One year without my husband

Next week marks one year since my husband passed away. I usually say that he "went to rest" because it feels a little less heavy that way. The past few months have been an endless torment. People don't understand—and they never will understand—the connection we had. Our relationship was incredibly healthy and respectful. Above all, he was my best friend. Over the last few months, I've heard some of the worst things a person could hear, such as:

"Don't worry, you're still young, you'll get married again."

"Ask God to help you forget the past so you can move on."

"In three years, you'll have forgotten him, and you'll be with a new family."

"So, are you going to get married again?"

"Don't worry, the Bible allows it."

"I hope you find another husband very soon."

If you think those comments are awful, it's only because I picked some of the "milder" ones. It eats me up inside, having to hear things like that. It feels as if everything Leo and I lived through together has been crumpled up and thrown away. I know I don't have to prove anything to anyone, but hearing those things—especially from people close to me—hurts deeply. And it's a kind of pain that nobody else understands, and nobody ever will.