(Note: The following is a very moving excerpt from “Bathtubs and Warm Water: The Genesis of Faith,” by Dorothy Dettmering, also known as GrammaDottie.)

When (the children and I) arrived home, I went immediately to the bedroom with the mail. The door was almost shut. When I pushed it open, the card table that we always kept behind the door blocked my entrance. It had unfolded with the two bottom legs extended, holding the table upright on its side. On the other side of the card table lay my husband on his back, in a pool of blood, with his head propped up against the wall. A shotgun was near his feet. Time slowed to a crawl as I began to comprehend what I saw. I automatically screamed, and ran to his side. I touched him. He was already cold…and dead.

Today I am certain that was another Divine Intervention. God arranged that card table as a shield so my small children would not see that gruesome sight.

I immediately took the children to my neighbor’s while I called the undertaker. He took care of everything. He called the coroner, the police, and our families.

* * * * *
After all details were accomplished and everyone had left, I relaxed in the bathtub. It was then I realized I was relieved. I didn’t have to worry about him anymore. It was over! But, I was also experiencing guilt because I shouldn’t be feeling relief, I should be feeling his loss. What a terrible person I am, I thought.

Sometime after the funeral I had a memorable dream. I dreamed that there was a small round table in the center of the room with a quill pen suspended over it. It was moving over a piece of paper. I watched what was being written. It said, “Don’t worry about me. I am happy here. I am with Jim.”

When I awoke, I wondered if Homer was trying to reach out to me. And, if that were so, then there really was a hereafter. I thought about the men named Jim my husband had known. Two came to mind. One had traveled from California to Wisconsin with my husband when he got out of the Navy. The other was his sponsor in the group meetings.

A short time after having that dream, I ran into his sponsor’s wife, Sarah, in a store in Milwaukee. I told her Homer had passed away and asked her to tell her husband.

“Jim died,” she announced.

It was then I was certain the dream was true.

(If you would like a copy of this book, contact grammadottieaz@gmail.com)