One Week Later: Love, Loss, and Legacy

I thought this sweet mural we came across in Sioux Falls was very fitting, for now and always.

It has been one week, but in many ways it feels like a month since Mom’s funeral. It has been a week of reflecting, and also a week of ignoring. I still have piles of her things in my house that I need to sort through—piles of her room contents, piles of papers, piles of photos I printed that now need a place in our home. And I am just tired. Tired of being the decision-maker. I guess that is what grief feels like to me: exhaustion, and the desire to either ignore the reality of my tasks or focus so hard on the other parts of my life that hurt less, like owning a business and being a professor.

I poured myself into my studio this week and tried to catch up on the work waiting for me. But that’s the thing about work—it will always be there, and it really is a blessing, but it just keeps coming. Today I have chosen to stop everything else to put into words my reflections from last week, so thanks for being here to follow along. I am absolutely amazed at the sheer number of you who have stopped your lives for a bit to read about this journey. Your sweet comments, whether online or in person, blow my mind. I am deeply grateful, and so thankful for you!

I wanted to hold a prayer service at Water’s Edge, where Mom had lived, so the women who loved her there could find comfort and closure in God’s Word. Our family gathered on the morning of Thursday, Sept. 4. As 9:30 approached, people just kept coming. I had no idea what to expect—thinking it might only be a handful of us—but instead, the room was filled with Mankato friends and caring staff, gathered together in prayer and support. It was a beautiful reminder of God’s love and the community He provides in times of grief.

My amazing father-in-law, Roger, led both the prayer service and the funeral. He had been Mom’s pastor for the past few years, visiting her with a devotion every Thursday. That’s also why I thought the Thursday prayer service was so fitting. It was a beautiful service, and I know those sweet friends of Mom were thankful for it.

The hours that followed are filled with precious memories. I’ve always appreciated how death brings friends and family together, but now I understand more deeply that this is God’s way of giving us comfort and strength to make it through. Even the car ride to South Dakota with Eric and all of our kids together was wonderful. We don’t get those opportunities all together very often anymore.

We left after school on Friday and needed to find supper along the way. Since Claire and I are gluten-free, it complicates where we can eat, but when I saw there was a MacKenzie River in Sioux Falls, that became our destination. I had waitressed at the original in Bozeman, MT, and it seemed like a fitting stop. They unfortunately didn’t have gluten-free crust for Claire and me, so it quickly became a little disappointing, but everyone else enjoyed their amazing pizza. When our server brought us dessert to make up for it, both Claire and I cried—yes, a little extra emotional these days.

The pizza stop delayed our arrival in Winner, but when we walked into our hotel, two of my dearest friends were patiently waiting. Erin had flown to Sioux Falls from Ohio, where Paulette picked her up, and they made a grand adventure across half of South Dakota to be there for me—including a stop at my family farm for some sunset photos. (Truth be told, it looks less depressing in silhouette form.) Laughter is God’s way of healing the heart, and when we get together, there’s always plenty of it.

MacKenzie River Pizza Company will always have a special place in the hearts of these people, even if they keep expanding and end up everywhere.

These amazing faces were at our hotel to greet me at nearly 11 p.m. I truly have THE best friends!

Sunset over the former Fetzer farm. Photo taken by my sweet friends who stopped there on their adventure. Note my parents names on the Harvestore on the left–always and forever!

Sunrise over Winner South Dakota.

This was my my vantage point–as high as I could go in Winner.

I really should have taken a video inside just for myself, but I was so hungry I didn't think about it! I am very thankful that even though this is no longer the Sooper Dooper, it really hasn't changed much.

This Super 8 sign has absolutely nothing to do with Winner in its design, but at least it has SD imagery on it.

I’m typically an early riser, and when I heard the work crews leaving the Super 8 that morning, I decided I may as well get moving too. After getting ready, I went out for coffee and a sunrise. I swung through McDonald’s for caffeine and drove to the highest point in Winner, Leahy Bowl. Thankfully, no one cared that I parked in the best vantage spot, so I peacefully watched a not-so-dramatic sunrise. Then I went to the Sooper Dooper. Okay, it isn’t called that anymore, but I went to the grocery store formerly known as that to find some breakfast Claire and I could eat. Not many gluten-free options, but I was happy to see the store looks mostly the same as it did 30 years ago.

At 8 a.m., I met with Justin from Mason Funeral Home. I hadn’t worked with him much, since I could do many of the necessary tasks myself from Minnesota, but I want to put in writing that he is one of the kindest men I’ve ever met—and certainly in the right career. All funeral directors should be so helpful and compassionate.

Then it was showtime. I got back to the hotel, and we packed up our room—which, I might add, was one of the largest we’ve ever stayed in. It had beds for all of us and still enough space for a small dance party (though that never crossed my mind until now).

We stopped at Mighty Mojo Coffee before heading to Colome. Delicious. Eric even gave us a quick tour of Colome’s main drag before we went to Zion. At first I nearly resisted, thinking, we don’t have time, but then I realized it added all of two minutes to the trip. That little Main Street holds so many memories—and thankfully our kids have some of their own from Skatetowne, homecoming parades, and more.

Unfortunately it isn't the best photo of it, but Dennis built this beautiful box for Mom's ashes. He had someone in Mitchell laser engrave it.

Dennis's classmate Mardi Pederson created this special treasure for the service and gifted it from their class.

Our organist, and my sweet cousin Roxie (Peterson) Summerville.

The reason I’m laughing so hard is that I wanted a photo with our precious family members and guest book attendants, Jeanette and Nancy Miller—and then Mom also joined in on the fun.

Cousins who grew up together. Our grandma Margaret, who lived on our farm, played a huge role in raising us and this was the first time in many decades that Dennis and I had been in the same location as Clint.

The next generation of Fetzer grandchildren. Absolutely the greatest legacy of Diane Fetzer.

Dennis arrived not long after we got to church, and together we placed Mom in the beautiful box he built for her. It turned out so lovely. The whole day was beautiful. Friends and family poured in. The church was nearly full. I haven’t had the gumption to look at the numbers yet, but the attendance far exceeded what I expected. Mom hadn’t lived there for 17 years or visited in 10, and her health had kept her from staying in touch with many. Yet, there they were. It was a moving reminder of small-town culture and the power of family—that no matter how many years pass, honoring a loved one is still important.

So many traveled so far to be there: my cousin Clint, whom I hadn’t seen in more than 20 years; my distant cousin Melissa, whom I hadn’t seen since I was 12; a dear college friend Betsy from Wyoming; and Krista, who shares my birthday and grew up as my “twin” since our moms were hospital roommates when we were born. Even many of our teachers from K–12 came. As I stood in the narthex, I couldn’t get over the sight of everyone filing in, and I was so thankful for the hugs I received from each of them.

My dearest South Dakota relatives helped with the service. My godmother, Jeannette, and my cousin Nancy handled the guest book. Cousin Tammy, who grew up just down the road, was the flower attendant. She also hinted to my kids that Mom may have endured extra stress because of antics Tammy and I pulled during our childhood years.

Cousin Roxie played the organ. She told me how honored she was to play for Mom’s funeral, since she first began serving as organist when Dad grew too sick to play years ago. That made it all the more special. Afterward, she confided that the hymns I selected were emotional for her too, and difficult to play through teary eyes. That’s partly why I chose them—they meant so much to Mom, and it had taken me 20 years to sing a couple of them without tears after Dad’s funeral. Why not keep the streak going?

This wouldn’t be a true account without mentioning the laughs during the service. God knew we needed them. My dear father-in-law accidentally said Denice instead of Diane—more than once! He’s always been bad with names, and at 85, retired from ministry for nearly 20 years, I’m just so thankful he was willing to do the service at all. The first time he slipped, Eric leaned over and whispered, “You asked him to preach.” That sent me into quiet laughter, which spread as my friends noticed my shoulders shaking. By the third slip, Eric just called out, “Diane!” and it was all good from there. Pretty sure he was not really trying to finish me off. Later, there was another burst of laughter throughout the congregation when he mentioned in his sermon that Mom had been a worrier. We all knew it was true, and the way he said it had perfect delivery. Again, God knew we needed those laughs, and Roger really did an amazing job. So many times, I thought, I wish I could take a photo of this moment, because I wanted to remember him in the pulpit, preaching for our Mom’s funeral. His sermon was wonderful, and I didn’t realize until then how much I had missed hearing him preach. May God’s Word continue to work in the hearts of those who were there that day!

The remaining family of my grandparents Howard and Darlene Nielsen.

Cousins reunited. Melissa & I met at her grandma’s funeral when we were 12, we also became penpals. Life kept us apart all these years. After Mom’s passing, I’ve been listening to the records she treasured some created by Melissa’s uncle, Lynn Iverson.

Mrs. Atteberry, my 3rd grade teacher. I also used to babysit for her family a lot.

These wonderful people are Mrs. Sealy, my 1st grade teacher, and her husband Glenn, who grew up on the farm next to ours. She had made me write sentences for daydreaming in class—now I see it built character and left me with stories to tell. :)

Oh the stories these women could tell. Such dear friends for all these years!

They win the award for farthest traveled–Wyoming, Minnesota and Ohio–and for that I am so grateful!

Zion Lutheran Church, Colome South Dakota

I barely ate during the luncheon—too many people to visit with, and not much I could eat anyway. But that didn’t matter. It was wonderful to see so many gathered in support of Dennis and I and our families.

As I had planned the burial, I decided it would mean more to have just close family. At first, I even wanted Dennis and me to dig the hole ourselves. It may sound odd, but that’s the Fetzer way—we’re do-it-yourselfers. Dennis and I felt it would help with our closure. But Colome, like everywhere, has ordinances, so that unfortunately wasn’t possible. Still, on that beautifully sunny, warm afternoon–that just so happened to be Mom's ideal temperature–Dennis and I cried as we held her, while our family sang the hymns Eric helped me choose. Even through tears, their singing was beautiful—so pure it felt like a preview of the heavenly choir, the same angelic voices Mom is hearing now. When Roger gave the cue, Dennis placed our mother’s ashes in the ground. After we said our goodbyes to the rest of the family, Dennis and I covered her. It was precious, and nearly as I had imagined.

And that was the end. Or not. We packed up, said goodbye to friends and family in Colome, and drove the scenic route through Platte to Sioux Falls. We ate at a different place near the Sioux Falls and spent time walking around as a family—something we’ve never really done there. Then we returned to reality. The girls left right after we got home to go back to college, and that was that.

The scheduled events to remember Mom may be over, and the piles of tasks will eventually get done. But I wonder how long it will take for the reflex to call her, or to stop by and check on her, to fade. Probably not as long as the ache of her absence. Based on experience, I know that in some ways it can take decades. I guess that’s simply what it means to be a daughter who deeply loved her Mama. Maybe that’s why I caught myself wishing I could take photos at Mom’s prayer service and funeral—because photographs help me remember the moments my heart never wants to forget. And why I’ve written so many of the memories here. It all helps me remember that this is the gift of legacy photography: preserving the love and faith that live on, even after that last earthly goodbye.

Perhaps that is the deeper gift of legacy—that in the hymns we sing, the photographs we hold, and the stories we tell, we get a tiny glimpse of Heaven itself and cling to God’s promise that love endures and Mom's story is not yet finished.

I love this photo Olivia captured of Dennis and I walking to the gravesite.

My aunt Pat took this photo from her car, and I am thankful to have it!

Siblings. Life doesn't have to be completely sad in times like these. Mom is exactly where she should be!

Goodbye Mom's earthly body...

We had to stop at the scenic overlook near Platte. It is truly stunning where I grew up. You've gotta believe me!

Last stop of the trip, the Sioux Falls.

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One Week Later: Love, Loss, and Legacy

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