By Nita Tucker

Copyright theflorentine

On the masthead of this newspaper, I am listed as the founding editor. I have been given—and greedily have accepted—the credit for starting The Florentine. But I’d like to set the record straight.

When I turned 50, my midlife crisis took the title of “But I still haven’t done my junior year abroad!” I had travelled extensively and adventurously, not only through Europe, but taking the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu on our honeymoon, trekking in Nepal and studying dance in Bali. But the dream that never went away was of living in another country, including having a raison d’etre for being there. What intensified this “calling” was that my mother died when she was 54 and the pressing concern was that if I didn’t do this now I may never get the chance to fulfill the dream.

I announced to my husband and kids that I could no longer wait. (For years, my husband Tony and I had both casually looked for work opportunities that would take us to Florence, to no avail.) The story of how we finally got there can be found in my book, It Happened in Florence, not relevant to this account, except that I need to mention that when I made the decision for all of us to follow my dream, Tony responded, “But it’s not my dream!”, to which I quickly answered, “Well, we’ll miss you.” (I know I’m coming across pretty poorly, stealing credit for the paper and willing to callously abandon my husband to selfishly follow my dreams.) Not for a second did I think that Tony wasn’t moving with us, but he was being truthful when he said it wasn’t his dream.

After several weeks in Florence and studying Italian, Tony, who was used to reading a daily newspaper since he was 20 years old, decided to tackle one in Italian. It was a disaster. We soon realized that there was journalistic jargon that was not taught in our “tourist-friendly” language school. Of course, there was the Herald Tribune, which gave international news, but not what was happening in the city where we lived. My frustrated husband walked in the door one day and said, “There should be an English language newspaper here in Florence! Like the one in San Miguel de Allende [where we had spent one summer], like they have in Paris, Moscow, and who knows where else!” He had loved the newspaper in San Miguel because it was for people who lived there, not just sightseeing. We could keep up on the city’s laws, ordinances, education, events, exhibits, the political challenges, renovations, scandals and sports.

To be clear, Tony said, “There should be an English newspaper in Florence.” He never said, “We should start one.” I said that—and six months later, The Florentine published its first issue. My cutest memory of the first day of delivery was Tony loading a stack of newspapers onto his bike. He said, “My first job in my life was delivering newspapers and here I am 60 years old and doing the same job! What a success I am.”

Tony had Alzheimer’s for the past four years. It has been a journey of unfathomable pain for me. Fortunately, he was not aware of his deterioration. But he had diminished into a person his former and true self would never had allowed to exist. Living inside this tragedy has brought out the best in me. I developed a profound compassion for others, for their challenges, their loneliness, their trials. Too often, friends would say they felt bad telling me their troubles because mine were so much worse. I kept winning the worse situation award, one I was so ready to concede. But I always knew that my having a bigger hole in my heart never diminished the pain of others. I found a strength that I never knew I had. I could feel strongly and not break. My spirit to live fully, to love deeply, to have fun and continued adventure surprised even me. I was committed to giving Tony as much sweetness and love that he could have without sacrificing my own vitality and, thank God, my sense of humor.

Tony died May 4. I returned home from the hospital at midnight and sat alone in my living room. Suddenly I was flooded with wonderful memories. All the adventures, the travels, adopting the kids and giving birth to The Florentine. Tony had a reserved demeanor, but he was the most playful and funny human being I’ve ever met. I hadn’t been able to feel these precious moments at the same time I was living with the Tony in his disease. So, the first days after his passing, I was filled with joy at sharing memories with family and friends. Now there are spontaneous outbreaks of sweet tears.

His disease brought out the best in me, but I would trade it all for Tony without the disease. Unfortunately I don’t have that choice, so I’ll take the gift I was given—and so grateful that together we were able to share the gift of The Florentine for 20 years.