A personal memoir of healing from loss by Richard Ballo
$12.95 • Paperback • 208 Pages • ISBN: 9780967553245
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For bulk-rate discounts or to bring Rich to your organization as a guest speaker, call 1-877-513-0099 or email Books@QoLpublishing.com
In Life Without Lisa, a poignant and highly personal story of one man’s healing journey through grief, hospice bereavement support is the hero.
Readers walk a mile in author Richard Ballo’s shoes as they learn what it’s like to be widowed with young children to raise. Because everyone was in denial about the advanced stages of Lisa’s cancer, she and her family received no hospice or palliative care services. Thus, her rapid decline and death come as a brutal shock. Fortunately, Ballo learns about grief support classes available through his local hospice and enrolls himself and his two little boys. Without hospice, Life Without Lisa would not have such a hopeful ending.
Calling a grief support book a “pageturner” might seem a stretch, but not in this case. Ballo wraps the reader next to his broken heart and doesn’t let go until he transforms abject grief into warm, loving memories.
Ballo is so eternally grateful to hospice that the Dedication Page of Life Without Lisa reads in part: “…And to hospice for helping me heal and find hope.”
High Praise from Experts:
“…a lifeline of help and hope…” —Ira Byock, M.D., author of Dying Well and The Four Things That Matter Most
“…Rich Ballo’s remarkable descriptions of his many painful, and frequently changing, reactions reassure the reader of how normal these feelings are…” —Patricia Kelley, RN, CHPN, author of Companion to Grief and co-author of Final Gifts
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.
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