The Last Love Note

Even though fourteen years have passed since the day I said goodbye to my loving husband, John, I still think of him everyday. We met in 1971 at the Rusty Nail, a bar in Brooklyn Center, Minnesota. We married on June 10, 1972 and began our life together. With both of us working and leaving at different times, we often left notes on the refrigerator for each other. Reading a note from John at the end of a hectic teaching day always lifted my spirits.

The refrigerator notes became a loving ritual we continued throughout our twenty-eight years of marriage. John's sudden death on June 30, 2000, devastated me. I didn't know how I would go on without him. The day before the funeral, I wrote this final refrigerator note to John. Before the service, the funeral director placed the note in John's coffin and handed a copy to the pastor. At the end of the service, as the pastor read the note, tears filled the eyes of friends and family.

Recently, while sorting through some old cards, I came across a copy of the original note and decided to share it with others who have lost a loving spouse. I still think of John everyday and know I always will. Embrace the memories of those you love and are no longer with you. Their spirit will dwell in your heart forever.

My memoir, Twenty-Eight Snow Angels A Widow's Story of Love, Loss and Renewal, shares my grief journey and the challenging process I went through to build a new life. One reader said, "You'll cry, laugh and learn to live life all over again." Available  in ebook and paperback athttps://www.amazon.com/author/dianedettmann

FOURTEEN YEARS HAVE PASSED

“You think you can avoid pain, but actually you can’t. If you do, you just get sicker, or you feel more pain. But if you can speak it, if you can write it. If you can paint it, it is very healing.” Novelist, Alice Walker 

Fourteen years have passed since my husband died suddenly. The pain has softened, but periodic twinges remind me that the loss will always be a part of me. Yesterday, I spent time sitting by the memorial garden I planted in memory of my husband, John, and the other family members who are no longer with me. Unlike the cemetery with life measured by a dash on the gravestone, the memorial garden brings me peace, a symbol of life's cycle and the light of hope. 

On June 28th, John would have been sixty-eight, I sat on the bench beside the garden. I remembered his last birthday, our dinner at a local restaurant and his beautiful blue eyes smiling at me from across the table. I never thought that two days later he'd be gone. His death devastated me. 

As I sat on the bench reflecting on our life together, fluffy clouds floated over my head and finches chirped from the branches above. The night he died, I never thought I'd even be alive fourteen years later.

I still write about the pain and loss. I share my story of grief with others, they say it brings them hope. I'm glad. Avoiding pain didn't work for me. Building a memorial garden, crying, writing and leaning into the grief as hard as it was helped move me forward. 

I still miss John. I always will. A new life has evolved out of the darkness of grief and for that I am extremely grateful. 

Write, 

Paint,

Plant a garden or

Dance through grief,

Healing will come.

Information about my memoir of grief, Twenty-Eight Snow Angels A Widow's Story of Love, Loss and Renewal, at  http://www.amazon.com/Twenty-Eight-Snow-Angels-Widows-Renewal/dp/1432777041 in ebook and paperback.