When my husband died suddenly in 2000, the thought of walking on this earth 14 years later, much less enjoying a productive and rewarding life, seemed impossible. Never able to have children, John and I spent our 28 years of marriage entwined in each other’s lives. Losing him felt like I had lost myself and in some ways I had. The process of coming back into life was not easy—at times it seemed down right hopeless. Self-doubt and indecision plagued me as I tried to face the challenges alone. Accepting support and encouragement from others helped push me forward. The following essay is based on an excerpt from my memoir, Twenty-Eight Snow Angels: A Widow’s Story of Love, Loss and Renewal.

In order to stay in the house, pay the mortgage and maintain my sanity, I knew I could not return to the teaching position I had when John was ill. Flashbacks of stressful staff meetings, the lack of substitutes to cover my class when John was in the hospital, and the unpaid time I took off to care for him at home overwhelmed me. During the months after the funeral, I worried about my financial situation. In May 1999, we had decided to complete the last phase of our home remodeling plan. To finance the project, we took out a short-term loan and planned to have it paid off within a few years. I was thankful to have my teaching job, but I still worried about making the mortgage payments.

A week after John’s funeral, my principal and Cindy, a teacher I worked with, drove out to my house with a picnic lunch. When my visitors packed up to leave, my principal hugged me and said, “If there is anything I can do to help, anything, just call.”

I thought for a minute and said, ”If you hear of any positions in other schools, let me know. I loved my fifth graders, they were wonderful and you have been so supportive. But I just can’t return to that school.”

She nodded. “I understand. I’ll check with other principals in the district. Take care of yourself, Diane. I’ll call if I hear of anything.” I waved as the car eased out of the driveway.

On July 14, while I was staying at my sister’s house in Lindstrom, Minnesota the phone rang. Mary handed me the receiver. My principal had a job lead for me. A principal in another school that was recently put on academic probation was interviewing for a Literacy Coach. All I had to do was call him and set up an interview. I wrote his name and number on a scrap of paper. After I hung up, I stared at the phone. My hands shook as I dialed the number and waited. When the man’s friendly voice answered, I hesitated.

Afraid of getting the job or not getting the job, I wanted to hang up. His kind words rolled around in my head, “With your experience and National Board Certification, you come highly recommended for this position. We’d like you to come in for an interview as soon as possible. How about Tuesday morning at ten o’clock?” Panic rolled over me. I agreed to the interview and thanked him. After hanging up, suddenly doubts filled my head. What was I doing? I almost called him back to cancel the interview.

My sister tried to convince me that the job was a great opportunity and offered to go with me. On July 17, 2000, the morning of the interview, my sister dug through my closet and picked out a simple black dress scattered with white flowers and a pair of sandals for me to wear. The thought of interviewing for a new job —just weeks after John’s death— filled me with anxiety. Thankful that I still had a few of the anti-anxiety pills the doctor prescribed, I gulped one down with a glass of water.

Arriving at the school, a jovial man greeted me with a smile and a handshake. I settled into a chair across from the two men dressed in short-sleeved sport shirts. The office was crowded and stuffy. A fan hummed in the corner. I calmed my shaking hands by cradling them in my lap. During the casual interview, the two men focused their questions on my experience and were impressed with my resume. Anxiety rattled in my voice as I searched for the right words to answer their questions about the state standards and my literacy training background. At the end of the interview, they complimented me on my qualifications. The principal said he would let me know their decision in a couple of days after they reviewed the other applications.

All the way home, I thought about the interview. Did I answer the questions right? What if I don’t get the job? A calm settled over me as we pulled into the driveway and walked through the back door. After Mary left, the house fell silent again. With only the refrigerator’s hum to keep me company, I slipped off the interview dress, hung it in my closet and crawled into bed with the portable phone. Exhausted from the interview, my tears blessed me with rest.

Later that afternoon, the phone startled me out of my deep sleep. The voice at the end said, “Diane?” My heart pounded in my ears as I sat up. “I know I said I would call in a day or two, but I wanted you to know right away that we would love to have you on board. Do you still want the job?”

For a few seconds the words stuck in my throat. Finally, I choked out, “Yes . . . I do want the job.”

“Well, it’s yours. Would Thursday morning be a good time for you to come in so we can go over some of the details of the position?” I jotted the date and time on a note pad on the nightstand. I thanked God and prayed for the strength to keep going. I was never sure if He was listening, but figured it couldn’t hurt.

Diane Dettmann is the coauthor of Miriam Daughter of Finnish Immigrants and the author of Twenty-Eight Snow Angels: A Widow’s Story of Love, Loss and Renewal, awarded runner-up in “The Beach Book Festival” awards. Diane’s novel, Courageous Footsteps, will be released in spring 2015. Book information is available on Diane’s website: https://outskirtspress.com/snowangels