Vincent Romano

Vincent Romano, of Wilmington, Delaware, passed away on September 16, after a long life lived under the devoted care of the State of Delaware and the many caretakers who became his everyday family. For more than 60 years, Vincent lived in a protected environment where his mental and physical disabilities were met with patience, compassion, and unwavering commitment.

Born into the Romano family, Vincent’s life took a different path—one that required constant support, structure, and specialized care. Though he could not communicate or participate in the world the way others do, he was surrounded by people who made sure he was never alone. The caretakers who watched over him day after day, year after year, provided not only safety but genuine affection. They became the hands that fed him, the voices that comforted him, and the presence that gave him stability throughout his entire adult life.

Vincent’s family remained connected to him through the decades, visiting him often and always noting the remarkable level of care he received. Each visit brought reassurance—his appearance, his comfort, and his environment reflected the dedication of those who looked after him. The Romano family carried deep gratitude for the caretakers who treated Vincent not as a responsibility, but as a human being deserving of dignity and kindness.

Though Vincent’s challenges were profound, his life had meaning. He inspired loyalty, patience, and love in those who cared for him. His presence shaped the lives of the people around him, reminding them of the quiet importance of compassion and the value of caring for those who cannot care for themselves.

Vincent is remembered by his family, who loved him across the decades, and by the caretakers who stood by him every day of his life. His story is one of endurance, protection, and the quiet bonds formed through a lifetime of care.

Vincent is preceded in death by his parents, Alfred and Angelina Romano, and his brother Alfred Romano. He survived by his siblings: Bartholomew Romano, Joanne De Golyer, Ralph Romano, Joyce Giannini.

May he rest in peace, finally free of the limitations that shaped his earthly life.

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Funeral Services

Funeral Services will be private.

Condolences

Tiffany writes,

Rest in peace Vincent

09/22/2026 08:17 am

Bart Romano writes,

Vincent When I look back on my childhood, the memories come in layers — some loud, some quiet, some heavy, some warm. But through every one of them, you are there. Your life didn’t follow the path most children take, but it shaped our family in ways that still echo today. You lived differently, but never without love. You had a world, Vincent — smaller than ours, quieter, harder to understand. You didn’t speak much. You didn’t play the way other kids did. You didn’t chase after the things we chased. But you had your own way of moving through life, and we learned to move with you. I can still see you on the kitchen floor. With Mom’s pots and pans around you like a drummer’s kit. You’d hold one pot in your hand, another with your feet, and bang them together with a rhythm only you understood. The sound filled the house — loud, clanging, unmistakably you. Sometimes I’d stop and just watch. Even as a kid, I wondered if you might’ve been a drummer in another life. You had that spark, that instinct, that joy in making sound. That was one of the ways you connected with the world, and we learned to listen. Life with you wasn’t easy, Vincent — but it was ours. And each of us had a role in it. Al carried the heaviest load. He cleaned up after you, helped you move around, keeping you safe. You trusted him in a way that didn’t need words. Ralpy and I would dress you most mornings — pulling shirts over your head, guiding your arms through sleeves, tying your shoes, that did not last, you’d pull them off, then head for the pots and pans Joanne, mom fed you, cleaned you, tended to you with a kind of love that never asked for anything back. They were the steady hands that made your world feel safe. Dad tried different things with you. And little Joyce — just a baby then — watched everything from the sidelines. Too young to help, but always part of the picture. She learned early that you were someone we all carried. There was one day — the only day — when you decided to explore the neighborhood on your own. You slipped out of the back door without anyone noticing. It wasn’t until the neighbors came walking up Osage Road with you that we realized you were gone. Mom’s face showed fear more than anger. You didn’t understand danger, didn’t know what could happen. That was the one time you got in trouble — not because you misbehaved, but because we loved you enough to be scared. That moment stayed with us. It reminded us how vulnerable you were, how much you depended on us, and how quickly the world could become unsafe for someone who didn’t understand its edges. Time moved on. Kids grow, families shift, responsibilities change. Al and I joined the service, leaving home and leaving you in the care of Mom, Dad, Ralph, Joanne, and Joyce. And then the State of Delaware. They made sure you had what you needed. It was the best option for you, but it didn’t mean you were forgotten. Mom and Dad, Joyce and Ralph would visit often. When it was time to leave, Joyce felt that you did ot want the visit to end. Ralph visited you often. Taking you for walks, playing ball, buying you small things that meant something between brothers. Your life stayed simple. You didn’t speak much, didn’t play much, didn’t join in the things other kids did. But you had a family who loved you — not out of duty, but out of genuine connection. We carried you through childhood, and even after you moved into state care, we kept carrying you in the ways we could. Vincent, when I think of you now, I don’t think of what you couldn’t do. I think of the boy on the kitchen floor with the pots and pans. I think of your one adventure down Osage Road. I think of the quiet moments — dressing you, feeding you, watching you move through the world in your own way. You didn’t live a typical childhood, but you lived one surrounded by love. And I remember you still — not just as a brother with disabilities, but as a part of Romano’s family story. A boy who mattered. Rest in peace Brother Bart

09/22/2026 09:01 am

Marie Romano Blest lit a candle and writes,

My condolences to my cousins in the loss of their brother my cousin Vincent, may you rest in peace. I know your parents welcomed you with open arms. Love to all of you! Marie Romano Blest

09/22/2026 11:10 am

Bernadette O'Brien writes,

I did not know Vincent. I want to say that his tribute was beautiful and Bart's comments truly came from his heart. The family needs to be admired for their love and support for Vincent. I am certain that Vincent in heaven will be watching and praying for his family on earth.

09/22/2026 03:38 pm

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