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Refuge Widowers
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I was 30 years old when my wife, Lyndsie, went home to Heaven after a 10-year battle with cancer, leaving me with two young kids. I walked out of that Emergency Room on August 28, 2015 without her, wondering how I would explain to our kids that their momma would not be coming home. I couldn’t believe this was my reality. In the weeks that followed, I was surrounded by people who loved me and my kids well. They sat with me, listened, brought meals, wrote encouraging notes, sent gift cards and helped with the kids. It was clear that our community was doing their best to hold me and the kids up, and we were so grateful for the ways they showed up for us. But as time went on, the outpouring of love slowed down to a trickle. Understandably, life went back to normal for most of them. But not for me. As guys, we have a well-earned reputation of not asking for help. We mistakenly believe we can eventually figure it out on our own. I just couldn’t call the people that had offered to help. My pride wouldn’t let me. But then again, it wasn’t just your normal help I was looking for. During that time, I remember wishing that another young widower would reach out to me...
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