Lost Without Each OtherHi my name is Ezra, today was my wife's 26th birthday and I went to the cemetery to put flowers on her grave and talk about how my life turned out the a way I never thought it would. I lost Sarah almost 7 years ago now, and the pain is still as unbearable as it was back then, and as I watch our daughter grow up and become more and more like her, I can't help but believe that she's still around.
I've tell my story many times, to many people but it still makes no sense, and there's still no answer to how it is possible to go from being the happiest you've ever been to not being sure if you can go through another day.
I met her August 20 2002, we were both 16 and our lives were already so full, our pasts so heavy and both weren't expecting to fell so hard and so fast.
Sarah was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia when she was 8, a disease she had learned to live with, never really accepted it but never let it get in her way either. I was also pretty accustomed to hospitals since I was about 10, I have a heart condition that sometimes requires medical support.
We met there, she was in the bed next to mine and in less than 2 hours we were both already sure to have find what everyone is looking for, a best friend, a soul mate, someone to grow old with. You might think that we were too young to really know these kind of things, but even now, years later, I still have the conviction that she was the love of my life, of that life anyway.
We fell in love like many people do, becoming inseparable, talking, laughing, crying, dancing, singing, shouting most of the time, and we both never felt so alive.
In November 2003, we had the good news that Sarah was in remission, she often said that it was only at that moment that she felt like we could start our lives, and we did.
February 8 2004, we're walking and talking, she's telling me how much she wants to see the world, I can see her walking backwards, daring me to follow her, "Come on Ez, be bold!" she shouts to me with a smile, and all I can say is "Marry me?", and bearly louder than a whisper she answers "F*** yeah."
March 12 2004, one of the happiest day of my life, the weather was crap, we were all completely soaked and freezing, but I married my soulmate that day.
We go on our honeymoon, we make plans, we build a house, look at colleges and try to figure out what to do next, something she was always scared to do before.
July 2004, Sarah wakes up feeling tired and nauseous, our first thought is that the disease is back. We sat silently in the examination room, waiting for the doctor to come back with the results. He tells us right away its not cancer, we both let out a breath of relief, even let some tears fall, but we quickly recovered after a sentence that changed our world in a second "Congradulations, you're pregnant." We turn to each other, silence is filling the room now, and somehow we end up laughing out loud, laughing because of the relief, laughing because we're happy, laughing because we're alive.
I remember each day of the pregnancy like it was yesterday, 9 months of baby talk, mood swings, late night cravings and complete happiness.
We're painting the nursery while trying for the hundredth time to find a name for the baby girl that will soon be in our arms. I write it in big green letters across the wall: "BETH?" , she smiles, looks at me and nods like she had always knew.
April 6 2005, the best day of my life, the day my daughter was born. Everything went perfectly well and she's perfect just like her mom. I never again reached the happiness I felt during that moment, I never thought I would be an husband and a father by age 18, but somehow it feels right. When you have spend a lot of time thinking about the future without knowing if you're going to have one, life seems way to short to take your time.
August 2005, Beth is 4 months old and the apple of our eyes, we slowly learn how to be parents, we're exiting to see her grow. We take pictures, videos, we don't want to miss a thing. We were both tired, like any parents of a newborn could be and that's maybe why we didn't really pay attention, but then one Saturday morning I saw the bruises on Sarah's back, and the fear clenched my chest.
This time there was no doubt, and the doctor only confirmed what we already knew, but it was different, the cancer was more aggressive, quicker and before we could take it all in, she was set to start chemotherapy.
Sarah fought for 4 months, trying so hard to hold on to a life she loved, we kept laughing and crying, going through hell together while raising our child. Sarah somehow knew when it was time for her to go, she was prepared for it, so one afternoon like many others spend at her bedside, she just asked me to take her home, and I did.
We had three days of goodbyes, but I still had so much to say to her. She wrote letters, record messages, put memories inside boxes so our daughter could know how much she was loved.
Sarah died in her sleep around 2:15 am on November 20 2005. I can still feel her breathing stop as I was lying awake next to her.She took a part of me and I kept a part of her that night.
Meeting Sarah was the miracle of my life, we saved each other from a lot of things, and find peace in our love. Losing her is the hardest thing I ever had to go through, I lost myself for a while and I thank god everyday for my family, who helped me take care of Beth when I was unable to find my way again.
I woke up one morning after almost 6 months of depression, and promised myself that from now on, being a good dad will be the purpose of my life.
Beth is 7 today and she's the most precious thing I have, she's my best friend, and my soulmate. I see Sarah in her everyday, we talk, we laugh, we cry, we dance, we sing and we shout, because we're alive.