Realize (COMPLETED)

3.

Lisa

The sky is clear, and the peace makes it easy to lose myself in thought. The sun glints off the black granite as I lean down in front of the headstone, placing her favorite pink roses beside it.

Nicole "Niki" Zefanya-Manoban
January 24, 1980 - April 12, 2009

Although your smile is gone forever and your hand I cannot touch, I still have so many memories of the one I loved so much. Your memory is my keepsake with which I'll never part. God has you in His keeping, I have you in my heart

The love of my life, gone too soon. I wish I could say she had succumbed to a terrible illness or died in an accident. Those would somehow make it easier to bear the guilt I feel over how I lost her. I keep telling myself I could have done something; it's been two years, and I still grapple with that thought. I've come to accept that I couldn't save her because she didn't want to be saved.

I try to focus on the happy memories—when looking at her felt like seeing my entire world. Before everything fell apart.

Five years of marriage may not seem like a long time, and perhaps it isn't, but to me, those years felt monumental. From the moment we started dating, it felt like we had already taken the plunge into a life intertwined. I admired Niki for her strength, her kindness, and her selfless nature. She was my everything, and we had our lives meticulously planned out: marriage first, career second, and family third.

We were young and full of dreams when we met—Niki was in her junior year of college, and I was wrapping up my senior year. We fell in love quickly, and neither of us wanted to wait for our careers to take off before tying the knot. We wanted to be together, side by side, ready to face whatever came our way. So, we got married.

After the wedding, we dove into our careers. Niki aspired to be a schoolteacher, passionate about shaping young minds and making a difference in her students' lives. I had my sights set on becoming a great physician, just like my father. Our schedules were packed, and the days often blurred into a whirlwind of responsibilities, but we made time for each other, always nurturing our bond.

As we settled into our lives, we began to talk about starting a family. We dreamed of a big family—three beautiful daughters who would inherit Niki's radiant smile and spirit, and three strapping sons to carry on the Manoban legacy. It was a vision that filled our hearts with joy and hope.

When we found out she was pregnant, the happiness that surged through me was indescribable. In that moment, it felt like we were finally on the verge of achieving everything we had ever wanted. The thought of holding our child in our arms, of creating the family we had always dreamed of, was more than I could have wished for. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring our dreams to life, and I couldn't wait to embrace every moment of it.

But it didn't happen that way. Niki was in a major car accident two years into our marriage that took everything from us. She lost the baby and the ability to ever get pregnant again. The doctors performed an emergency hysterectomy due to the extensive damage, and that single event shattered our dreams. Everything spiraled out of control after that. Niki spent a long time recovering in the hospital, and when she finally came home, she felt like a shadow of her former self. She became distant, retreating into a world of her own grief. I watched helplessly as she started drinking excessively, the guilt of losing our child consuming her. She convinced herself that I blamed her for what happened, but that couldn't be further from the truth. I loved her too much to place blame.

Those were the toughest three years of my life. Every day felt like a battle, and I felt like I was losing her piece by piece. I tried to reach out, to remind her that we were in this together, but it seemed like every attempt only pushed her further away. I would sit with her in silence, hoping she would open up, but the walls she built were insurmountable.