By Ann Petersen, SBA Columnist | 11/20/25
(SBA) - Dale Petersen died on January 12, 2025. Every time I write those words, my heart breaks just a little bit more. Dale and I were together for more than 26 years and we loved each other as much on our first day as on our last day. Over the years, Dale (and I) faced some significant health issues, but we never thought that he would die at 75. We both assumed that I would die first because my health challenges seemed more serious than his did. When you marry at age 50, you have very different expectations about the time that you will have together as a couple and neither of us was afraid to die because we shared a deep faith in our Lord. I am not angry that Dale died so young, but I am just terribly sad. So sad, that some days it is hard for me to do more than simply breathe in and out. I am blessed with my many friends and my church family, but at the end of every day, Dale is simply not here.
A year ago in November, Dale and I made a trip to Mayo for a check-up after my back surgery. On the way home, Dale found that he could not raise his right hand to change the channel on the radio. We quickly arranged doctor visits and were told that he had torn his rotator cuff. When we met with the surgeon, he noted a mass in Dale’s shoulder that he wanted checked before surgery. During the month between the MRI and the scheduled surgery, Dale began to fade. He still managed to work in Aaron’s autobody shop most days, managed all of his volunteer obligations and kept the church running as the Administrative Council Chair, but he tired easily. We had a quiet Christmas. Dale never complained and on the morning of January 8th, he fell as he got out of bed. Aaron and I drove him to the Sanford Center in Sioux Falls, South Dakota where a CAT scan revealed that Dale had Multiple Myeloma. Four days later, he was dead.
Those four days gave us an opportunity to say goodbye. He suffered greatly but had the comfort of two of our children and his brother Steve who came from Florida to be with us. On the Sunday when he died, we had friends whom he held most dear who came to give him the laughter and love that we all needed. I sang continuously to him and had the blessing to sing him into heaven. His visitation and funeral were large, and we found how many people whose lives Dale had touched over the years.
The first few months after Dale’s death are a blur to me. I sold my house and rented a 680 square foot apartment in town. I am able to spend time with my friends, participate in church activities, crochet prayer shawls, attend a Bible study, write a weekly column for our local paper, continue to review books for the American Library Association and volunteer every Friday in a first-grade classroom, so my life is busy and fairly happy. I no longer have to worry about yard work and the maintenance team at my apartment complex takes care of any problems that I encounter. I have a garage and no steps in my place, so I am safe.
I have been comforted by the kindnesses of others and although I am grateful every day for all of the blessings that God has given me, I haven’t been able to write my thank you notes to the people God has put in my path. That is the reason that I am writing this column. I need to explain why I haven’t written those notes. My mother would be horrified that I have not written them, but it seems to me that writing down my gratitude is the final step to admitting that Dale is gone. I am including this column in every thank you note that I will write over the next few weeks so that people will know that I have not forgotten the love and concern that so many people have offered to me over the past ten months. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
