Jim Hyma wanted to travel to the states along the East Coast he had never visited before. He wanted to build a deck for his home.

But he also knew he didn't want to take the trip to see the Eastern leaves change by himself.

He didn't want to drink his ritual morning coffee on a new deck without company.

He didn't want to spend the rest of his life alone.

About 120 miles away in Riverton, Diane Peterson was thinking the same thing. She lost her husband to a heart attack in 2002.

During the summer of 2006, Jim and Diane began e-mailing each other after joining a dating Web site.

They married June 3, 2007, and have spent the past two years creating a new life together.

Rarely does a news story that contains the words "sudden death," "tragic explosion" and "shattered lives" have a happy ending.

But Jim Hyma said his story is that rare occurrence.

Almost three years ago to the day, Nov. 30, 2005, Jim Hyma sat in his favorite chair in his home at 8330 Sandpiper St., seven miles northeast of Evansville, resting after a day of fixing a broken gas line.

His wife, Carol, went to check the pizza cooking in the oven.

Minutes later, Jim Hyma awoke on his front lawn not knowing exactly where he was, not knowing why he couldn't move.

The roof of his house had fallen on top of him, crushing his legs. He saw flames everywhere.

People - neighbors, he assumes - picked him up and put him in a truck to go to the hospital. As the truck pulled away from his burning house, he watched the fire engulf the garage as firefighters looked on helplessly.

"Where's Carol? Where's Carol?" was all he could think to ask.

At the time, Jim wouldn't admit it to himself, but he knew Carol was dead after only a few minutes of asking the question and hearing no answer.

Jim spent a week in the hospital and three and a half months on crutches. After several weeks with his daughter, he moved into the modular home on the property next to the explosion site. The emotional injuries cut much deeper.

He found himself stuck in the aisles at grocery stores.

"I was a lost puppy," Jim said. "I never did laundry. I never cooked. I never imagined I'd be in Wal-Mart staring at the shelves looking for toilet bowl cleaner."

In the months following the explosion, Jim wanted to visit friends to let them know he survived.

He waited until he no longer needed crutches to walk. Until the 24 staples were removed from his head.

He ventured out to tell Larry, a rancher who lived four miles from the explosion site, he was alive.

Jim occasionally swapped tools with Larry, so he went into Larry's garage to see if he was there. No Larry. Jim didn't see him in the field, either. Finally, he ran into a woman.

"Where's Larry?" Jim asked.

"Larry died of cancer in November," the woman replied.

"I'm sorry," Jim said. "You must be his wife."

"No, I'm his sister. His wife committed suicide in February after he died," the woman said.

Though the explosion took everything Jim Hyma had ever known - his high school sweetheart and wife of 43 years, the home they lived in for almost 30 - at that moment, Jim realized he didn't want to be like Larry's widow.

He was at the lowest point in his life, but said, "I've still got a lot of life in me, and there are some things I want to do."

In June 2006, on Carol's birthday, Jim finally scattered her ashes. During the ceremony, a relative read a poem, "Merry Christmas from Heaven," and Jim knew Carol was in a better place.

At that moment, his knees buckled, he fell to the ground and cried.

He was finally able to say goodbye.

Over the next several months, Jim met 14 women from across the country.

His ex-daughter-in-law in Nevada gave his cell phone number to one of her Mary Kay clients, and he started talking to another woman in Phoenix on the Internet.

"I'm taking a road trip," he finally told his family. He wanted to meet both women.

He drove his camper southwest. Though both women were nice, Jim just didn't "feel it."

Then he met No. 15.

Jim Hyma met Diane Peterson online. They had been e-mailing for about a month when Diane said she was coming to Casper.

"I met him out of curiosity," Diane said. "I needed to come to Casper for shopping and thought it wouldn't hurt to see what this guy looks like."

Jim told Diane to meet him at the Eastgate Travel Plaza, a truck stop and restaurant off Interstate 25.

When Diane saw Jim, she thought he looked like "a nice man."

For Jim, "It was love at first sight."

They talked for several hours, but Jim didn't know if he would ever see Diane again. She wasn't sure Jim would ever call.

But Jim kept in contact, and Diane made another trip to Casper. He invited her to stay in the guest bedroom of the modular home he was living in.

Diane wasn't sure about the offer, but packed an overnight bag just in case. After arriving in Casper and spending a few hours in Jim's home, Diane retrieved her bag from the car.

During the weekend, they went to see a movie at the National Historic Trails Interpretive Center.

"I was thinking I should probably hold her hand," Jim said.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, Diane slipped her hand into his.

Jim was so sure about the relationship, he basically proposed on the fourth date. It took Diane a little more convincing.

In February 2007, Jim invited Diane to join him in Corpus Christi, Texas. He had driven there in his camper earlier in the winter.

Diane spent four weeks with Jim in what she can only describe as the "trip from hell."

The camper's water heater broke as soon as she arrived, and it was cold outside. Water leaked all over the camper and soaked the carpet.

The couple stopped several times on the drive back to Casper because of wind and snow.

"A few times I almost had him take me to the airport," Diane said.

But she stuck it out.

"We got to know each other better, each other's idiosyncrasies," Diane said. "If we could make it through all those things, we probably had a chance."

Diane and Jim decided to get married June 3, 2007.

Jim had asked his father to be his best man, but his dad was admitted to the hospital the day of the wedding for possible heart attack symptoms. It wasn't a heart attack but shingles, a very painful rash.

Jim's brother stepped in as best man during the ceremony at Poor Boy's Steak House.

The newlyweds spent their honeymoon at Wyoming Medical Center. Besides visiting Jim's father, Diane was scheduled for back surgery to fuse together two of her vertebrae the day after the wedding.

Then the two debated about where to live.

The modular home Jim was living in was less than 1,000 square feet, and "it was a bachelor pad," he said. He owned a bigger home that he was trying to sell.

Diane suggested they move the bigger home onto the foundation of the old home where the explosion was.

"No, this is where Carol died," Jim said. He can show people the exact spot where Carol was standing when the explosion happened.

Upon further reflection, Jim realized there were no decorations or reminders of Carol in the new modular. Plus, the new home fit perfectly in the foundation of the old home.

"I think I can live here," he said.

In the days following the explosion, family members discovered several objects that survived the blast.

A shutter from an old schoolhouse, some knick knacks and, surprisingly, a photo from Jim and Carol Hyma's 25th wedding anniversary.

Jim sent the photo to his son.

"I have a new life here," he said. "I feel very fortunate to have found two very good women."

He said he is amazed every day at how much he and Diane have in common.

They are both the oldest of multiple children.

Their favorite pie is strawberry rhubarb.

They hate tomatoes.

They have both experienced the sudden loss of a spouse.

"It helps with things that might happen throughout the day, throughout the grieving process," Diane said.

Diane said she was thinking the other day about everything she had been through and concluded she was becoming quite the survivor.

Then, she looked at her husband and realized all that he has survived.

Together, they survive every day, not dwelling on the past but looking forward to the future.

To their trip to the East Coast to see the leaves change.

To the many cups of coffee to drink on the front deck.

To a life they can spend hand in hand instead of alone.

Contact reporter Allison Rupp at (307) 266-0534 or allison.rupp@trib.com.

To see a video of the Hymas, visit www.trib.com]]->