On the anniversary of Luisa’s passing, the year of mourning was over. I still wasn’t back to my old self. I was having trouble getting back into practicing law. I had given John most of the responsibility. I would sit beside him, but my mind elsewhere. The office noticed; the joy that had once filled the place was gone. Luisa would always bring it when she popped in. She did it just to cheer up the staff. We all missed her, but none more than me.
Jeremiah was now fourteen. He was getting ready to start his last year at junior high. To keep his mind off his mother, he put extra effort into studying. His grades were the highest they had ever been. He was excelling scholastically.
At home, we had quiet dinners. We had small conversations occasionally; we even walked together sometimes. But it wasn’t the same. The joy was gone from the house, too. It wasn’t the same without Luisa being there. Jeremiah was growing up quickly and becoming more of a man. But hard as he tried, he just couldn’t reach into that place that used to be alive and bring it back.
Iglesias would come by at least once a week to visit and talk. But nothing made the house feel more empty than when Bernice or JoAnn would come by to visit. It was so painful to see them, the ladies who saw the body of my wife last. So I retreated, into myself, into my pain.
Then one night as I was getting into the bed, I looked over to the side where Luisa would lay. On her nightstand was her Jewish Bible. It seemed to be calling out to me to pick it up and read and study. So I did. I got “religious” thinking that this would ease the pain of the loss in my soul. In a way it did, but there was still a spot that was empty. I would cry out to God many times for Him to fill that void. Sometimes I could feel His presence; others I felt like He didn’t care about me. The latter more frequently. I felt alone. Was this a question of faith or belief? I didn’t know. All that I did know with certainty was that I had a hole in my soul and it wasn’t getting better; the pain wasn’t getting any less.
One day, I was walking to the kitchen and saw Jeremiah in the living room. He had started reading the Torah 
. I didn’t know why, how, or when; only the Almighty could have led him to that. I started paying more attention, noticed that he was saying prayers. He had a prayer shawl that he put on now, too. He was also observing the holidays in a more reverent manner and respecting the Sabbath 
as best as he could. Jeremiah was becoming a Jew right in front of my eyes.