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This site is run by widowed people, for widowed people

Widowed Village connects peers with each other for friendship and sharing. The moderators, administrators, and others involved in running this site are not professionals.

Please don't interpret anything you read here as medical, legal, or otherwise expert advice. Don't disregard any expert's advice or take any action as a result of what you read here.

We're friends, not doctors, financial or legal professionals, and we're not "grief experts." But we are here, and we've been "there."

One year.

I just came to work. I didn't know what else to do. I don't really want to be here, but I think home would just be depressing. Well, it's all depressing.  But I didn't want to be alone, and I still hear a voice telling me that no one cares and to shut up and get over it. So I didn't want to ask anyone to come over, just to keep me company.  So work it is.

Once I thought I'd love to not have to go to doctors appointments every week, multiple times a week. Now I'd give it all up, just to have that time back to spend with him.  Nurses, reapplying wound vacs... all of it.  I miss him every day.

They say that time heals all wounds. They lie. It doesn't - it just makes it easier to carry them.

Everything here is hard and bright and violent. Everything I feel, everything I touch. This is Hell. Just getting through the next moment, and the one after that. Knowing what I've lost.

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