Youngest daughter of Ralph and Evelynn Lovelace, who were also former residents of Eagan, MN.
She was the best sister ever.
Interred at Fort Snelling National Cemetery, Minneapolis, MN, 2021, following the death of husband, Theodore Grishaber.
A non-profit organization, It's My Death, was founded in 2014 to honor a promise made to Dee by her sister: to teach people how to be with dying in an open, authentic, and vulnerable way.
July 2021 Update:
Diana "Dee" Lovelace Grishaber died on January 16, 2009. She was born on December 28, 1959 to Evelynn Grace Lovelace and Ralph Lovelace, in Seattle, Washington. Theirs was a military family—Dee and her siblings grew up everywhere, living in Washington, California, Kansas, Massachusetts, Japan, Guam, and finally, Minnesota.
A graduate of Mankato East High School, Dee joined the Navy herself shortly after graduation. Upon surviving bootcamp, she found herself headed to Great Lakes, Illinois, for Electronics Technician Class "A" School. She was a sharp cookie with a keen mind.
Dee's was a very short military career. Some folks thrive in a military environment, and some folks just don't. Being a sailor wasn't the cloth Dee was cut from. When she left Great Lakes, she left as a civilian in her own right, and as the wife of a sailor she had met there—Theodore "Ted" Grishaber.
Dee found employment first as an office secretary, then as an office manager, and finally as a computer programmer. Mostly self-taught (she was that smart), Dee just had a knack for writing code. She was a perfectionist and put a lot of pressure on herself to get things just right (a necessary skill when you're telling computers what to do and when to do it). At the close of Ted's military career, they returned to Minnesota. Dee found employment with the St. Paul Companies, one of the longest-standing insurance companies in the United States. Dee was proud of the company's long, rich history, and she enjoyed a highly successful career until illness forced her to take a sabbatical in October 2008.
Dee had every intention of returning to work, but that was not to be. Cancer had other plans. Dee faced her illness and her death the same way she faced her life: courageously and intentionally. When it ultimately became clear she was not going to survive her illness, she set about getting things in order, including herself. Dee faced her death with grace, vulnerability, and deep wisdom. She somehow understood it is not possible to push a river.
If any death can be described as beautiful, hers would win the prize. There's something uniquely raw and honest about embracing mortality. Dee was willing to share with her sister about the ways life had given her meaning; she shared disappointments and triumphs, allowing a peek into the recessed corners of her life. In a three-week period, she transformed from a work-a-day-have-it-my-way incredibly successful businesswoman to an angel full of grace.
When asked what she needed, she told her sister and husband she'd like to taste coffee one last time. And raspberries. The look that crossed her face at their taste was nothing short of rapturous—a clear indication that her soul and body were in complete harmony.
Later that day, Dee said goodbye to those she loved: her husband Ted, her little dogs Abbie, Max, and Maggie; brothers David, and Mark; sister, Valerie; niece Rachael, and grand-nephew, Steffen. Other nieces and nephews were unable to be present.
Dee was a dedicated daughter, sister, auntie and friend. She had a hysterical sense of humor, she loved dogs and horses (and they loved her back), and she was a huge fan of Yanni and Bob Dylan (that gives you an idea of the breadth of her taste in music). She was a sensitive soul who sometimes felt the world was just too much for her.
After death, she stood watch over her husband, Ted, from an urn in the living room. We believe she looked in on all of us from time to time, helping us try to figure out how to be okay without her. It isn't certain any of us ever really were. Inspired during many a bedside conversation with Dee, her sister went on to create a non-profit organization in Maine to honor a promise made while Dee was dying: to teach people how to be with dying in an open, authentic, and vulnerable way.
Dee waited patiently while Ted went on. The two wished to be interred together at Ft. Snelling National Cemetery to honor their military service and their life together.
They are in good company there.
She was the best sister ever.
Interred at Fort Snelling National Cemetery, Minneapolis, MN, 2021, following the death of husband, Theodore Grishaber.
A non-profit organization, It's My Death, was founded in 2014 to honor a promise made to Dee by her sister: to teach people how to be with dying in an open, authentic, and vulnerable way.
July 2021 Update:
Diana "Dee" Lovelace Grishaber died on January 16, 2009. She was born on December 28, 1959 to Evelynn Grace Lovelace and Ralph Lovelace, in Seattle, Washington. Theirs was a military family—Dee and her siblings grew up everywhere, living in Washington, California, Kansas, Massachusetts, Japan, Guam, and finally, Minnesota.
A graduate of Mankato East High School, Dee joined the Navy herself shortly after graduation. Upon surviving bootcamp, she found herself headed to Great Lakes, Illinois, for Electronics Technician Class "A" School. She was a sharp cookie with a keen mind.
Dee's was a very short military career. Some folks thrive in a military environment, and some folks just don't. Being a sailor wasn't the cloth Dee was cut from. When she left Great Lakes, she left as a civilian in her own right, and as the wife of a sailor she had met there—Theodore "Ted" Grishaber.
Dee found employment first as an office secretary, then as an office manager, and finally as a computer programmer. Mostly self-taught (she was that smart), Dee just had a knack for writing code. She was a perfectionist and put a lot of pressure on herself to get things just right (a necessary skill when you're telling computers what to do and when to do it). At the close of Ted's military career, they returned to Minnesota. Dee found employment with the St. Paul Companies, one of the longest-standing insurance companies in the United States. Dee was proud of the company's long, rich history, and she enjoyed a highly successful career until illness forced her to take a sabbatical in October 2008.
Dee had every intention of returning to work, but that was not to be. Cancer had other plans. Dee faced her illness and her death the same way she faced her life: courageously and intentionally. When it ultimately became clear she was not going to survive her illness, she set about getting things in order, including herself. Dee faced her death with grace, vulnerability, and deep wisdom. She somehow understood it is not possible to push a river.
If any death can be described as beautiful, hers would win the prize. There's something uniquely raw and honest about embracing mortality. Dee was willing to share with her sister about the ways life had given her meaning; she shared disappointments and triumphs, allowing a peek into the recessed corners of her life. In a three-week period, she transformed from a work-a-day-have-it-my-way incredibly successful businesswoman to an angel full of grace.
When asked what she needed, she told her sister and husband she'd like to taste coffee one last time. And raspberries. The look that crossed her face at their taste was nothing short of rapturous—a clear indication that her soul and body were in complete harmony.
Later that day, Dee said goodbye to those she loved: her husband Ted, her little dogs Abbie, Max, and Maggie; brothers David, and Mark; sister, Valerie; niece Rachael, and grand-nephew, Steffen. Other nieces and nephews were unable to be present.
Dee was a dedicated daughter, sister, auntie and friend. She had a hysterical sense of humor, she loved dogs and horses (and they loved her back), and she was a huge fan of Yanni and Bob Dylan (that gives you an idea of the breadth of her taste in music). She was a sensitive soul who sometimes felt the world was just too much for her.
After death, she stood watch over her husband, Ted, from an urn in the living room. We believe she looked in on all of us from time to time, helping us try to figure out how to be okay without her. It isn't certain any of us ever really were. Inspired during many a bedside conversation with Dee, her sister went on to create a non-profit organization in Maine to honor a promise made while Dee was dying: to teach people how to be with dying in an open, authentic, and vulnerable way.
Dee waited patiently while Ted went on. The two wished to be interred together at Ft. Snelling National Cemetery to honor their military service and their life together.
They are in good company there.
Youngest daughter of Ralph and Evelynn Lovelace, who were also former residents of Eagan, MN.
She was the best sister ever.
Interred at Fort Snelling National Cemetery, Minneapolis, MN, 2021, following the death of husband, Theodore Grishaber.
A non-profit organization, It's My Death, was founded in 2014 to honor a promise made to Dee by her sister: to teach people how to be with dying in an open, authentic, and vulnerable way.
July 2021 Update:
Diana "Dee" Lovelace Grishaber died on January 16, 2009. She was born on December 28, 1959 to Evelynn Grace Lovelace and Ralph Lovelace, in Seattle, Washington. Theirs was a military family—Dee and her siblings grew up everywhere, living in Washington, California, Kansas, Massachusetts, Japan, Guam, and finally, Minnesota.
A graduate of Mankato East High School, Dee joined the Navy herself shortly after graduation. Upon surviving bootcamp, she found herself headed to Great Lakes, Illinois, for Electronics Technician Class "A" School. She was a sharp cookie with a keen mind.
Dee's was a very short military career. Some folks thrive in a military environment, and some folks just don't. Being a sailor wasn't the cloth Dee was cut from. When she left Great Lakes, she left as a civilian in her own right, and as the wife of a sailor she had met there—Theodore "Ted" Grishaber.
Dee found employment first as an office secretary, then as an office manager, and finally as a computer programmer. Mostly self-taught (she was that smart), Dee just had a knack for writing code. She was a perfectionist and put a lot of pressure on herself to get things just right (a necessary skill when you're telling computers what to do and when to do it). At the close of Ted's military career, they returned to Minnesota. Dee found employment with the St. Paul Companies, one of the longest-standing insurance companies in the United States. Dee was proud of the company's long, rich history, and she enjoyed a highly successful career until illness forced her to take a sabbatical in October 2008.
Dee had every intention of returning to work, but that was not to be. Cancer had other plans. Dee faced her illness and her death the same way she faced her life: courageously and intentionally. When it ultimately became clear she was not going to survive her illness, she set about getting things in order, including herself. Dee faced her death with grace, vulnerability, and deep wisdom. She somehow understood it is not possible to push a river.
If any death can be described as beautiful, hers would win the prize. There's something uniquely raw and honest about embracing mortality. Dee was willing to share with her sister about the ways life had given her meaning; she shared disappointments and triumphs, allowing a peek into the recessed corners of her life. In a three-week period, she transformed from a work-a-day-have-it-my-way incredibly successful businesswoman to an angel full of grace.
When asked what she needed, she told her sister and husband she'd like to taste coffee one last time. And raspberries. The look that crossed her face at their taste was nothing short of rapturous—a clear indication that her soul and body were in complete harmony.
Later that day, Dee said goodbye to those she loved: her husband Ted, her little dogs Abbie, Max, and Maggie; brothers David, and Mark; sister, Valerie; niece Rachael, and grand-nephew, Steffen. Other nieces and nephews were unable to be present.
Dee was a dedicated daughter, sister, auntie and friend. She had a hysterical sense of humor, she loved dogs and horses (and they loved her back), and she was a huge fan of Yanni and Bob Dylan (that gives you an idea of the breadth of her taste in music). She was a sensitive soul who sometimes felt the world was just too much for her.
After death, she stood watch over her husband, Ted, from an urn in the living room. We believe she looked in on all of us from time to time, helping us try to figure out how to be okay without her. It isn't certain any of us ever really were. Inspired during many a bedside conversation with Dee, her sister went on to create a non-profit organization in Maine to honor a promise made while Dee was dying: to teach people how to be with dying in an open, authentic, and vulnerable way.
Dee waited patiently while Ted went on. The two wished to be interred together at Ft. Snelling National Cemetery to honor their military service and their life together.
They are in good company there.
She was the best sister ever.
Interred at Fort Snelling National Cemetery, Minneapolis, MN, 2021, following the death of husband, Theodore Grishaber.
A non-profit organization, It's My Death, was founded in 2014 to honor a promise made to Dee by her sister: to teach people how to be with dying in an open, authentic, and vulnerable way.
July 2021 Update:
Diana "Dee" Lovelace Grishaber died on January 16, 2009. She was born on December 28, 1959 to Evelynn Grace Lovelace and Ralph Lovelace, in Seattle, Washington. Theirs was a military family—Dee and her siblings grew up everywhere, living in Washington, California, Kansas, Massachusetts, Japan, Guam, and finally, Minnesota.
A graduate of Mankato East High School, Dee joined the Navy herself shortly after graduation. Upon surviving bootcamp, she found herself headed to Great Lakes, Illinois, for Electronics Technician Class "A" School. She was a sharp cookie with a keen mind.
Dee's was a very short military career. Some folks thrive in a military environment, and some folks just don't. Being a sailor wasn't the cloth Dee was cut from. When she left Great Lakes, she left as a civilian in her own right, and as the wife of a sailor she had met there—Theodore "Ted" Grishaber.
Dee found employment first as an office secretary, then as an office manager, and finally as a computer programmer. Mostly self-taught (she was that smart), Dee just had a knack for writing code. She was a perfectionist and put a lot of pressure on herself to get things just right (a necessary skill when you're telling computers what to do and when to do it). At the close of Ted's military career, they returned to Minnesota. Dee found employment with the St. Paul Companies, one of the longest-standing insurance companies in the United States. Dee was proud of the company's long, rich history, and she enjoyed a highly successful career until illness forced her to take a sabbatical in October 2008.
Dee had every intention of returning to work, but that was not to be. Cancer had other plans. Dee faced her illness and her death the same way she faced her life: courageously and intentionally. When it ultimately became clear she was not going to survive her illness, she set about getting things in order, including herself. Dee faced her death with grace, vulnerability, and deep wisdom. She somehow understood it is not possible to push a river.
If any death can be described as beautiful, hers would win the prize. There's something uniquely raw and honest about embracing mortality. Dee was willing to share with her sister about the ways life had given her meaning; she shared disappointments and triumphs, allowing a peek into the recessed corners of her life. In a three-week period, she transformed from a work-a-day-have-it-my-way incredibly successful businesswoman to an angel full of grace.
When asked what she needed, she told her sister and husband she'd like to taste coffee one last time. And raspberries. The look that crossed her face at their taste was nothing short of rapturous—a clear indication that her soul and body were in complete harmony.
Later that day, Dee said goodbye to those she loved: her husband Ted, her little dogs Abbie, Max, and Maggie; brothers David, and Mark; sister, Valerie; niece Rachael, and grand-nephew, Steffen. Other nieces and nephews were unable to be present.
Dee was a dedicated daughter, sister, auntie and friend. She had a hysterical sense of humor, she loved dogs and horses (and they loved her back), and she was a huge fan of Yanni and Bob Dylan (that gives you an idea of the breadth of her taste in music). She was a sensitive soul who sometimes felt the world was just too much for her.
After death, she stood watch over her husband, Ted, from an urn in the living room. We believe she looked in on all of us from time to time, helping us try to figure out how to be okay without her. It isn't certain any of us ever really were. Inspired during many a bedside conversation with Dee, her sister went on to create a non-profit organization in Maine to honor a promise made while Dee was dying: to teach people how to be with dying in an open, authentic, and vulnerable way.
Dee waited patiently while Ted went on. The two wished to be interred together at Ft. Snelling National Cemetery to honor their military service and their life together.
They are in good company there.
Gravesite Details
Interred September, 2021.
Family Members
Siblings
