Your loved one has died. The shock wears off and there are arrangements to be made, people to call. And in between, you  ask yourself if it’s real.

Grief comes and makes himself comfortable in your life. And you quietly wonder if he’ll ever leave.

But what if there are no plans to be made, and you never really get to say goodbye. Sometimes there is no closure. That complicates grief. And consequently, feels as if something is still unfinished. How do you move on when their grave lies empty? Is it even possible?

By heart

I’ve told this story so often it‘s etched into my mind. September 12, 1982. My sister, Peggy Dianovsky was missing from her Schaumburg home. Her husband said she walked out. We knew otherwise.

We had three very good reasons we never believed that story. Her three little boys. You don’t file for divorce and then take off. Not if you were my sister. She was a devoted mother. Her kids were everything to her.

Don’t get me wrong, they were married ten years and their marriage was a strong one, for a while.

I was one of the last people in my family to speak to her.

She reached out

I got a letter from her stating she was getting a divorce. She said I would be shocked and she was right.

I picked up the phone to somehow span the 2000 miles between us. I didn’t mind that my husband was in the army, but being away from family was hard. Getting her letter, it felt impossible.

She answered the phone.

“I can’t talk now, he’s harassing me again.”

I could hear him taunting her. I hung up but didn’t put the phone down. Maybe we’d still be connected if I held onto it.

Grabbing my 3 year old son, we ran down to the neighbor’s house.

I unloaded my concerns and Cindy listened. But shortly afterwards I was on my way back home. I was jittery, and felt helpless.

Later, the phone rang again.

Her call

“Calling the police was easy, I wish I would have done it sooner,” she told me.

She talked for about ten minutes and then hung up so she wouldn’t run up her bill. That was my sister.

I called her back and said, “Now it’s my dime, talk.”

And she did. She recounted one story after another and none of them were good.

“Anne, he waits till the kid’s are asleep and then he starts in. One time he held a knife to my throat.”

I froze. Tears ran down my face. How do you respond to something like that? I sure didn’t know how.

“I called Gus and he came right over,” she said. And I was glad to hear it.

“He had a wooden axe handle with him, probably not sure what he would find.”

“Bob and I had an agreement, “ she continued. “Whoever’s turn it was with the kids would be in the house and the other one would be at a friend’s house. He was in the house and he called me at Shelley’s . He said, “You’re not thinking of coming home now, are you?”

“It wasn’t what he said, but how he said it,” she explained. “I had no choice, I had to go home, the kids were there. And when I noticed a pie on the counter in a pie plate that was not ours, well I lost it.”

“And Bob was in our bed with another woman. Our bed! Anne, I was so upset, I was yelling and I picked up that pie to throw it at him, when he said, “Don’t wreck that, she made it for me.”

Listening to my sister I wondered why she had kept all this to herself. We wrapped up our conversation like we usually did,

“I love you,” I said.

“Love you too,” she replied. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

And we hung up.

Another call

A couple days later another call. But this time it wasn’t Peggy.

Rita, my sister-in-law said, “Did you hear? Peggy’s gone. No one knows where. Bob said she just walked out.”

A week or so later a news report was televised. Dick Johnson was at my sister’s house talking to Bob. Her boys were there, but not Peggy.

My heart hurt.

I wish I could say that our story ended well. That one day she got her divorce, and moved on with her life. But that never happened.

Her missing person’s case was changed to a possible homicide after we talked with a private investigator.

For ten grueling days, we sat in court listening to testimonies.

I was escorted to a back room to wait a few minutes for my turn. I decided to pray. And moments later I started quietly singing. Sure, my body may have been sitting at 26th and California in Chicago, but in my mind, I was sitting on God’s lap, singing to him.

And when it was time for me to testify, I walked into that courtroom totally peaceful. I answered their questions, pointed to my brother-in-law when asked, and identified the pictures of my nephews and explained how I got the pictures. The pictures I would hold and look at for hours. The same pictures I handed over to the police,  weeks before, watching as they  drove off.

Take care of my pictures. It’s all I have left of Peggy.

It’s time

And now the time was here. Time for the verdict.

It wasn’t a jury trial as we had wanted.  The judge was to make his decision based on the evidence. Evidence he kept throwing out.

Each time he dismissed a testimony our hearts sank. And now it was really time. The room was as quiet as a morgue.

I find the defendant, Bob Dianovsky…not guilty.

There were immediate cheers on the other side of the courtroom. Bob’s family members slapped him on the back and they all gave each other high fives.

My brain had trouble processing things right then.

Did he say, not guilty?

A policeman showed up at the end of our row to escort our family into the States Attorney’s office. We followed him. There were no words spoken. There was nothing left to be said.

Did he really say not guilty?

The same news reporters that had wanted to do a story of our family suddenly had nothing to say to us. When “Not guilty,” was said, we became invisible. The pain was unbearable.

My brother Gus nearly collapsed in my brother George’s arms. Gus was the one who would go to the police department when a body was found, to see if perhaps it was Peggy’s body.

The memorial

A month following the trial we had a memorial. We all stood on her empty grave. It was over, and yet, it wasn’t.

We went through the motions. A church service, our time at the cemetery. All we lacked was our guest of honor.

Without a body, it never feels like closure.

Don’t get me wrong, we know she’s dead. Even the judge pronounced she was dead and probably at the hand of a crime.

We just never got to do what most people get to do. We never laid her to rest.

I’m really fortunate. I know my sister knew God personally. I know one day I will see her again. But until that day, I miss her.

She was my only sister.

September 12th was the anniversary date of my sister’s death.

In honor of that, the Kindle edition of Broken is reduced for a few days.

Click here to get your copy on Amazon.

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Help me be a voice for my sister.