Unforgettable Excerpts from Life Without Lisa

    I sit on the bed with each of the boys and begin to talk about the day.
    “I never said goodbye,” Victor admits in a quiet voice.
    “When I called you from the hospital, I held the phone to Mom’s ear so you could say something.”
    “I didn’t say anything.”
    I’m somewhat irritated that Victor didn’t seize that moment, but I search to find a loving reply. After all, he’s just a little kid who’s lost his mother. My heart aches for him. “It’s okay, Victor,” I whisper as I hold him close. My tears fall onto his blondish brown hair and I’m reminded of how much he looks like Lisa. Similar color hair, same pale blue eyes.  
    Nick jumps onto my lap and wraps his arms around my neck. The three of us cling to each other. No one wants to let go.
    “You know, you can talk to Mom anytime,” I reassure the boys, “because I believe her spirit is still alive, and she will know it’s you.”
    We sit in silence — three weary swimmers adrift in a sea of shock and grief.
    “I’ll see you in the morning. I love you.” I carry Nick to his bed.
    “What are we doing tomorrow?” asks Nick.
    “I don’t know.” I sigh. “But I know we’ll be together.” I give Nick an extra long hug. He loves his hugs.
    Along with Lisa, all hope seems dead. The hope that she would survive another stay in the hospital is dead. The hope that we would have more time together is dead. The belief in her invincibility is dead. The hope of a married life lived until old age is dead. I feel like I’m drowning in an ocean of tears. My entire being is filled with an aching I’ve never known before.
    I wish I were dead.