When my husband passed away, a lot of people would say he was taken too soon since he was 39 at the time of his death.  All I could think was he wasn't taken, he was stolen. Stolen from me and our son. Stolen from his family and friends. Just plain stolen from the world.  He was definitely my other half. That one person that would love me and be by my side forever. And I thought we'd have forever when we said I do.  Little did I know that forever for us would only be 8 short years.  8 short, blissful years. Sure the days weren't always perfect, but through it all we knew we had each other.  And now, while I do have the best part of him in our son, there is a piece of my heart that has been stolen.  A piece that I will never get back until we meet again.  Regardless of what lies out there, I have to hold onto the hope that we will see each other again.  It's one of the things that helps keep me going... that and our son.