Now, 34 years later, my marriage came to a violent end. My husband, John McNamara, is gone, murdered in a mass shooting with other colleagues at the Capital Gazette newsroom. After picking out his urn, listening to the murder video in the courtroom with his killer, selling my house, auctioning off decades of belongings and boxing up hundreds of memories, I am not the same. I have new friends; hundreds of people like me, walking wounded, oozing pain, mourning our daughters, sons, husbands and wives. When we speak out for gun safety, for suicide prevention, for procedures to remove guns from dangerous people, we, too, get death threats and menacing letters from people best described as Nazis.