A NEW DIRECTION

Alone for the first time in my life, I struggled to figure out who I was— a question most people asked as teenagers. The sudden death of my fifty-four year old husband brought our twenty-eight year marriage to an unexpected end. Living at home during my college years to save money and marrying my husband with never living alone left me clueless on how to survive on my own. Coupled with a grief ridden heart, trying to face my life alone as a widow pushed me into a process of figuring out where I was headed in life. Sometimes I even wondered if I wanted to keep going.

When my husband and I struggled with infertility early in our marriage in the 1970s, we considered the limited options. We thought about adoption, but decided to pursue other medical possibilities that could lead to a child of our own. Eventually, after almost losing John during a minor surgery, we gave up and placed the decision in God’s hands.

Years passed by with no babies appearing, yet John and I grew even closer as a couple. We enjoyed traveling and spending our time together. Eventually, we accepted that we weren’t meant to have children and would grow old together. We seldom gave much thought of what would happen to either one of us if we were left alone. I guess we thought we’d live forever.

After John’s death, I questioned our decision not to adopt children. Hindsight is a great teacher too bad we can’t rewind the clock of life. Alone, I pushed through the loneliness and loss with varying degrees of success. I took on a new job two weeks after the funeral. My literacy coach position required me to travel around the country to training sessions with my new colleagues, then return to our school and train teachers. The new job provided many new opportunities and at the same time added stress to an already overwhelming grief process.

For six years, I took on the challenges of single life. I tackled home improvement projects, traveled alone, discovered new interests and at the age of fifty-six even tried dating. I found dating in my mid-fifties a whole different experience than when I was in my twenties. Not sure where I was headed, just I kept going. In the process, I realized grief sucks and that it takes a lot of time and energy. I also discovered the healing value of solitude and the resiliency of the human spirit.

As painful and hard as the grief journey is, the positive energy and time invested eventually reveals a new path and new you. People may tell you to “move on” or “get over it” but be brave enough to invest your energy in the challenges and struggles the grief journey presents, get support from others and take the time to find yourself again. Keep going, a bright sunrise and new direction is waiting for you. 

Diane Dettmann, author of Twenty-Eight Snow Angels: A Widow’s Story of Love, Loss and Renewal. Available in e-book and paperback, ordering information at http://www.outskirtspress.com/snowangels 

Keeping the Faith

“My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” Psalm 73:26

After my husband, John, died suddenly in 2000, I felt totally alone in my grief and struggled to make sense out of my life. Alone in the house, I screamed and cried asking God to bring John back. I wondered why a loving God ripped my fifty-four year old husband out of my life. Ravaged with anger, my faith faltered and I fell into a deep pit. Grief does that.

Raised in a Christian home, I attended Sunday school, confirmation classes and even belonged to a youth group at my church. My mother taught me the Lord’s Prayer when I was four years old. Each night standing in the dark by my bed she recited the prayer with me and placed a kiss on my cheek. I believed in God and loved Jesus. My Sunday school teacher saying that Jesus loved us and I believed her.

My husband John and I were married in my church in 1972. After saying “I do” we looked forward to a lifetime together. Never imagining it would end so soon. During our marriage we attended church weekly, praying, taking communion and singing hymns side-by-side. When we faced our infertility problems together, I prayed that God would bless us with children. As the years went by and no babies appeared, my faith began to weaken. With no obvious answers from God, we eventually fell off the faith path.

Struggling with the grief after John’s death, I wondered where was that loving God and Jesus when I needed them? For years, I looked for answers in books and in the world around me. I joined a new church, participated in a Bible study group and even volunteered for a Habitat for Humanity project in our community. Attending church alone was a tough stretch for me. I usually sat way in the back so if the message or songs triggered tears I had an escape route. As the years passed, I continued to attend church services and devoted time morning and evening for meditation and reflection.

Thirteen years have passed since I said a mournful goodbye to my loving husband. After six years alone, in 2007 I married a wonderful man. My pastor performed the wedding service, sending us off with a smiles and blessings from God. My husband and I have found new meaning in life and continue to carry memories of our spouses with us as we build our life together.

Looking back on those difficult years of grief, I realize facing a death often challenges our faith. Attending church on September 8^, 2013— Allan and my sixth anniversary— my pastor’s message triggered memories of facing John’s death. The pastor spoke about Asaph’s struggle to understand why the wicked and immoral appear to succeed in life while the humble and loving face tragedies that change their lives forever. Asaph wonders where is God in all this? The pastor reminded us that God offers us assurance that He’s always with us in difficult times; he has a plan for us. I know he did for me, just took me a lot of time to figure it out. 

At the end of the message, our pastor told the congregation that one of the members in our church wrote a book, Twenty-Eight Snow Angels, about the death of her husband and finding her faith after the loss. His comment brought tears of happiness to my eyes. After the service, I gave the pastor a hug and thanked him for the support during those dark days of grief, for officiating at our 2007 wedding ceremony and for sharing my story, Twenty-Eight Snow Angels, with others. He looked at me and said, “I loved your book.” His smile and words said it all. I'm glad my book's bringing hope and inspiration to others.

Twenty-Eight Snow Angels information at http://www.outskirtspress.com/snowangels 

Friends Come and Go

Losing my loving husband a week before my fifty-third birthday turned my world upside down. Gone were the daily hugs, the heartfelt “I love you” and candle light evenings at home together.

At the funeral friends and family hugged and wept with me, but within weeks the phone calls faded and their lives returned to normal. I on the other hand wasn’t that lucky. A few longtime friends continued to hang in there, but eventually most of them evaporated like the steam off a hot mug of coffee. Tiring of my tears and sadness, some of my long time friends disappeared.

Starting a new job just three weeks after the funeral blessed me with a few new friends who embraced my grief and never gave up on me. Even though they weren’t always sure what to say or do they stayed by my side, some how they understood. At night, after working all day surrounded by colleagues and students, I returned to my empty house in a tiny rural town. Each night a lonely silence greeted me at the door. To keep myself company, I tuned in the nightly episode of “Friends.” They weren’t my real friends, but they made me laugh and broke the solitude as I ate my microwave dinners at the empty table.

On my first training trip for my new position, I found myself on an airplane headed to Washington, D.C. with a group of people I had never met. That night, gathered around a table in a local bar, we talked, sipped drinks and laughed. The laughter felt strange yet good. As we visited, I realized the woman sitting next to me lived just a few miles from me, and we attended the same church. We traveled together, supported each other through hard times and have been friends ever since.

Several months after John died, I joined a grief group at a local church hoping to connect with some new friends. After the first few sessions, I realized I didn’t have much in common with the older widows. Many of them had spent fifty or more years with their husbands, had adult children, and numerous grandchildren. Fortunately, I continued to attend and met another widow closer to my age. We called each other regularly, went out for dinner and offered each other support. Some how we bonded and developed a wonderful friendship that has lasted for thirteen years.

Each day we're blessed with a new sunrise and the opportunity to touch other people's lives. After a loss, friends may come and go, but I truly believe that

God puts special people in our lives when we need them most. 

Read more about the process of rebuilding my life in my memoir, Twenty-Eight Snow Angels: A Widow's Story of Love, Loss and Renewal. Available online in e-book and paperback at:

Barnes and Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/twenty-eight-snow-angels-diane-dettmann/1114818659?ean=9781432777043

Amazon  https://www.amazon.com/author/dianedettmann

Reflections on Loss Years Later

When my husband, John, died suddenly in 2000, my life changed forever. I didn’t think I’d even survive the devastating loss. My grief and pain, a compilation of various losses—the death of my parents, my brother and severed friendships caused by disagreements over the process of grief—pulled me into a dark place. It took time, energy and support to find my way out.

Thirteen years have passed. John continues to appear in my dreams. Paging through photo albums triggers memories of all the fun we had, our travels and our day-to-day life filled with home remodeling projects, yard work, holiday celebrations and time together. Even yet I’ll awake with an image of John lingering in my mind. He smiles and holds me, then leaves and doesn’t come back. Tears build up in my eyes. The image of John’s loving smile and his arms wrapped around me pushes tear droplets down my cheeks, leaving gentle paths along my cheeks.

How do I feel today emotionally? I feel peaceful and soft. Relaxed like a doughboy, happy with my life. I know I’m happy by the lift in my voice and the tranquil feeling in my breath. Writing about death and loss this morning is not sad or broken. My spirit accepts the pain that has softened over time. I’m no longer fighting and pushing the grief deep inside. John will always be a part of my life.

I ask myself, “What three things give me joy?” Without hesitation I jot in my notebook,  “writing, walking and time by the sea.” My memories endless like the waves stroking the beach. Carry your loved one forward with you in your heart—they’ll always be a part of you.

Read more about my grief journey in my memoir, Twenty-Eight Snow Angels. "The Beach Book Festival" Runner-Up!

 Available in e-book and paperback on Amazon at
http://www.amazon.com/Twenty-Eight-Snow-Angels-Widows-Renewal/dp/1432777041
Also on Barnes and Noble at http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/twenty-eight-snow-angels-diane-dettmann/1114818659?ean=9781432777043

Things Work Out Eventually

After my husband passed away in 2000, I struggled to redefine my identity. Starting over at the age of 53 after 28 years of marriage was a stretch for me. In the first place, I didn't want to start over and in the second place I had no clue where to start. So I searched way back into my childhood to discover things I enjoyed. Flipping through our old family photo album, I discovered I had quite the creative spirit! I took dancing lessons, loved figure skating, and totally enjoyed doing art projects with my mother. Over the next several months, I collected art supplies, browsed through craft shops and turned our unfinished exercise room into an art studio.

Standing in the finished space, I thought, "Hmm, something's missing." I realized I needed a work space for my projects, like a small table. In my search, I checked used furniture stores, catalogues and garage sales. No luck. Thinking there had to be a perfect table somewhere, I persevered. One August day, while driving through a local town, a garage sale sign grabbed me and forced the Celica into a hard right turn.

Strolling up to the garage, I spied an adorable old drop-leaf table. Realizing this was the perfect addition to my art studio, I decided to buy it. Unfortunately, I couldn't get it in my car. I really wanted that table, so I paid her the $20.00 for it and told her I'd pick it up later.

Living alone in a rural area, I had been considering buying an old used truck to haul brush and miscellaneous items around. As luck would have it, the local Chevy dealership was having a sale. I parked the Celica in front of the showroom and sitting in the parking lot was a small red pickup, just my size! The jovial salesman took me for a quick test drive, the next thing I knew I was writing out a check!

On Monday, sitting behind the wheel of my truck, I drove to the elderly couples house to pick up my table. The woman's husband greeted me with a friendly, small-town "hello." I told him I came to pick up the table, but needed help loading it in the truck. He smiled, "No problem. I'll unscrew the legs and load her up."

Unscrew the legs? The legs come off? How did I not know that? I realized the the "perfect table" would have fit into the back of the Celica, no problem! As I drove home with the table pieces in the truck bed, I felt a surge of anger at myself for the stupid mistake, but at the same time I felt a sense of freedom and independence.

Buying the truck, was probably not the best decision I ever made, but during the years I spent alone, the truck and I bonded as we hauled furniture, gardening supplies and other assorted loads together. Sometimes, it's tough to make decisions alone. Don't beat yourself up,

eventually most things work out! I still have that little table. :)

Read more about the journey of rebuilding my life in my memoir, Twenty-Eight Snow Angels: A Widow's Story of Love, Loss and Renewal at http://www.outskirtspress.com/snowangels

Begin Again

The funeral's over,

Sympathy cards untouched 

Rest in the wicker basket.

Lives return to normal,

Except mine.

Alone I arise each morn.

Before the sunsets,

Crawling into

Our empty bed,

Darkness closes the day.

In the silence 

Of my dreams,

His eyes twinkle,

His arms embrace me,

His smile fills my heart.

I reach out for him.

Dawn's light fills 

The empty room.

Alone, I begin again

by Diane Dettmann

Read more about my widow journey in my memoir, Twenty-Eight Snow Angels: A Widow's Story of Love, Loss and Renewal. Available in paperback and e-book on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. Ordering information at http://outskirtspress.com/snowangels

Mark August 15 on your calendars so you can catch my radio interview with Dr. Gloria Horsley, founder of the Open to Hope grief foundation in Palo Alto, California. For more information about my book, Twenty-Eight Snow Angels, a "2013 Beach Book Festival Runner-Up" go to PRWeb Press Release

Twenty-Eight Snow Angels Honored

I'm pleased to announce my memoir, Twenty-Eight Snow Angels: A Widow's Story of Love, Loss and Renewal was named "2013 Beach Book Festival Awards Runner-Up" in the autobiography category! The book continues to bring hope and inspiration to those facing the loss of a loved one. I recently shared my grief story at an event sponsored by the Kok Funeral Homes in Cottage Grove, Minnesota. The Aftercare director in her thank you note wrote: Many spoke of the book being helpful to them. You offered a lot of transparency with care and humor that the audience could relate to and they took home some "tools & hope".  For information on the book visit my website at http://outskirtspress.com/snowangels
Available in e-book and paperback on Amazon at http://www.amazon.com/Twenty-Eight-Snow-Angels-Widows-Renewal/dp/1432777041 and at Barnes and Noble http://bn.com/w/twenty-eight-snow-angels/1114818659?ean=2940016268804

Father's Day Tribute

An Everyday Guy
A Tribute to the Memory of My Father

I thought writing an essay about my father for “Father’s Day “would be an easy task. However, sitting at my laptop, the words didn’t roll onto the blank page like I thought they would. Staring at the faded black and white photos from the 1950s in the family photo album, I tried to remember the joyful moments my father and I shared.

My father, Harold Elleson, was the oldest and only son in his family. He became a survivor at the age of 19 when his father, a locomotive fireman for the Omaha railroad was killed—scalded to death—in a train accident on August 6, 1937. The local paper, “The Spooner Advocate” called the wreck “One of the Worst in the History of This Division of Omaha Road.” With the tragic loss of his 43 year-old father my dad became the primary provider for his mother and two younger sisters. The railroad company compensated the family by guaranteeing my father a permanent job with the railroad. During World War II my father wanted to enlist, but was deferred because he was the main financial support for his family. After completing his apprenticeship to become a machinist, he began repairing locomotives on the Chicago Northwestern railroad in a dingy roundhouse in Minneapolis— not exactly a “dream job.”

In 1944, a justice of the peace united my parents in holy matrimony, and in1945 my brother Tom was born. A couple years later, I arrived unexpectedly when my mother—startled by a bird—fell and broke her leg. Tucked in an incubator at the hospital for several weeks, I depended on my father’s daily “milk delivery.” I guess those daily visits bonded us in a special way. I loved spending time with my dad. When he worked nights at the roundhouse, I forced myself to stay awake until he arrived home and kissed me good night. I loved it when we snuggled in his favorite rocking chair together and he read Golden Books to me, “Circus Time” about a father and his daughter spending the day at the circus was my absolute favorite. Even though he seldom said he “loved” me, I knew he did. Sometimes when he arrived home he’d give me a gentle whisker rub and let me eat the cookies left over in his lunch box. When he didn’t have to work a double shift, he even sat through my dance recitals. At my first recital when I was four, he smiled when he saw me dressed in my “onion” costume dancing to the song, “I’m A Lonely Little Petunia.” Obviously, I was part of the tiny ballerinas that made up the onion patch.

Dad wasn’t much of a travelin’ man. Our summer vacations consisted of trips to my grandparents’ farm during haying season or to my aunt’s rustic cabin in Hackensack, Minnesota. I loved sitting in the boat with my dad, the dragonflies buzzing around my head as I stared at the red and white bobber on the lake’s surface. My dad was so patient with me, even when I managed to get the fishing lure tangled in my shorts he gently untangled the hooks from the fabric.

 In 1955, when my younger brother was nine months old, we took our one and only family cross county trip to Alhambra, California to visit my dad’s mother. Spending endless hours in a hot car with no air conditioner, my mom and dad flipped “Lucky Strike” cigarette ashes out the vent windows as we watched the roadside “Burma Shave” signs fly by and listened to whatever station my dad could find on the radio. After a stressful week in California traffic and fed up with visiting all the distant relatives, Dad’s patience maxed out and he packed us back in the car. Driving all night through the desert and spending a couple of nights in cheap motels we arrived back in Minnesota. Sixty years have passed, but the “Yellow Rose of Texas” lyrics of the 1955 hit song that filled the car still linger in my mind.

Yes, my dad was quite the guy. He was dedicated to his family, a hard worker, a wonderful provider and a loving man. When my husband, John, and I married in 1972, my father with a very serious look on his face walked me down the aisle. At the reception, John said, “I’ll take good care of her.” My dad’s response, “You better.” What more could any daughter ask for?

Father’s Day is a tough day for me. I loved my father deeply. Every year when “JUNE” appears on the calendar, it’s a reminder of losing him at the age of 68, just days before Father’s Day in 1987. My mother died a year before my dad, a few days before Mother’s Day. Losing them a year apart was a huge loss. Wishing everyone a “Father’s Day” filled with family, love and wonderful memories. Carry those memories forward, they bring comfort.

For more information about my writing and books visit my website http://outskirtspress.com/snowangels or Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/author/dianedettmann

Reflections on My Widow Journey

When John and I said, "I do" on June 10, 1972, the possibilities in our life together were unimaginable and endless. As the recessional music carried us down the aisle in front of family and friends, our heads held visions of never-ending love. We were committed to our vows and to each other. "Until death do us part" is what we said  and we meant it. (excerpt from Diane's memoir, Twenty-Eight Snow Angels: A Widow's Story of Love, Loss and Renewal)

Happily married for 28 years, I never thought I'd walk the widow path. In this video, I share my story hoping it will help others. Continuing to donate a portion of my book sales to the "American Widow Project," an organization that supports military widows, widowers and their families. Book info at http://www.outskirtpress.com/snowangels

Asking For Help

A year after John's sudden death, I found myself wandering around the house and discovering all sorts of projects waiting to be finished. The deck needed to be replaced, I had a leakage problem in the basement and the half finished exercise room stared me in the face each morning when I went downstairs to jump on my mini-tramp and pedal the stationary bike.

The room with cement block walls had been the former owners workshop. John and I had cleared out some of the clutter with plans of fixing it up, but it was a low priority, at the bottom of our remodeling list. Living in the house alone, working full-time as a staff developer in an elementary school and traveling with my colleagues on training trips, I had very little free time to devote to home improvement projects. One day as I was driving to work, the words "Need a handyman? Call Ken" jumped off a sign on the side of the road. I jotted down the number and called it that night.

A kind voice answered. I told Ken, I had a few projects I needed done and wondered if he could take a look at them and give me an estimate. A few days later, his van pulled into my driveway. He greeted me with a smile. I showed him the grout in the bathroom that needed replacing and the unfinished exercise room. He jotted notes and said he'd call me in a couple of days. When he called and told me the cost of the projects, I was pleasantly surprised with the reasonable estimate. Pleased with his work and kindness, I hired Ken a few months later to replace the deck. The staff from my school really enjoyed our get together on my new deck. Our talented music teacher who is also a recording artist entertained us with some of her wonderful songs! Years later, the deck is still my favorite place to share time with friends and family.

Knowing Ken was just a phone call away gave me a sense of comfort knowing that if my washer went on the fritz or I had a plumbing problem, I could depend on him to help me out. Sometimes I think that sign at the side of the road was God reaching out to me offering support and showing me the way.

As you face life alone, tackle tasks you can comfortably, but don't hesitate to ask for help on projects and challenges you can't handle by yourself. You may find not only the support you need, but a friendship that lasts for years to come!

Decisions, Decisions

After the sudden death of my 54 year old husband, the years that followed were filled with challenges and decisions. Making them alone had it's positive side, I could pat myself on the back if all worked out, but if it didn't, I had only myself to blame.

The first decisions I faced were financial. Stay in the house or sell? During our twenty-eight years of marriage, John and I had lived in a variety of houses. We started our life together in a one bedroom apartment. Over the next several years we lived in a 1940s bungalow we remodeled: a house we built and later sold due to a job loss, and a 980 square foot town house we rented while John was between jobs. Oh, I forgot to mention the nine months we lived with his mother with our furniture and personal belongings stored in her attic and basement. I guess, my husband's old bedroom, wouldn't be considered a house.

In 1992, while I was still in graduate school, we purchased a house in rural Afton, Minnesota. The house needed remodeling but the awesome setting captured our hearts. Over a period of seven years we updated the house in phases. In the fall of 1999, we finally completed the final stage of the project with plans of paying off the mortgage and spending our retirement years together enjoying the view.

John's sudden death on June 30, 2000 devastated me and threw me into a tailspin of decisions. I never expected to be left alone at the age of 53. To get out from under the mortgage, my first impulse was to sell the house. I wasn't sure I could meet the payments on my teaching salary. Luckily, we had a wonderful attorney, Ole, a friend of my husband's. He encouraged me to stay in the house for at least a year. His advice "Don't make any major decisions unless you have to. Call me anytime" provided assurance and hope as I worked my way through that first year alone.

More decisions presented themselves in the years that followed, but as I look out the window at the beautiful, snow covered St. Croix Valley, I thank God and Ole for helping me make the decision to "hang on" to the house. Everyone's situation is different, but surrounding yourself with people you trust can help make those tough decisions easier as you struggle to "hang in there" after the loss of a spouse.

Author of Twenty-Eight Snow Angels: A Widow's Story of Love, Loss and Renewal http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B003FHMAUS

With Gratitude and Thanks

As a writer, I'm totally in awe with the reader response to my memoir, Twenty-Eight Snow Angels: A Widow's Story of Love. Loss and Renewal. It's receiving awesome support and endorsements from grief professionals, readers and organizations supporting those facing loss. Reliving the devastating loss of my husband as I reread my journal entries, studied photos of our life together and cried through endless drafts was hard. I almost gave up. Now that my story's helping others, I'm glad I kept going.
Marty Tousley, Nationally Certified Bereavement Counselor with Hospice of the Valley in Phoenix, Arizona wrote:

"I am grateful that this author had the courage to share her very personal story so honestly and openly with others who will benefit from reading this book. Diane's chapter describing her efforts to let go of her deceased husband's piano is a classic, and nothing less than a treasure unto itself. Suffice it to say that her book is one that, as a grief counselor, I am pleased to list as one I've read myself and personally recommend, to clients and colleagues as well."

If you're struggling with a loss of a loved one, you might find comfort and hope in my story. Excerpt and information at:http://outskirtspress.com/snowangels

Sending my heartfelt thanks for everyone's support.