(Editor's note - This story originally ran in August of 2006 but its message is as immediate now as it was a few months ago.)

I never thought I would ever be the woman on the other side of the door. The one who receives the devastating news her husband, her best friend, would not be coming home. No more “I love you,” no more kisses and hugs or laughter and conversations. No more memories to ever be made, just the countless haunting memories from the years you were lucky enough to have shared. 

There is such a thing as a broken heart. It is the most painful yet invisible wound a human can endure. It literally hurts to breathe, it hurts to move and most of all, there is no cure for the broken heart except time. No pill can erase the memories of a once happy life that will never be again. No medicine to dull the throbbing ache from every song on the radio, every couple that passes holding hands, every reminder of what you will never have but could have had … if only. 

The first six months after John’s death I was numb. My body was protecting me from the ugly reality my mind was not yet capable of absorbing. The Pope could have been standing in front of me and I would have never known it as I was off in my own world. My body would do whatever it needed to do at that time to keep my mind from catching up with this reality. I went rock climbing, traveling to where ever, doing things out of character from the person who existed before. I had my bad moments of course, but in those first six months, I was cloaked in a blanket of protection that kept those moments from taking over. 

While I was struggling just to survive day to day, I was painfully aware of the harsh judgment of everyone around me. Was I grieving fast enough? Not behaving as they felt I should? The harsh judgment that befalls a widow from everyone she knows and even those she does not know would amaze you. Eyes always watching your every move and offering explanations as to why you are able to do the things you are doing and how they know, without a doubt, that if they were in my situation, they would be doing it differently.

Then you lose the only house you called a home with your husband when you leave the base. You are forced to come to terms that your military lifestyle has ended as well. The pride of the Corps will only be for you to observe in others’ lives. As for your own, you will stare at a polished rock in Arlington Cemetery never before having really understood the phrase Some Gave All – a phrase that now applies to you, the widow. 

When those first six months had passed, I clung to what little life I had left in my body. That is also when I needed people the most. The sad fact is, I found that people did not want to be around anymore to help. It’s too sad, you represent the worst nightmares; you are a reality no one likes to be reminded of each day.  Most of all, you are not “fixable.” 

Where do you go? The second year can even be worse than the first. Everyone has moved on from the shock and tragedy of your loss and yet you are finally just beginning the very long journey of grieving. No one can walk it for you and most of all no one truly understands. No one until you find an organization like TAPS. 

The Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors (TAPS) is a non-profit organization founded by another military widow who understood how important having support can be as we grieve and heal. It is an organization that offers care and comfort to all those who are grieving the death of a loved one in the military. 

When I first attended a TAPS gathering, I found myself in a room full of widows, bereaved parents, brothers, sisters, step parents, fiancés, children, ex-wives and husbands, best friends and so on. You find that no matter whose eyes you lock with, there is understanding and no words have to be said because you know the other person is there in your shoes, walking right beside you on their own long journey of grief. 

It was here, through TAPS programs, that I felt resuscitated. Finally the breath was back in my body, although still painful, but this time with help. I was not alone any longer. I was not crazy, and found through speaking with others that we had very similar experiences in our first and second years. I learned to look to those further in their journey and gained a sense of hope, something I lost back in April 2004. I found a place to heal. This is TAPS. 

You probably have never heard of it because you are not a casualty officer or surviving family of a fallen military hero. But it should be a comfort to you to know this organization exists in the event you know someone who should ever have to call upon its care. I know in my heart that my husband John is thankful for TAPS.  I have gotten so much out of TAPS that I now devote all my time to it. 

Ask yourselves this: What more can servicemembers ask for of their country than to ensure their loved ones left behind are taken care of should they fall? That is what TAPS is all about. But we need your help to get the word out and to raise funds to support our programs. It is a group no one ever wants to be a part of, but one that we are all so grateful for in our hour of need. 

Take a moment to sponsor a child to attend the TAPS Good Grief Camp, support a runner on Team TAPS in the Marine Corps Marathon, or pledge a donation to keep our crisis hotline open. You can make a difference.

To learn more, please take the time to visit us at www.taps.org. We need you.