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no husband, no friends NYT

Stashed in: Sadness, Death

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Someone once said that being a widow is like living in a country where nobody speaks your language. In my case, it’s only my friends, family and acquaintances who all now speak Urdu — it’s not the whole country. I discovered strangers possess more compassion than my own friends and family. My kids make me feel like I lost my mind, and not their dad. Bereavement isn’t a lobotomy, children. It’s a loss.

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