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I lost the love of my life to cancer four years ago. I was, and still am in many ways, devastated. The things that have transpired within me have surprised me. I guess when you have been married for over fifteen years, you lose a bit of yourself and give up some of your identity.


When you lose your other half, you need to try and figure out who you are again. Who am I? I am a forty-two-year-old widow. I really dislike that word, widow. It drums up horrible images in my mind of a scraggly old woman in a black dress and veil, pale-skinned with sad eyes. I don’t want to be her. What do I want to do with my life? Where do I want to live? Do I really like all the same things? Is it disrespectful not to like the things I enjoyed with him?


The questions are many and they change from day to day. I think the worst part is that while everything is the same (where I live, what I do, friends, family, etc.), everything is also completely different because of his absence. It is unsettling.

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