During our twenty-eight years of marriage, whether we drove to a northern Minnesota resort for a weekend, canoed on a Boundary Water lake or flew to a faraway city, my husband John and I, enjoyed sharing time together. In 1999, when we flew to Carmel, California, where we spent our honeymoon in 1972, I never imagined less than a year later, John would be gone. While enjoying one of our favorite beaches along the central coast, I had a feeling something wasn’t quite right, but couldn’t or didn’t want to see it.

As I caught my breath after a jog along the Pacific beach, I plopped myself down in the sand. John sat in the sun resting against a Big Sur rock. I could see my reflection in his sunglasses. We both loved the Pacific almost as much as we loved each other. He studied my face with a seriousness I had never seen before.

“Sweetheart,” he said, “I feel like I’m holding you back.” The waves crashed behind me. The mist and sand surrounded us.

“No, John, You’ve never held me back. You encouraged me to get my master’s degree and after a hectic day with my third graders, you’re always there for me. You support all my crazy writing efforts. Remember when all those boxes of books arrived at our house?”

He smiled, “Oh yeah, we were naked on the living room floor in the middle of the afternoon when the UPS driver showed up. We scrambled to find our clothes so we could answer the door.” I chuckled as I ran my hand along his thigh.

“You were there every step of the way helping me promote my first book. You even sat behind the card table at Iron World in Hibbing, Minnesota as I sold a copy here and there. You went to signings at those local malls with me. I love being married to you, John. We’re a team.”

A smile crossed his lips as he took my hand and squeezed it. I could feel the twinkle in his eyes from behind his sunglasses. Slowly he pulled me toward him and kissed me gently on the lips. As the sea gulls squealed above us, the emerald waves thundered and crashed along the sand. I snuggled my head into his warm windbreaker. He wrapped his arms around me. After so many years of marriage we had everything we needed, the time to enjoy life and each other. Visions of the two of us spending our retirement together paging through photo albums as we rocked in our wicker chairs beside the Pacific filled my head.

After our trip as the plane approached the runway at the Minneapolis-Saint Paul Airport, my thoughts turned to our home in Afton. The rural town slept quietly at the edge of the Saint Croix River. Its eclectic combination of weathered wood-sided buildings, gas streetlights, and quaint shops drew visitors all year round. People drove from miles away just to savor a cone from Selma’s, Afton’s historic ice cream shop. The one major eating establishment, The Catfish Saloon, was frequented by locals, tourists and summer boaters who filled the marina behind the restaurant just beyond the levy.

When we arrived home, our Carmel relaxation disappeared and was immediately replaced with remodeling chaos. Our brick rambler perched on a bluff provided us with endless panoramic views of the Saint Croix River Valley. We loved the views, but the floral wallpaper, dark paneling and the 1960s beads in the bathroom had to go. We had already remodeled the kitchen and lower level. Gutting the back end of the house was the last leg of the remodel project.

Excited to get the project done, we muscled our bedroom furniture into the living room. The arrangement was tight, but we told each other it would be like sleeping in a cozy Carmel cottage. Each day sheet rock dust, lumber scraps, insulation and other assorted pieces of the house filled the dumpster in the front yard. An endless stream of subcontractors tromped through the house with their tool belts clicking at their waists and their power tools screaming into the weekends. The project dragged on for months filling the house with a daily frosting of sheet rock dust and paint fumes.

The Minnesota summer heat melted into glorious autumn days. On the weekends, to escape the construction, we raked leaves, cleaned gutters and swung our clubs at the local golf course. In early November, after months of subcontractors clumping through the house, we finally moved the major furniture and our clothes back into our freshly painted bedroom. We hung our artwork back on the walls and made plans for Christmas. Life was back to normal, or so we thought.

Six months later, John was gone forever. In the years that followed the devastating loss, I struggled to redefine myself and find my way back. With support and the grace of God, I made it. Thirteen years have passed since I made the frantic 911, 3:00 AM phone call. I still miss him. Yet I continue to carry my love for John and the memories of our life together forward with me and always will.

 

 

Diane Dettmann

Diane's the author of two memoirs, Twenty-Eight Snow Angels: A Widow's Story of Love, Loss and Renewal, and Miriam Daughter of Finnish Immigrants. Twenty-Eight Snow Angels was selected as a runner-up in the national "2013 Beach Book Festival" awards. She has presented her work at libraries, historical centers, Barnes & Noble, local bookstores, the “Minnesota Reading Association,” and at international immigration conferences in Turku, Finland and Thunder Bay, Canada. She has facilitated writing workshops at the Bloomington Writer's Festival and Book Fair in Bloomington, Minnesota and at local writer's groups. As a literacy staff developer in the St. Paul Public Schools, she attended national literacy training and provided staff development for teachers in the area of writing and reading instruction. She has attended national writer's conferences where she has met and interacted with authors, publicists, agents and writing instructors. Her books have been reviewed in local newspapers and also in national and international publications. Diane is a contributing author for the “Women’s Voices for Change” website. Her writing has also been featured online on “Brandlady,” “The Finnish North American Literature Association,” and the “Grief Project”. She has been interviewed by KAXE radio in northern Minnesota, Dr. Gloria with Open to Hope Radio in Palo Alto, California and the national magazine for retired educators, neatoday This Active Life. Reviews of her writing have been published in the Finnish American Reporter, The Woodbury Bulletin and the St Paul Pioneer Press. A portion of her book sales is donated to the “American Widow Project,” a non-profit that supports military widows, widowers and their families. Diane is currently working on a post WWII novel.

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