writing

From Chalkboards to New Horizons

~ rdicarne ~ 11 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.

Wishing and Hoping

~ rdicarne ~ 27 Comments

wish – verb

: to have a desire for (something, such as something unattainable)

What do you wish for?  When you were a child, you might have wished for a day off from school or a special present from Santa. As we get older, our wishes change. Maybe it was for the perfect job, a raise, or a promotion. I used to wish I were thinner or that we would hit the lottery.  Sometimes I wished for perfect weather or for my favorite team to win.

Can wishes come true?  Some can if you are willing to set an intention, work hard, and be patient.  Others are only pipe dreams. Since my life was turned upside down in September, I have found myself wishing for the impossible.

Widow Wishes

I wish I understood the level of grief that came with losing your spouse, so that I could have been more helpful to those widows I know who came before me, but you can never understand until you walk that path.

I wish I didn’t have to experience this pain, but unless we died simultaneously, I would be leaving Chuck with the pain, and that seems selfish.

I wish I had more time with Chuck, but I know that was not up to me, and honestly, no amount of time would have been enough.

I wish I could see into the future and know when I will be reunited with Chuck, but that wouldn’t make the waiting and living any easier.

I wish I could learn to notice all the signs I believe Chuck is sending me, but I also believe he is near and watching over me, even when I don’t see them.

It is okay to wish, but wishing away your life is not healthy or productive. I am working on changing “I wish” to “I hope.”  

hope – verb

: to cherish a desire with anticipation : to want something to happen or be true

 My hope is to continue to work through my grief and learn to allow it to live beside me, not consume me. I had many hopes for the future. Now, that future looks different, but it is a future nonetheless.

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.  

A Widow’s Creed

~ rdicarne ~ 11 Comments

Six months down, a lifetime to go. Being a widow is hard. Taking on new responsibilities is hard. Living alone for the first time in my life is hard. Moving forward is hard. Being happy is hard. All of these things are hard, but not impossible.

Some days, it would be easy to give up, plant myself in front of the TV, and veg out. Some days I am up to the new tasks, but don’t always feel confident. Chuck was always my biggest champion, and he believed I could do anything I put my mind to, whether it was true or not. Sometimes I think he believed in me more than I believed in myself.

I am trying to overcome limiting beliefs that crowd my mind, especially on days when I am sad or tired. This is the most difficult thing I have ever had to do in my life: learning how to live without my best friend and partner. Even though I don’t like or want this new life, it is all I have.  If I truly want to honor Chuck, I need to make the most of it. We were a team, and our motto was “We’ll figure it out.” I know I can figure this out with my faith, family, and friends, but more importantly, with myself.

I am working on believing in myself more.  Over these past six months, I have learned and continue to learn new things about myself every day. I started a list of things I believe (or want to believe) and still need work on.

  • I believe I will always miss Chuck immeasurably.
  • I believe he is close by and watching over me.
  • I believe life seems unfair sometimes.
  • I believe I am strong enough to take care of myself.
  • I believe I have a supportive community of family, friends, and neighbors.
  • I believe I am intelligent and still have gifts to share.
  • I believe I will be happy again in some form.
  • I believe God has a plan for me.
  • I believe in the power of yet.

Now I need to keep repeating these until I believe them without hesitation.

The Reluctant Roommate

~ rdicarne ~ 7 Comments

Dear Grief,

Do you know that sometimes you are a bully? I am really trying to learn to live with you, but you are not the best roommate. Don’t you see how much I am trying to navigate this world without my husband? You have to remember that I am new at this. It hasn’t even been six months yet, but you are relentless.

I can live with the sadness and melancholy you bring to the room, but why do you keep surprising me with punches to the gut like on the day that he died? Do you think I could ever forget that day? Those images are permanently embedded in my memory like scenes from a horror movie. It is difficult to be present and “stay in the moment” when you try to lock me in a time machine and bombard me with painful memories.

You are an opportunist—coming at me when I am tired or not feeling well, or on a day with special meaning. You never play fair. Just when I think I have discovered a way to cope with my fears, my uncertainties, my loneliness, you pounce. I once thought I understood you, but this grief is not the version I met when my parents or other family members passed away. This is often overwhelming.

Why do you suck up all the oxygen in the room sometimes instead of letting me breathe in the joy? You make me do things I don’t want to do – stress eat, doom scroll, ugly cry. You are a monster that is so hard to tame, reminding me that life as I knew it is gone, that who I was before is not who I am now. Sometimes you make me irritable and short-tempered; other times you bring lethargy and body aches. None of these helps me be productive. I know that I need you, but I don’t need so much of you.

They say the stronger the love, the greater the grief. Well, I am in real trouble then. They say this will get easier; I am not so sure, but I am willing to play along. Living with you for the rest of my life is not something I look forward to, but I am not a quitter. When I feel like a toddler having a temper tantrum and want to scream, “You’re not the boss of me!” I will try to remember that living with you is not a choice, but how much power I give you definitely is MY choice. I promise I will keep trying my best, but could you go a little easier on me?

Respectfully,

Your reluctant roommate

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

A Day at the Museum

~ rdicarne ~ 11 Comments

On Saturday, I had the opportunity to be part of a group sponsored by the West Chester Writing Project exploring place-based writing at the James Michener Museum in Doylestown, PA. Our facilitator for the day, Kaitlyn, shared a quote from the museum’s website introducing the exhibit.

“When Eric Carle was a boy, his father took him on walks in nature, peeled back the bark of a tree to show him the tiny creatures who lived underneath. “I think in my books, I honor my father by writing about small living things,” Eric Carle said. Animals and insects were a central theme in Eric Carle’s long career as a Picture Writer, a title given to him by a young reader. “To me pictures need writing and writing needs pictures. A child once called me a picture writer, and that’s a good way to describe me,” Carle wrote.”  

Kaitlyn shared Eric Carle matching game pieces and postcards as inspiration for our writing and then asked us to write about the bark peelers in our lives. Even though I am afraid of being too close to birds in real life, the bird drawings stood out to me.

I wrote about several people who have inspired me to go deeper into specific areas of my life. As I wrote on Saturday in my notebook, the bark peelers in my life believed in me and encouraged me to dig deeper and spread my wings.

As I enter this new chapter of life as a widow searching for joy, I am going to keep peeling back the bark to find it. On Saturday, I found joy in slowing down and looking at the art. Perhaps one day, the collective joy will give me the strength and courage to spread my wings again.

SOLSC#26

DAY 2