—shrimp, bacala, mussels, whiting, smelts, salmon rolls, octopus, and the star, fried calamari. Chuck also prepared a full Italian “Sunday” dinner: pasta, meats, and sides. The meal followed an antipasto and was always accompanied by good Italian bread for dipping. We lingered at the table for hours, and the dishwasher ran nonstop.

A couple of years after my dad passed away, Chuck and I took over the Christmas Eve festivities and the Feast of the Seven Fishes, and the big Italian “Sunday” dinner became our tradition with my mom, siblings, and their growing families. We have a small house, and once everyone was seated at the table, no one got up unless it was a real necessity. As the family grew, a kid’s table was set up in the family room. Yet, even with the cramped quarters, there was always room for another place at the table for anyone who needed a place to be on Christmas Eve.

Christmas Eve was sacred in our house. Chuck was a chef working in small retail venues, where he prepared food for sale in the markets. The weeks leading up to Christmas were super busy, and Chuck would often work 14-16 straight ten-hour days, but that never stopped him from preparing that Christmas Eve dinner for our family. My own children made celebrating with us on Christmas Eve a non-negotiable when they got married!

Eight years ago, Chuck had quadruple bypass surgery, which literally saved his life. That year, my sister and brother-in-law took over Christmas Eve hosting duties. Chuck still made the mussels, whiting, bacala, and of course, fried the calamari at my sister’s while they provided the other fish dishes. The Italian portion of the meal was replaced by the Polish tradition of ham and pierogi. Connie and Mike continue to host this night, which the entire family looks forward to.

This Christmas Eve will be bittersweet – our first without Chuck. The Feast of the Seven Fishes tradition will carry on thanks to my daughter, Angela, who is making the bacala and octopus salad, and my brother-in-law, Mike, who is making the mussels and bought an electric deep fryer to make the calamari. I am sure Chuck will be looking down on us, feeling proud and happy that his spirit and memory live on in the food, family, and fun of the evening.

Forty-six Days and Counting

~ rdicarne ~ 31 Comments

Forty-six days ago, I lost the love of my life. A trip to the ER for what we thought were simple GI issues began an 18-day hospital stay that ended with his death. As it turns out, Chuck had a rare upper GI cancer that had spread to his brain and bone marrow before he even exhibited any symptoms. He never had a chance.

Those days in the hospital were frustrating and exhausting. We began with such hope, and every day the red tape of the healthcare system eroded it. Waiting for bloodwork results, scans, procedures, and pathology reports was excruciating. By the time we had a diagnosis, it was time to say goodbye and let him go.

I thought that night was the worst night of my life, but little did I know the days ahead would be even harder. Once the numbness of the traumatic hospital experience and the funeral wore off, the grief took hold of me.

Chuck and I met when I was fifteen and he was seventeen. We were high school sweethearts who stood the test of time and celebrated our 45th wedding anniversary this past August. This coming December would have been 52 years together—practically my whole life – and he was my entire life! I don’t know how to do life without him.

Although my commute home from school is only 10 minutes, I called him every day, and we talked until he saw me pull into the driveway. We loved being together and were best friends. Every facet of our lives meshed together like a well-oiled machine. Now my life has come to a screeching halt.

Even though I am back in the classroom, and my students brighten my days, I am struggling to make sense of the unimaginable loss. How will I find the strength to move forward without Chuck by my side? My head knows that grieving takes time – lots of it, but my heart is broken, and the sadness often consumes me.

Writing has always been a way for me to process life and feelings. Below is the first poem I wrote since Chuck’s death. I am sure that writing will help me through this grieving process. Thank you for letting me share some of it with you.

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.

Love you forever!