I lost my husband at an early age and it hurts. It really, really hurts. And it’s not like he died where “Okay, I can go on with my life,” and “I’m grieving, I’m a grieving widow,” and get that kind of sympathy. No, I get the sympathy of “her husband’s injured.” And now it just seems to be people accept him. Even my neighbour who raised 7 kids when she met me and she said, she said, “I’ll never forget the first day I met you.” She says the first thing you said, “My husband has a brain injury,” and she says, “Glad I’m not in your shoes.” I’m like “Isn’t 7 kids harder to take care of?” So, she even saw me differently. You don’t have a social life. You lose him completely, so the husband I married is not the husband I have today, and he wasn’t a bad guy after all. He wasn’t drunk, he didn’t beat me, he didn’t do any of that so I feel gypped and I already dealt with losing a son from…and that should be enough in this world. Some people don’t even experience death. I’ve experienced two, and now my husband doesn’t really exist either, and it’s hard. I mean my anniversary’s coming up and I feel guilty because yeah, I’ve made it to 25 years, but you know I’m not having no wedding party, I’m not having a reception and have friends—I don’t have any friends to invite. We’re going out for dinner, but I don’t even know if it’s going to be fun. It’s more let it pass and forget about it. And the only family contact I have is my father. My brothers and sisters just don’t care and it’s not fair.